I've got a whopper for you, folks. I'm sitting in the grass by Old Main right now, waiting for the shuttle to take me back to my apartment so I can change into my pj's and gawk at the numerous bruises and cuts which I know I will find under my clothes. Did I trip today, you ask? No. But, man, did I eat it.
I was on my bike, pulling onto the bike lane from the dirt path in front of the Chemistry building, when disaster struck in full force. My front tire didn't make it up the small bump onto the sidewalk. It caught, sending it (and me) soaring across the pavement and into the sharp rocks on the other side. Let me tell you, this fall literally blew me right out of my shoes. Really, they flew. Almost as if they had tiny wings. Like a fairy. If I'd been wearing socks, I'm sure they would've been knocked off, too.
(One day later)
Needless to say (then why am I saying it, you ask? Why, to annoy you, of course), I was somewhat reluctant to mount my bike this morning. You'll be sad to know (or happy, depending on how sadistic you are), I've got nasty bruises galore. It's actually rather impressive - my left knee bears a remarkable resemblance to an unripened plumb. The world seems to know it, too; I can't tell you how many times my knees have been bumped, jarred, and veritably pummeled. Small whimpers abounded. In hindsight, I suppose arriving early to a class of over 200 and choosing and isle seat wasn't the best plan. But what else is a lefty to do?
Stay upright, dear readers, and have a wonderful day!
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Tripping on NyQuil
Wow - haven't posted in a while. Blame it on a series of uninteresting events. I caught a nasty cold this week. Cough, sore throat, fever, face leaking all manner of fluids - the whole nine yards. You can just imagine what a sight I am to behold. Or maybe you'd rather not, I can't say I fault you.
Over the course of this illness, I've done a good deal more tripping than is even the norm for me. Hard to believe, I know. I thought I'd share a couple of the good ones with you. Strangely enough, both of them coincided with the presence of one Chelsea Schlittenhart (yep, same first name - she's my evil twin). I honestly couldn't tell you what day of the week the first one occurred; I suppose that's what I get for going Rip Van Winkle for the past few days. Anyhoodles, onward we go.
I had decided one night to head over to Chelsea's apartment for some steaming tea and a chat. I made it all the way across the complex, up the stairs, and to Chelsea's door with no trouble. It seems my feet are awfully shy about functioning properly around others; I never seem to trip when I'm alone. She pulled open the door and welcomed me inside. I don't think she was expecting me to make such a dramatic entrance. I stepped (or rather, fell) inside, leaving my right foot behind, caught on the small bump of the doorway's threshold. It's a good thing Chelsea was standing to the side, otherwise we may have gotten a bit cozier than either of us had intended. Perhaps her subconscious mind knows me well enough to keep a precautionary tripping distance of at least two feet.
Thursday morning (I've got this one - Thursdays are usually memorable), Chelsea and I were walking to Animal Science. We had a half hour before class, so Chelsea asked if I wanted to hit Starbucks. I'd taken NyQuil the night before and was still in a bit of a stupor, so my response was something to the effect of: "I would KILL for Starbucks." I proceeded to stumble into the street toward the entrance without checking for cars. Luckily, I realized what I was doing before getting turned into road pizza. Chelsea's reaction: "You would kill for Starbucks, not be killed. Big difference." True, my evil twin, very true.
Starbucks in hand, Chelsea and I continued our trek. At the next street crossing, my right Converse caught on some invisible crack in the sidewalk (there seem to be an awful lot of those here at the UA) and I shot forward, sloshing a good amount of my Pumpkin Spice latte (AKA Liquid Gold) on my jacket and hand. However, the burning desire (pun intended...sorry) to save the rest of my latte kept me from going all the way down. Now, if I can just develop as strong a drive for self-preservation...
Over the course of this illness, I've done a good deal more tripping than is even the norm for me. Hard to believe, I know. I thought I'd share a couple of the good ones with you. Strangely enough, both of them coincided with the presence of one Chelsea Schlittenhart (yep, same first name - she's my evil twin). I honestly couldn't tell you what day of the week the first one occurred; I suppose that's what I get for going Rip Van Winkle for the past few days. Anyhoodles, onward we go.
I had decided one night to head over to Chelsea's apartment for some steaming tea and a chat. I made it all the way across the complex, up the stairs, and to Chelsea's door with no trouble. It seems my feet are awfully shy about functioning properly around others; I never seem to trip when I'm alone. She pulled open the door and welcomed me inside. I don't think she was expecting me to make such a dramatic entrance. I stepped (or rather, fell) inside, leaving my right foot behind, caught on the small bump of the doorway's threshold. It's a good thing Chelsea was standing to the side, otherwise we may have gotten a bit cozier than either of us had intended. Perhaps her subconscious mind knows me well enough to keep a precautionary tripping distance of at least two feet.
Thursday morning (I've got this one - Thursdays are usually memorable), Chelsea and I were walking to Animal Science. We had a half hour before class, so Chelsea asked if I wanted to hit Starbucks. I'd taken NyQuil the night before and was still in a bit of a stupor, so my response was something to the effect of: "I would KILL for Starbucks." I proceeded to stumble into the street toward the entrance without checking for cars. Luckily, I realized what I was doing before getting turned into road pizza. Chelsea's reaction: "You would kill for Starbucks, not be killed. Big difference." True, my evil twin, very true.
Starbucks in hand, Chelsea and I continued our trek. At the next street crossing, my right Converse caught on some invisible crack in the sidewalk (there seem to be an awful lot of those here at the UA) and I shot forward, sloshing a good amount of my Pumpkin Spice latte (AKA Liquid Gold) on my jacket and hand. However, the burning desire (pun intended...sorry) to save the rest of my latte kept me from going all the way down. Now, if I can just develop as strong a drive for self-preservation...
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