I fell down Category

LUCKY Day

11 Jan 2012 In: I fell down

It’s just SO amazing that I decided to insert my finger INTO the sewing machine while making a hat from this fabric:
University of Utah Fleece

Rather than THIS fabric:
Brigham Young University Fleece

That’s how I roll. Each heavily bleeding wound should MATCH the material with which you are working.

ADDENDUM, January 12, 2012, 4:07 a.m.:

Grateful I sewed the BYU hat FIRST as the blood would not have been hidden as it was in the University of Utah crimson. And when it comes down to it, TOTALLY worth it:
Anders

Anders the UTE Fan

“I like it so much.”

And the other half of the cutest in-family and in-State rivalry:
Leif

"I really like it! Thanks, Aunt Kate."

“I really like it! Thanks, Aunt Kate.”

Good HONK

12 Aug 2010 In: I fell down

I cannot BELIEVE that I published the previous “post” – nay, one more attempt at the Great American Novella – in the wee hours of the same day I ended up with copious hematomas, unsightly bruises, a broken big toe and my right arm in a sling AND a splint. When my typing powers are back (ouch for now) I shall have to elaborate.

Pear-Shaped

3 Aug 2010 In: I fell down

In the olden days I regularly posted to my blog even when my life had gone all pear-shaped. And the pear had gone rotten. And someone then stepped on the rotten pear. And then the rotten pear was tracked out onto the dirty streets and distributed to the vultures and ravens and those greasy mean birds whose name I forget.

I should make a disclaimer: I am pear-shaped. SO pear-shaped. And I take comfort in the fact that it’s more healthy than being apple-shaped. But one’s OWN shape is very different from the shape of one’s life.

Many things have happened and not happened. Now don’t think I’ve lost my profound edge. Many of these events, however, deserve to be revealed with lovely pictures and poetic words. And as my computer is… hibernating, I cannot do such entries justice. Oh – IT IS NOT DEAD! I just have jiggled the power cord input into a mess and haven’t yet had the nerve to attack the thing with jeweler’s screwdrivers. And a mallet. And unlike when my motherboard AND hard drive crashed, removing all the keys and cleaning out the feline hair with compressed air doesn’t seem like the answer.

And on a completely unrelated note, SHEESH! You could hang meat under this desk!!! I’m going to get hypothermia. (Stupid Windows machines.)

Let’s just cover something stupid I’ve done, then. There is ALWAYS a plethora of blunders from which to pick. And if my life’s misadventures entertain even ONE person, my mission is complete. Or something.

As evidenced by the fact that I have an ENTIRE category entitled “I fell down,” those who know me well are aware that I am capable an impressive variety of mishaps. This one is new. And for the sake of argument let’s rate things by the standard of “better than a poke in the eye” or NOT. This is NOT.

If you’ve not stopped reading already, I shall end the suspense and let you know what I did:
I lacerated myself (specifically the corner of my mouth) with food. Yes, FOOD.

In my defense, organic tortilla chips are DANGEROUSLY SHARP! And please consider the alarming sensation of the salsa that smothered the offending chip. ¡AY, CARAMBA! Nevertheless, I shall NOT write a strongly-worded letter to the organic tortilla chip people, because then they’d have to put a WARNING on the bag about the fact the chips should not be used as weapons, and it smacks of the kind of warning my mom and I were discussing the other day. She’d been reading the safety precautions for a hairdryer and one of the warnings was, and this is deadly serious: “DO NOT USE WHILE SLEEPING.” The thing is, they have to put these disclaimers because SOMEONE ACTUALLY DID WHATEVER THEY MENTIONED. So, no, I do not want to be the “BEWARE THE KNIFE-LIKE EDGES ON OUR CHIPS” person.

But here’s where I got into a quandary (mild, I will say, but a quandary nonetheless). This wound is NOT a cold sore or a fever blister. However, as it is right on the corner of my mouth, thus:

  1. You cannot really bandage it.
  2. Typical first-aid salves are not appropriate as they are not to be ingested – even accidently (in fact, POISON! POISON!!!).
  3. The sore constantly gets wet because one must STILL eat and drink.
  4. It still LOOKS like freakin’ herpes!

I tried a variety of remedies: Unrefined shea butter (lovely stuff, but better for HEALED wounds), Smith’s Rosebud Salve, a Burt’s Bees® “protective” product that evidently they don’t make anymore (never knew its intended use – the packaging is VAGUE, making me wonder now if it is intended for one’s – em – nether regions), Neosporin® Lip Health™ Overnight Renewal Therapy™, and no doubt I threw some Bag Balm® in there somewhere. I realized that over-moisturizing of the wretched sore was NOT really helping. I needed antiseptic. Or a face-lift.

I broke down and went to – you guessed it – the cold sore and fever blister section in the store. I shall restate that one. I sought out the CURES for cold sores and fever blisters in the store. I have NOT been suffering the “pain and itching associated with cold sores” so that wasn’t really any help; an analgesic wasn’t the point. I didn’t need the surprisingly expensive “quick” treatments with the “serious medicine.” And forgive me, “Herpecin-L” folks, but it seems like we’ve moved AWAY from naming the CURE after the DISEASE. At the very least you could append an “ANTI” to the beginning. I’m just not inclined to purchase, say, “Mysterious Rash or Boil” cream. I might be SLIGHTLY more likely to purchase “ANTI-Mysterious Rash and Boil” cream, but OY WEH! [DISCLAIMER: I have not purchased any variety of cream or salve in that category. Recently anyway.]

Anyhoo, this is what I finally chose:
Campho-Phenique

It’s inexpensive, it’s antiseptic, and I smell faintly like a ninety-two-year-old dowager. More importantly, it seems to be working. So HUZZAH for Campho-Phenique®!

Ooooh. That reminds me of my fondness for Tiger Balm Sports Balm (ULTRA-strength non-staining!). I carry oodles of tension in my shoulders and neck and I’m crooked (my BODY is crooked, this is NOT a statement of my ethical propensities… oh, never mind). I used to slather the stuff on. Suffice it to say it’s STRONG-SMELLING. One might say über-fragrant, in fact. This was NOT a popular choice with my erstwhile spouse. I personally think that sleeping in the same bed with someone who reeks so strongly of sinus-clearing vapours might be a GOOD thing, but I guess NOT.

Whilst Chasing a Kitten Child

12 Sep 2009 In: I fell down

Last night I ran – yes ran – into a tree. With my head. It knocked me off my feet.

I Finally Done BROKE* Sumpin’

12 May 2008 In: I fell down, LIVESTRONG

After a lifetime of contusions, bruises, rashes, scratches, cuts, abrasions, sprains, bumps and boo-boo’s, I’ve actually BROKEN SOMETHING. Yup, I have an oblique fracture of the fifth meta-tarsal. If the X-rays would scan, I’d show you (yes, I had copies made – ‘CAUSE HOW COOL). And what’s more, the physician, who was an expert in sports medicine, who just happened to be doing his one night of the week at the InstaCare, called me a “Stud.”

I think perhaps that should be a synonym for “Really Stupid.” In the first place, this injury occurred last Tuesday evening, right before I went in to teach my Tuesday night musical theatre class at the Barlow Arts Conservatory. I will talk about the Conservatory soon at which time I will praise and commend it at length. And I may even mention my upcoming guest appearance in the Annual Super-Duper Barlow Arts Conservatory recital in which I will be playing Miss Hannigan.

Anyhoo, I had donned my ballet slippers, as one wears dance shoes on the expensive dance floor; it’s the respectful thing to do. Besides, it places me in ridiculous Amazonian contrast to the wee tiny ballerinas in their pink slippers and matching ensembles. From the tiled lobby to the dance floor there is a difference of an inch or two between which there is a lovely sloped threshold. It was upon this threshold that, during a moment of “warm-up” – OKAY – horseplay, I fancied that I’d toss a lil’ jeté into my day. At this point I – and beware of this fancy medical vernacular – royally smushed my foot to bits (pronated it to pieces?). It wasn’t one of my weak ankles, as usual (which is why I own more than one ankle brace). It was my left foot itself.

The best part is that I just started that class and walked on my foot for at least half the time. I somehow managed to avoid the most strikingly painful moves. But when I removed my slipper (which ended up acting like a compressive device of sorts) I knew I’d done a doozy. I worked in health care long enough to learn my “R.I.C.E.” – Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation – so I iced, rested and elevated for a couple of days, limped on the thing to tour some potential short course venues, and then rested it some more… And OHHH the cool and migrating bruises.

Today, I taught my Monday musical theatre class in a grandly gimpy fashion. Then the ballet Moms scared me. They regaled me with tales of injuries of dancers who thought their breaks were just sprains, and then weeks later… Long story short (yes, too late as usual), I decided that I’d best get my foot checked out, especially since I am only insured until June 1st. Therefore, after x-rays and examination, I was deemed a stud for walking on a substantial break for almost a week. And were I an actual DANCER who had any excuse to be doing fancy-schmancy moves, I could take great comfort in the fact that this is one of the most common “dance” injuries. But I’m there as the VOCAL expert. So just call me Stupid Super Stud in my “Walking Boot.” Oh – and Clinton and Stacy would NOT approve of this footwear (particularly the fact that I own clunky enough shoes to match the height and chunkiness of the medical boot. Oh well.

*In Junior High it is extremely likely that I cracked my tail-bone (dancing in the garage with a bucket – SHUT UP), but one cannot do anything about that, so I never had it verified. I did sit funny for a few years…

Yes, I’m Talented Like That

25 Oct 2007 In: I fell down

That should probably be a category all on it’s own.

Did a bunch of this and that this week. Including, yes, a fair portion of self-abuse. I twisted my right ankle last weekend (not too badly).

I got an EXTRA helping of bruises as I climbed over my mountains o’ crap (DETRITUS!) looking for a stereo that I knew was there and the speakers. Turns out that the speaker was packed in one box, one speaker was packed in the humidifier box (I’d found the humidifier earlier and it was in something else’s box). The last speaker was the sneakiest component. I KNEW I’d seen it…SOMEWHERE. And boy howdy (that’s an expression – or it should be), I often wish I had a Sherpa to guide my through the piles of “SOMEWHERE.” Of course it was in the last place I looked (sheesh – what a ridiculous saying).

When my right ankle was feeling pretty much normal, I twisted the left one and hit my knee. This was one of my special “falling up the stairs” tricks. I’m so cool.

Oh, but, I’ve left the best for last. Last night, as I was maneuvering through my boxes and piles and such in the “pizza vomit carpet” storage room, I invented a spectacularly painful move. You see, you have to step/leap with a very wide stance (I’m uselessly limber, remember) over the big box of Tupperware. This puts you RIGHT ON the old doctor’s scale (you’d have to ask Charles how we managed to obtain that vintage piece). It does work – rather well, surprisingly – so if one is feeling saucy or daring or self-punishing (?) one can weigh one’s self that very moment.

Whether or not you’ve taken the time to determine your mass, you are now close to the tool box. This was what I wanted (not that I remember WHAT I WANTED FROM IT’S DEPTHS).

So I was back standing on the scale, and I went to take the giant step over the Tupperware box onto the tiny space of somewhat bare floor right in front of the door. Somehow, I lost my balance (everyone simultaneously in amazement – well, in my dreams). I did a lovely firm biff of my right shin on the edge of the Giant Tupperware Box of Death, and somehow that just threw me off my feet and forward. As there is not very much BLANK FLOOR SPACE, this means that I hit the door with my face. Yes, my FACE. At least I was wearing contacts; I just got my glasses fixed from the electronics flinging head-smashing debacle. Specifically, I hit my left cheek. HARD. Today it’s puffy and red. I don’t know if that’s because I prevented actual bruising when I iced it, or my self-abuse if sub-consciously designed to make me look as hideous as possible. Hard to say.

Alas!

8 Oct 2007 In: A Little HELP HERE?, I fell down, I Have Learned THE HARD WAY

My Powerbook is sick – VERY ill. It happened last night so suddenly; one minute my baby was perfect (as usual) and then – BLACK SCREEN. A spontaneously black screen on any computer is very disconcerting, needless to say. I won’t go elaborate on all the things I attempted to get it going again (switching batteries and power sources, etc., etc.).

I will say that Kate Logic™ (remember – like standard logic but with half the fat) dictated that since the screen was black (I could still hear a slight noise when I booted up that indicated SOME sort of processing – but no comforting boot-up “bong” – like that has anything to do with the keyboard), I removed all the keys and cleaned out as much cat hair and as many lint balls as I could. I got several bloody wounds in the course of this endeavor (what a surprise). This did not fix it. Even my life-blood did not fix it. The LIFE-BLOOD from MY VERY BODY.
Come on - IT'S SO COOL.

It looks like the image above, incidentally, except with a few lil’ dings and scars and such. Oh – and it doesn’t have the posh Intel Core 2 Duo processor in it like the newer models. This does not mean I love it any less.

And just so you know, I have NOT dropped it recently. The Guru’s reply the that statement was, “Recently??”

Speaking of the Guru, he has taken my precious baby home with him to try and fix it (because I cannot imagine that he has anything better to do). Bless him (again and again).

When I ponder this serious problem, I wonder if it has something to do with Murphy’s Law or Karma or wretched irony. Why? Because just the other day I was thinking, “I haven’t backed up my computer in a long time!” See?

Please, people around the World who may read this blog (even if it’s just two or five or nine of you), pray or meditate or send positive energy to my beloved Mac (whichever method floats you boat). I love it so (too much, no doubt – though I DO love my Kitten Children more)!

This entry was typed with much resentment towards Windows on a wretched PC.

Oh HELL.

16 Sep 2007 In: I fell down

I’ve already managed to make the “side-bar” the “bottom bar” and since there is already supposed to be a “footer” this mucks up EVERYTHING. Ugh.

  • Comments Off on Oh HELL.

This is riveting stuff, I assure you:

I was carrying my laptop under one arm, my cell phone under the other, and my big cup of water with the lid and the super-cool straw (all Tupperware®, of course) in my left hand (Janet would call that “my BaBa” – evidently you’re never too old).

I did not fall down the stairs. I did not fall up the stairs.

I reached the end of the downstairs hall (in a hurry?) where there are two doors – one to the right and one to the left. Then I did a fantastically spectacular gymnastic maneuver towards the floor -perhaps the ceiling? (well, the wall, really). Let us say I tripped over something. It’s possible – the Kitten Childrens’ scratching post is to the left. Their food mat is there, too. Air? VERY HEAVY AIR???

I hit my right knee on one edge of the right-hand door frame on my way down, flung everything up in the air -WHEEEEE – (including, remember, a large cup of water, which, despite having a lid, has a VERY LARGE HOLE FOR THE SUPER-COOL STRAW). Then I hit the right side of my head on the other side of the right-handed doorway. This bent the right ear-piece of my glasses (and hurt my ginormous head, I must say).

I spent one split second thinking, “WHAT THE…????” Didn’t even have time for proper sailor language. Then I RAN to get towels from the right-handed bedroom closet to dry off my two most beloved (well, I’d put my iPod in that ranking, too, but that was safely ensconced elsewhere) pieces of electronic equipment.

My phone still seems to work; that’s good. I shut down my laptop as fast as possible, dried it off and took the battery out (luckily it wasn’t wet inside there…). Now it is sitting on a very soft pillow in a dim, quiet room with the door closed while it is recuperating. I’m hoping for the best. It didn’t smoke or sparkle and still had normal screen images as I shut it down; I’m taking that as a good sign. Everyone please think healing thoughts for my beloved PowerBook.

In – what – two or three years Grettir managed to only put the tiniest dent on one side (which I couldn’t find for two weeks after I had the thing and then I had to wonder if I’d done it myself). I’ve made a lovely scratchy mark on the right side top already (yes, I’m right-handed – talk about your dominant sides) and another not far from that one.

I suppose what I’m saying is I’M TALENTED LIKE THAT.

Oh – and I did some sort of damage turning off the main water source to the house, but you mustn’t tell my Dad. First of all, I turned the water off (I’m so happy to have the valve IN MY ROOM) being snotty (for a good cause?). Secondly, my Dad takes that joke about engineers being “glorified plumbers” seriously. SERIOUSLY. He should not plumb, for the most part, I assure you. Secretly I will blame him for that faucet being in bad shape because he has turned it soooo hard that part of the knob has actually broken off.

Being a brilliant scientist he does not think the water in the house is off if you can turn on a faucet and ANY water comes out. My Mom and Shirleen and I have all tried to explain the logic of BLEED OFF – the idea that there is still water in the pipes that HAS TO COME OUT even AFTER you’ve turned the main valve off. He has never believed us. A MAN told him that one day and I swear he shouted, “EUREKA – what a brilliant thought? It never, EVER, EVER would have occurred to me!!! Why didn’t someone tell me that before?” As though he’d never heard such an amazing concept before. Argh.

I did learn something very important because of Labor Day. Well, I suppose it’s completely coincidental that I got “schooled” because of Labor Day (which I’m feeling too pissy to spell the cool “Labour” way), but then I can pretend it was part of a celebration.

As I need to take my glasses to be bent back into shape (I learned the lesson about trying to do that yourself a LONG time ago – during an era when every single time I set my glasses on the bad I assured myself I’d remember they were there and then I sat on them about forty-seven percent of the time – maybe even forty-nine percent. It’s the early-onset senility…) I took them off and had a nap. After taking some ibuprofen. I’m tellin’ you, that’s what you do.

And when I awoke, the magical shoemaker elves, as they didn’t have their normal duties today – it being Labor Day and all, had FIXED MY GLASSES. And as it was a holiday, they stuck around (instead of following their normal proclivities to mysteriously disappear leaving being many gorgeous pairs of Italian shoes in MY SIZE) to play some board games (they cheat, but they are so cute it’s just funny). I made some great hummus and we all had a snack and it was just the BEST TIME EVER.

And then I woke up with Kitten Child clear under the covers near my RIGHT FOOT – sooo very cute, but not an expensive Italian, custom-made shoe. Oh, leave me alone; I can dream (I wish I dreamt such nice things).

I went to put my contacts in. This is still a slightly tenuous process, as I’ve mentioned. Let me preface my next adventure by explaining that a day or so after I first got the contacts, they were bugging me a little (because of STICKING MY FINGER IN MY EYE ONE TOO MANY TIMES) and I called the optometrist to ask how I could tell if I’d put a contact in wrong-side out. The reply was a slightly impatient, “Well, can you SEE?” to which I answered in the affirmative (good thing, too, as I was driving at the time – conscientiously using my Bluetooth® headset). “Then they are in right.” I felt like I’d called and basically been told, “Duh, duh, duh – DUH DUH DUH, Dummy! Have a nice day.”

My eyes were a little sleepy/irritated, so I wasn’t entirely surprised when the right contact bothered me after I put it in. I put the left one in, and it was a little better. I took the right one out, my eye was still a little buggy, so I just put the contact back in. After five or ten minutes of blinking and wandering around closing one eye and then the other evaluating whether or not I could see (I could) I thought I’d better check the damn thing again.

Okay – BRILLIANT PEOPLE FROM THE OPTOMETRIST’S OFFICE – it was inside-out and I could still see (when I wasn’t blinking tears away or just blinking for FUN).
Happy Labor Day. Phhht.

I Am Still Learning

15 Jul 2007 In: I fell down, I Have Learned THE HARD WAY

I believe it was the great Michelangelo – or perhaps one of the other Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (not to be confused with Teenage Mutant Kitten Children) – who said something about you should learn all your life or there is always something to learn in and/or from your life or life = LEARN, LEARN LEARN. Who knows, as it was originally penned in Italian (possibly Latin, if he was trying to be posh).

Okay. Truth? I’ve seen so many resin-cast-to-look-like-old-engraved-stone replicas sporting this motto in my Mother’s vast catalog collection that I would be unfair of me to say that I could not find the quote:
Ancora Imparo

Yeah – he was being grandiloquent. And if you’d like to know what it means, please refer to the title of this post. I was very clever and put it right out there so that people might think that I was writing about a substantive topic. I’m guessing everyone knew better.

Ah – so what is it that I’m still learning? Apparently EVERYTHING. Indeed, is it not the life aspiration of most people to try all new things when they are in their late thirties? Come on!!! There may be some of you who would forewarn me that this is leading me down a slippery slope and that I am in great danger of pitching headlong into danger and/or oblivion. I would answer, “That’s immaterial.” (Why am I quoting myself while writing in the first person? Why am I asking myself rhetorical questions?) As most people know, I am perfectly capable of toppling over, stumbling, falling on my substantial ASSets and/or taking a header WITHOUT any sort of impediment in sight. What’s more, I mean ON THE FLAT, DRY GROUND.

  • I decide that my underwear doesn’t have to be white, black or beige/nude, and I end up with a very large hole in my pants strategically displaying my choice that very day to wear the knickers that say, “Wish on This!” across that back. You think I’m kidding?
  • I decide to dye my hair for the very first time… just search through my blog an you find five thousand entries about what that started (like this one).
  • Then we have my eyebrows. Never had I plucked them or waxed them. Having started, I have yet one more thing to “maintain.” (Here’s one of THOSE entries.)

I believe it was dear Pamela who suggested perhaps I go back and embrace my “hippy” proclivities (something to that effect). Unfortunately, it’s simply TOO LATE. Vanity is involved, now; jeopardy has been attached (who watches too many re-runs of Law and Order (all flavours)? Pas moi!). How else would I end up with major chemical burns because of INVISIBLE PEACH FUZZ?

By the way, just because it takes me more than 450 words to get to my point does not indicate that I do not have one. To get down to the heart of the matter – the crux, the pitch, the gist, the nitty-gritty (dirt band – sorry), the thrust, the substance – the purpose of this entry is to discuss my eyes.

My eyes are hazel, incidentally. That is neither here nor there, but I’ve always described them as “khaki with an amber ring around the iris.” No, it’s not poetic (especially if you pronounce “khaki” the British and/or Canadian way – that is to say, “CAR-KEY”). Also, they seem different colours depending on what hue I’ve donned. I have “mood” eyes.

ALRIGHT! The point is I had taken my “mood eyes” for a long-overdue eye appointment. Luckily my prescription has not changed THAT much in the interim (and it’s long – embarrassingly long) because the last time I changed prescriptions I had also waited too long and I got new glasses RIGHT before a big trip, and the glasses made me dizzy for two or three days. This truly enhanced my motion sickness plight.

I do have a slight astigmatism now. It makes me feel more urbane (grant me these tiny delusions, please – I ask for so little). Wow. I just realized I’d have to look at my prescription to realize in which eye it is…

SOOO, in the spirit of Ancora Imparo I also was fitted with my very first contact lenses. I was excited at the prospect of seeing my eyes looking all deceptively naked and such. And I dreamt oh-so-fancifully about a ridiculously handsome stranger being able to now “fall INTO” my eyes – unimpeded by anti-glare lenses for the myopic. To be sure, I am not rich, but my fantasy life can be.

Sometimes I feel self-conscious because I am a neophyte at certain things at the ripe old age of – well, any state of “maturity” that can be prefaced with “the ripe old age” should be self-explanatory. In other words, I figured that I’d have a little difficulty putting the lenses in and when you see thirteen-year-olds pop them in and out blind and lubricate them with saliva (at least I know THAT’S stupid) and all that, I thought I’d feel “impaired.”

Impaired ended up being an understatement. A VAST, GINORMOUS (just recently made it into the dictionary – so there!) understatement. The doctor was extremely kind and helpful, but I was unquestionably handicapped at successfully getting contact lenses ONTO MY EYEBALLS. He finally had to do it for me, taught me how to remove them, and then let me try again. Seventeen hours later (SLIGHT exaggeration), I was successful. Of course my eyes were practically swollen shut and so blood-shot that it looked like I’d been on a three-day (maybe week-long) bender.

Here’s my problem: I blink. Excessively. This is why many a photograph (for which I deign to pose) catches me with my eyes closed. Also, I’m fairly light-sensitive, therefore I blink to excess in the sun. My eyes are vulnerable, delicate…creatures.

Don’t mistake me, some people have difficulty touching their eyes; this is indubitably not my problem. You know that expression, “It’s better than a poke in the eye?” I often disagree. A poke in the eye is NUTHIN’. Given the choice, I’d oft choose a poke in the eye over the alternative. Yes, I can touch my eyes – I’ll poke myself in the eye right now if someone asked. There are those who claim I have ELBOWED others in the eye (for the record, I was ASLEEP – and that whole incident is the definition of the phrase “alleged assault” – no cooberating witnesses, no physical evidence).

No, I’m just Blinky McBlinkster. Sometimes I get the lense in right off the bat, sometimes I practically push my eyeball clear back into my skull, pull my finger back, and see that the contact is still ON MY HAND. That’s when the sailor language comes in.

This made it rather difficult on the occasion that three of the four children we were babysitting watched me put my lenses in one day – fascinated by the process despite the fact that BOTH their parents wear contacts – perhaps it’s because I let them touch them (the CONTACTS – not my eyes – though they’d have probably done less damage) – never fear, I re-sterilized the things. But I had to keep it CLEAN – my “potty” mouth, that is.

I AM learning. But if you see me with bloodshot eyes it’s no doubt my doing – DIRECTLY AND PHYSICIALLY.

There is also an “eye-opening” aspect to this whole affair. (ugh.) Most of it has to do with luggage. I like to joke th
at I always carry too much luggage (and that’s not just when I travel, that’s a day-to-day crack I like to make because I embarrass myself by carrying fifty-two or three bags everywhere I go (yeah, yeah – but it’s no fun if I don’t embellish a LITTLE)).

This little quip hit me very profoundly yesterday (I’d started to notice, but OH, THE DENIAL) as I sat down to have my stylist trim my hair. See, when you TAKE OFF YOUR GLASSES for this procedure you are granted a fortuitous amount of “airbrushed” effect on your reflection. With contacts, you must STARE IN THE LOOKING GLASS WITH CORRECTED SIGHT. That’s when you know, deep down in your heart, that the “luggage” joke can rightly be applied to the immense bags under your eyes.

Having been blissfully unaware of and not requiring (I THOUGHT) “under-eye concealer” all these years, it’s disturbing that I’m contemplating it now. Maintenance is a bitch.

Cheese Wisdom

“Oh, loneliness and cheeseburgers are a dangerous mix.”
— Matt Groening (1954- )
The Simpsons

Monthly Archives

Category Archives

In Memory Of