As most people are aware, a bucket list is a list of things you want to do before you die. I have started one, but I also think an anti-bucket list is just as important. This would be a list of things you have no desire to waste your time on, so you can focus on your actual bucket list. Here’s my list so far:
- Sky dive
- Bungee jump
Remove a large chunk of flesh from my body
UH OH I MESSED UP. While cutting vegetables yesterday for a large batch baking session, the knife slipped and cut a chunk off my thumb. I didn’t take a picture, partially because the blood on my hands would have made it a challenge, but mostly due to my respect for you minions. I doubt you want to see the inner workings of my thumb, plus that seems oddly private.
Hubby of course instantly raced to the rescue. He was calm and comforting, and has even checked on me a bunch today. I think he’s getting used to my catastrophic injuries. He should probably just enroll in a first aid class, just to be safe.
Currently, I’m walking around with a giant bandage on my thumb, unwillingly approving of everything, and attempting to get my work done like Radar O’Reilly on MASH. (I know how you kids love your topical references! Stay tuned for more fresh as a daisy pop culture jokes!) So far I’m surviving with the loving care of my Hubby and my buddy Franzia. No one else seems surprised or sympathetic. When I tell people what happened they give me a look that says “It was only a matter of time”. It’s hard not to be insulted, but I see their point. Feel free to send me sympathy gifts.
Just as I had published this post about my clumsiness, I had a frightening experience. I was in the kitchen preparing to make some eggs for Hubby and I. This is where it gets stupid. The gas burner was on, and I decided to spray some Pam cooking spray into the frying pan so the eggs wouldn’t stick. Guess what’s a terrible idea? Spraying aerosal fat through the air near an open flame.
A huge gout of flame flashed up in front of me, then vanished.
No one was injured, and nothing caught fire. I didn’t even lose an eyebrow, although it feels like I might have gotten a sunburn. I was really lucky I didn’t burn my face off, or the can of Pam didn’t explode and kill me. I was really freaked out, and Hubby came and gave me a hug. He’s so sweet. He did run off and hide as soon as I started cooking, though.
I’m really grateful I didn’t start the new year by melting my face off like an Indiana Jones Nazi. That would have been terrible. So learn from my mistakes, and keep anything with a spray nozzle away from the stove top. As a result of all this, Hubby has given me a new nickname: Scorch.
I am constantly injuring myself through clumsiness, and I have decided to start documenting these incidents. Not only will it give me an idea how often I’m actually doing this, but, let’s face it, it’s just good blogging. The posts where I’ve done something idiotic seem to be the most popular, so this is all for your entertainment.
12/9/11: I was trying to refill the paper towels at work. In the midst of unwrapping a new role, I started to drop it. Rather than just catch it, I super-panicky caught it, as though it were made of glass. In the process, inadvertently slapped the copier so hard a piece popped off. I managed to reassemble it, and refill the paper towels, but now a couple of my finger tips are numb.
12/9/11: (about an hour later) Gave myself a horrific paper cut on my right pinky knuckle. It now itch/burns. Both of these injuries were to my right hand.
12/9/11: (about 30 minutes later) While washing my bowl in the sink, I started to drop it (it maybe early, but I think I see a pattern emerging). I tried to catch it, and in the process bent my left thumb nail waaaaayyy back. It hurt. This is not looking good so far.
Ok, I was out of commission due to Hubby The Human Disease Machine, but here’s a few highlights:
12/20/11: At work I banged the top of my head on the cabinets, and home I dropped the footstool so that it scraped the back of my heel, and I slipped on the stairs, causing me to break a nail.
12/21/11: At 12:30 I banged my head into a metal shelf. Not hard, but hard enough to hate myself.
12/25/11: While cooking with Mi Madre I burned my knuckle on the side of a hot frying pan and gave myself a tiny blister.
The last recorded injury of December is a mystery scratch down my right ring finger. I have no idea how I got it, but it smarts like the dickens no matter what I’m doing.
Overall, it doesn’t seem that bad, but I know there’s a lot of stuff that occurred that didn’t make it to the blog. I guess I really do need to be more careful. Or just wear an entire padded outfit at all times. Happy New Year!
I have been having a weird couple of weeks. It seems like random, slightly unpleasant events keep occurring. That, in and of itself, is not unusual for me, but things have been happening so frequently that I’m starting to wonder if I slipped through a hole in the space-time continuum. Maybe I’m in a parallel dimension that’s very similar to my own, but in which dishes jump off counters, fruit trees have no fruit, and I’m a pirate.
First of all, the other day I was just walking through my bedroom, just like normal. Somehow I smashed my left foot into my bed. I tend to trip on things, and bump into things a lot, but this was horrific. It is still hurting, 5 days later, and it was hugely swollen, with weird purple spots (See?!? Even bruises are weird in this dimension!). The ironic part is, a large portion of my left foot is numb at all times, due to a pinched nerve in my back. Did I smash the numb part? Of course not. So I’ve been hobbling around like a wicked crone in a fairy tale.
A week or so ago, I went to my dentist for a normal cleaning. Did it work out with a pat on the back and a free toothbrush? I’m not that lucky. First of all, I got a COUPON for a toothbrush. What? I depend on the dentist to supply all my travel sized dental equipment. A coupon for a normal sized toothbrush doesn’t help me. I already have dozens of them laying around at home. Second of all, my nice, young dentist, from my same hometown was gone. Instead, I have the love child of Stone Cold Steve Austin and Mr. Clean. He was polite, but intimidating. Turns out that one of my fillings from last year needs to be replaced (he wouldn’t say if it was done incorrectly before), and he wanted to give me a GOLD tooth. Granted, it would be way in the back, and I do love pirates, but still. My insurance company decided that if I was going to have the fun of being a pirate, I had to pay for a large chunk of it myself, so normal filling it is. That whole experience was not fun, but I’m sure everyone knows what it’s like, so I won’t force any of us to relive the horror that is the dentist’s chair.
Right now, in my kitchen, there is the inexplicable sound of water running. I have checked the sink, under the sink, the outside hoses, the water heater, the water heater downspout outside, and the sink upstairs. Hubby has checked it all too, and we cannot find anything. It’s like Chinese water torture, but instead of dripping on my head, it’s giving me visions of water building up inside the walls, slowly destroying my home, and everything I love.
As always, Hubby and I are constantly trying to lighten the workload around the house and be more ecofriendly, when possible. Our dishwasher is tempermental at best, and we were having to rewash things at least twice. We decided that if we each had one bowl and one plate, we would just use them, and hand wash them ourselves. This way, the dishes don’t stack up, and no one gets resentful having to wash up the gross dishes the other person leaves with food on them in the sink rather than just rinsing them. 3 guesses who does that. We went to the thrift store and picked out one each. The whole system was working great. There were a very small number of dishes each day that we easily hand washed. Then, somehow, my bowl jumped out of my hand and committed suicide. It exploded across the kitchen, scaring the crap out of me and Flapjack. I cleaned it up, and everything returned to normal, but now more dishes are appearing. I decided I would just use one of the bowl we had, but they must be multiplying on the counter. It’s bizarre.
More of the Strange World of Clever Chick in Part 2: Seriously, call Stephen Hawking