on clumsiness and being a puppy at the park: a recap of the weekend

It finally happened. I fell down my own stairs.

Let me give you some background. Remember in the blog I wrote about being a Sagittarius, I said I was clumsy? That’s not a joke, people. I am the running joke amongst the crew for my graceless escapades, however. I fall up stairs, I fall down stairs, I walk into things, I trip all the time…Here are some highlights:

  • The time I fell down the stairs when I was 8 months pregnant. Talk about a shocker! (haha)
  • The time this weekend when I missed the chair and hit the floor (not without assistance, but more on that later)
  • The time when I tripped on perfectly level pavement and fell on my face on the sidewalk in front of my work.
  • The time when I was heading to the bathroom through a crowd of people sitting at tables and talking, and I bit it on the little ramp meant for people in wheelchairs. I loves me an audience!
  • The time when I was walking and looking at the sidewalk (because I try not to step on cracks) and I walked smack into a signpost.
  • The time I walked out of the ladies’ at the Swiss (which was right next to the crowded dance floor) and slipped on the ONE STEP that leads from the bathroom to the floor. I think I cried on that one, I was so embarrassed. And I fucked up the top of my foot (which gives you an idea of how awkward the fall was).

There’s more, but you get the picture.

So for the 75% you who have never come to my house, I have some steep-ass stairs leading from the down stairs to the top floor. I’m talking, super steep. So just now I’m walking down them to go get a water, and half-fell, half-slid from about midway down to the very bottom. My elbow now hurts, thanks. If I could find a picture of what I might have looked like, I would post it here.

Anyway, on to the recap.

My under-construction tattoo got me into some sticky situations this weekend. First, at the bar, I’m standing there talking to the karaoke dude, and suddenly my shoulder is grabbed and I’m wrenched around so this drunk girl can have a gander at my back. Her voice is also braying in my ear about “Who are you letting do this to you!?!? This is baaaaaaad! What is going on here?”

So I yank my shoulder out of her choke hold and turn around, and she’s like, thisclose to my face. My back is against the bar, and this chick is like, three inches taller than me which puts her ginormous perky boobs like RIGHT under my chin.

Now if I was a guy, I would appreciate being in that position for about two seconds, but I had two things going on in my head right then:

  • First. I have a space bubble. A very clear, well-defined, and generous space bubble. I fucking hate close-talkers. They are devil-spawn. Seriously. They have no idea how badly I want to punch them in the mouth, especially when my back is up against something and I cannot get away.
  • Second. You nevernever, NEVER insult someone’s tattoo. You might think it, you might tell your friends how much it sucks, you might have a little chuckle at that person’s expense, but you never, never, never insult it to their face. One very sensible reason being, that if they have tattoos, they can handle pain. Which in turn means that if hurting you means they might get hurt too, they’re likely not to mind very much.

So then this conversation ensues, while Drunked Bitch is looking at me mournfully with these big brown eyes that under other circumstances might have been pretty, but just then were like perfect targets for my fingers:

DB: Oh…oh. What is this? Who are you having do this? (At which point she grabs my shoulder again and tries to turn me back around. I take her hand off my shoulder and hold it out to the side, in order to prevent further violation of my person.)

2N: I’m sorry, who are you? And what the fuck are you talking about?

DB: Oh well I just saw your tattoo and I thought it was a tidal wave and my boyfriend used to be in tattoos and I just was worried because it doesn’t look like a tidal wave and it should, right? Isn’t it supposed to be a tidal wave? Because it doesn’t look right and my boyfriend used to be in tattoos. And I was just worried. (At which point she tries grabbing me with her other hand. So I held her at arms length and moved out away from the bar, so I could get some fucking space.

2N: Stay there. No, it’s not a tidal wave. No, it’s not finished. And thanks for letting me know your thoughts, but I’m going to be okay.

DB: Oh it’s not? Because I thought it was. I thought it was a tidal wave…(and tries grabbing me again. I step back, now that I have room.)

2N: Right, I get that you thought it was a tidal wave. So thanks for expressing your concern.

DB: Well are you going to get it finished? Because I think you should get it finished.

2N: Yes. I am going to get it finished. I get a little finished as I have the time, and the money.

DB: He’s making you pay for it before he’ll finish it? I think you should just have him finish it. Just tell him to finish it.

2N: No, I am making me pay for it before he’ll finish it. But I’ll let him know your thoughts.

It’s now starting to filter through the alcoholic haze clouding her brain that perhaps I’m not exactly pleased with her and that perhaps she’d better back pedal. Unfortunately, however, in her attempts to make up, she keeps moving closer and closer and I keep backing up and backing up. She starts telling me about how beautiful it’s going to be, making random attempts to grab my shoulder again, when finally the karaoke dude calls my name to sing. I cut her off mid-apology and thank her for her time, then take my place at the mike and proceed to sing “Son of A Preacher Man”. On my way back to my seat, she leans out to give me a high five. I rock.

I think I showed remarkable restraint. Thoughts?

This has already been like a four page blog, but the other situation I can’t recount exactly as it happened because this guy was spouting off so much crap that I couldn’t even remember half of what he said. All I can remember is, it was a basic outline of what his tattoo is going to be, something about the cycles of the moon, etc etc etc, and his last comment, which was “People tell me I make their brain hurt.”

Meanwhile: me, the cashier, the cart guy, and various other shoppers are experiencing that camaraderie that comes of being common witnesses to a human train wreck. No one really knows what’s going on, but everyone is kinda amused, kinda creeped out, and the cart guy is making sure that crazy guy leaves the store before I do because who knows? Dude might follow me to my car where I might die of boredom hearing him talk more about hurting people’s brains and the cycles of the moon.

Why is it that having a tattoo makes you fair game for anyone who wants to touch you, grab you, or rape your ears with detailed descriptions of the tattoos they want to get or their opinions of yours?

I re-read and realized that I said “more on that later” about the missing-the-chair-and-hitting-the-floor episode. Basically, after the abovementioned conversation with DB, I am standing next to the table, across from which is 1T. I was trying to move the chair in a little, or out, or something, (I was a little tanked) and he pulled his foot back, which caught on the chair…the net result being, that just as I was sitting down, the chair is yanked out from under me and I find myself in free-fall to the ground. Much horrified laughter ensues, I get some assistance in standing…but the priceless moment was seeing the expression of half-hilarity and half-“oh shit what did I do?” on 1T’s face. It made up for him making me bleed. Almost.

post-me-hitting-the-floor. good times.

post-me-hitting-the-floor. good times.

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