Steak Knives

I am sure all of you guys enjoy these stories. But, you may say, these stories are from years ago. What have you done to humiliate yourself lately? How can you say you are an idiot if you have learned your lesson? Well, number one: You are very presumptuous. Two: I am definitely still an idiot. And three: This story happened Friday night.

 

Being that it was a Friday night, I was out with my brother. (Where else would I be? A date? Ha!) We decided to go out to eat at the restaurant where I fell down a flight of stairs.  This restaurant is so fancy. It is the kind of place people go to dress up and celebrate milestones.

Actual balcony of the place.

Except my brother and I usually show up in shorts, flip flops, and dumpster t-shirts. Dumpster t-shirts are shirts my brother and I dig out of a dumpster near his house. It is almost solely the only thing I wear when I am not at work. And they are amazing.

 

But this restaurant does not treat us like the hobos we generally look like. And we always ask to sit outside. My brother, T, is loud as fuck and we generally discuss things that are inappropriate for polite society.

This is basically how we dress.

Friday night we were sitting out on the balcony. He doesn’t follow my blog so I was talking about my vagina post. Right before I said the word “vagina” our waiter walked up and I immediately stopped talking. He was new and I didn’t want to offend him.

 

But he seemed offended that I had stopped my conversation. So he dared me to continue my story. I started talking about vaginas again. The waiter stopped smiling and whipped his head around him, paranoid that someone else would hear. That’ll teach him to dare me to talk.

 

I ordered a steak and they brought me out a very fancy and sharp steak knife. It was a JA Henckels, which is the same brand I use at home. I can’t believe anyone trusts me with knives. Even myself, sometimes.

Look at these sharp little bastards.

When the steak came, the waiter decided to wait to make sure my steak was cooked properly. I hate having an audience when I am eating. I wish they would just walk away and come back or something.

 

In fact, I hate it even more when the manager comes over and asks how my meal was. You know what? If it was bad, you would already know. Let me eat in peace!

 

I cut a piece of meat, took a bite, and set my knife down on the side of my plate. What happened next was a series of events I could not possibly have predicted would happen.  Despite my ability to destroy everything.

 

I guess I put the knife too close to the edge of the table. It slipped off the table and clattered onto the balcony floor. Before I could even begin to reach for it, it slid between the wrought iron fence railings and onto the awning below us.

 

I breathed a sigh of relief. Sure, it was out of my reach. But at least it was on the awning and hadn’t hurt anyone. In fact, it was probably for the best that it was out of my reach.

 

And then, in slow motion, I watched in helpless horror as it slid off the awning and down into the busy parking lot below. Where we were seated over the entrance to this fancy and popular restaurant. On a Friday night.

20141010_185235

Here is the whole set up. The table edge, the balcony, the awning, the parking lot below. And of course my sexy, sexy knee.

I didn’t even think to call out to warn the people below. I just sat there, struck dumb at the improbability of the whole thing.

 

Thankfully, it landed harmlessly on the asphalt. As soon as I saw I wasn’t going to inadvertently murder someone I began to laugh. I still had a piece of steak in my mouth, I had forgotten it was there in my moment of suspense. Now I was laughing so hard, I couldn’t chew it.

 

I could not stop laughing through the rest of our meal.

 

As we were leaving, I approached the manager. “Hello.” I said innocently.

 

He looked at me and squinted. “Why do I know you?”

 

“I fell down your stairs last year.” I explained.

 

“Oh, that’s right. How are you?” He eyed me up and down, looking for signs of my ailing back.

 

“Well, I feel fine but I just dropped a steak knife off your balcony so I am pretty sure I am going to be banned from here at some point.”

 

He laughed. “But nobody was hurt. So it’s okay.”


I walked out to the parking lot and looked up at where I had been sitting. I learned an important lesson. I should not be trusted near ledges. And I should never sit over the entrance of that building ever again.

The Time I Ruined Christmas

I was never what you might call a sickly child. I mean, I was accident prone. And suffered from horrible migraines. But I was never one to get ill. Probably due to my studious avoidance of germs.

Oh, but they are so precious!

However, the winter I was 16, I got seriously ill. I didn’t realize it then, but in retrospect, I had the flu. All I knew then was that I was exhausted, miserable, achy, weak. I thought I just had a bad cold. It was during Christmas break, which is really the cruelest time to be sick as a kid.

 

I was already a very thin child. I think when I was 16 was right around the time my pediatrician told my mother and I that I was unhealthily thin and would need to gain at least 30lbs to be considered a healthy weight. And being so sick meant I had lost even more weight.

 

I couldn’t keep anything down. I was disgusted by even the smell of food. I was 6’1” and now weighed about 110lbs with the 10lbs I had lost during my bout with the flu.

 

After a few days of the sickness, I started having trouble walking. My brother would have to help to the bathroom. And bring me drinks and soup. When I am sick I can usually only keep down three things: ginger ale, frozen lemon-lime gatorade, and chicken soup.

 

 

 

 

Also, this is the only acceptable ginger ale. I wont even drink anything else.

My brother and I were very close and he began joking that nobody was going to come to visit because I was so sick. I had ruined Christmas. At no point did my parents take me to see a doctor, though they almost definitely should have.

 

One night, I woke up in the middle of the night. I was hot and miserable and dying of thirst. I’m sure I was also getting extremely delirious. It was late and I didn’t want to wake my brother up. Also, I hated having to be waited on by him. So I decided, once again like an idiot, to go and get myself a drink. Downstairs.

 

I slipped  out of bed like I was drunk and stumbled down the hall and to the top of the stairs. At no point did I think it was a bad idea, but then, things rarely seem to be a bad idea at the time. I grabbed a firm hold of the railing and began carefully making my way down the stairs.

 

And then I was picking myself up from the bottom of the stairs. I didn’t even realize I had fallen down them until the next day. I walked through the living room and into the kitchen. The whole thing felt like a fever dream.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Another of my favorite short stories of his. He was truly an amazing writer.

I got a nice cold bottle of frozen Gatorade out of the freezer. And then I was picking myself up off the kitchen floor. I didn’t realize I had passed out for a second time. It didn’t even seem weird that I kept being on the ground.

 

In my head I was just like “Oh, I seem to be lying down. Well, no time for that!” And then I would get back up again.

 

I went to walk through the swinging gate separating the living room and the kitchen. And then I was lying on the ground with my mother’s 70lb sewing machine on top of me. I was tangled up in cords. It was like being wrapped in the tight grip of an attacking boa constrictor.

 

 

 

 

This loud, heavy bastard.

My father was standing over me and I was fighting him off with what little strength I had left. Which wasn’t much. I was pathetic.

 

He helped me up and I noticed that one of the swinging doors was off it’s hinges and the other side was cracked in half and dangling at a crazy angle. I looked at my father and pointed at the doors. “Why did you break that?”

 

I was confused and disappointed. I had really liked those doors. I liked pretending I was a gunslinger from an old Western walking into a saloon, looking for a fight. I would take the remote from the living room, or a thin paperback book and tuck it into the waistband of my pants to represent my gun. (I still do this in my apartment, but it is with my cell phone more often than my remote).

1960 1960'S animated GIF

Yeah, I am this hard. Only with a cell phone. In my underpants.

My father gave me a long, strange look and sent me back upstairs to bed.

 

When I woke the next morning. I was in agony. I felt like I had been in a fight. Which I had. With the stairs, and the kitchen floor, and the swinging doors and my mother’s sewing machine, and the power cords, and my father. And I had lost every single one of them.

 

I had a long black bruise from the middle of my shoulder all the way down to my elbow from where the sewing machine had fallen on me. The machine was not damaged at all.

 

People did come for Christmas two days later. I started feeling better. In every picture from that day I look impossibly thin, pale and exhausted, and with a kick ass bruise. Christmas wasn’t ruined after all. But those swinging doors definitely were.

April Search Terms

Guys, I have had a shitty week both emotionally and healthwise. I had really only planned to do one post about my search terms. But I think it is going to turn into a monthly segment. Because this shit is amazing. And reading them made me feel better. And I haven’t written anything because I am working too much this week too.

 

Thank you for the search terms. I love all you weirdos.

 

Nacho Taco Bell- I keep hoping that if I talk about them often enough, they’ll talk back to me.

 

Chest Pain Felt Through the Back- This sounds serious. Probably something for 911 instead of Google.

 

Speculum- Have I ever even talked about speculums? Probably, actually. Knowing me. I always thought they looked like guns.

 

 

 

Pew! Pew!

 

Urination- I bet my mother would be so proud.

 

I got off the toilet and I got back pain- Listen, I may be old and falling apart. But I’m not at the point where I injure myself in bathroom related incidents. Yet. I swear, I really did fall down a flight of stairs. Sober.

 

Sex videos I wanted to fuck the meter reader- Should I be flattered? Concerned? I feel like I am disappointing so many people with the lack of porn on my blog.

 

I like fairies- I think we all do, my friend.

 

Back pain after falling down stairs- There were several variations on this. Story of my life right there.

 

Dogs breath smells rotting potatoes- Lots of things smell like rotting potatoes on the internet, apparently.

 

Sexy math- ALL math is sexy math

 

Cute Billy Boyd- I keep hoping if I talk about him often enough, he’ll talk back to me. Sorry for disappointing whoever was expecting to see some pictures of Billy Boyd. But let me make up for it now.

 

 

 

Sexy neaud (sic) doctor fingering pics- I don’t get the sexy part. Or the horrible spelling part.

 

I watched as my little sister peed in the cup- I think we’ve all been there. Or is that just me and this searcher?

 

I miss my period for a month and when I use the washroom I am passing sherik (sic) of blood sometimes- Once again, probably something for 911 instead of Google. I don’t know how much a sherik is, but it sounds dangerous. And vaguely Middle Eastern.

 

My character crush is fucked up- I am kind of offended this took you here. YOUR crush might be fucked up, but mine is totally normal.

 

How to stick a suppository up my boyfriend’s ass- The same way you’d stick anything else up his ass, it’s pretty self explanatory.

 

Naked woman that’s had heart surgery- Um…I’m not naked. At least as far as you know.

 

Gag sister story- Wow. Yeah. I’ve never gagged my sister. I don’t think I have ever even talked about gags. I mean, till now.

 

Fucking a stuffed animal that came to life- This is possibly illegal and you should take way less drugs before fucking your stuffed animal/actual animal. Or is this an idea for a movie, like that Mannequin movie? Because it is still kind of horrifying.

 

I need to die but can’t- Don’t worry, you will definitely eventually die. Unless you are immortal. Please be immortal.

 

Publix is shit- No it isn’t. You are wrong ma’am or sir. Publix is amazing.

 

Ingering (sic) gives me pain on the hip bone- I keep saying this in a sing song-y voice in my head. I like it. Thank you.

 

Male teenage suppository administration stories- I really feel like this more oddly specific porn searches.


Underwear for hematoma- It would be really cool if they had underwear that looked like you had a hematoma. Right? It’s going on my list of money making schemes.

 

 

Back Pain

It was a warm and rainy Sunday night. My brother and I had made an innocent plan to have dinner together at one of our favorite restaurants. This restaurant is above another restaurant, up a flight of stairs.

We went up the outdoor staircase and saw that this restaurant was closed on Sundays. Disappointed, we turned and headed back down. About halfway down the stairs I slipped on the wet stone and fell down about half a flight.

falling down stairs

Me, only less breakdance-y.

I landed on my left wrist and tailbone. Hard. My right wrist was caught in the railing as I actually had been holding on to the bannister when somehow I fell.

When I landed, I was in so much pain that I couldn’t think or even breathe. My necklace broke and I watched as a piece of turquoise tumbled down the steps to the landing below.

My brother put his arms around me and I (like a total ass) yelled at him, “Don’t touch me!”

I sat there for a minute trying to decide if I was ready to just give up on life and just die right there. A car turning out of the lot pulled over and the people asked if I was alright. Turns out they had seen me fall. Excruciating pain with a side of humiliation, thank you.

When I decided to continue living I got up and figured I could walk it off. I was tough. And I had muscle relaxers. I figured the pain would be bearable by the time I went back to work on Tuesday. It wasn’t.

I tried to get some sympathy from my co-workers. But they are all men. My boss gave me his classic response to “rub some dirt on it.”

So I went to my doctor and he sent me to get an X-Ray and then an MRI. Turns out I had herniated a disc on my lower back and had a second one that was bulging.  He prescribed some drugs for the pain and a steroid pack.

herniated-disc-mri

Totally what my back looks like.

Take that, co-workers! I was in real pain over here. I had an official diagnosis and everything.

I had taken several steroid packs in the past for strep throat so I didn’t think anything of it. I started taking the drugs my doctor prescribed.

After two days of steroids I came home from work and took my shirt off to take a shower. My entire chest was a bright and angry red. I walked out of the bathroom and flashed my roommate.

She asked if I had gotten a sunburn. I told her I didn’t see how I could have through my shirt and bra. I decided I was having an allergic reaction to the steroids and stopped taking them.

The next day I began to feel sharp shooting pains in my chest. This is a particular cause of concern to me as I have had five heart surgeries. That’s when I decided it was time to go to the hospital.

I made the drive to what I consider to be “my” hospital. And sat in the ER waiting area for several hours. Despite my history of heart problems, they didn’t seem particularly concerned about my chest pains. They never even did an EKG while I was actually feeling the pains.

While I was waiting I noticed a nurse working the ER waiting area. I couldn’t tell if the nurse was male or female. He/she was cute either way. I sat watching him/her for a long time trying to figure it out. Then I realized it didn’t really matter as I was attracted to him/her.

The floor doctor decided to admit me over night. But I threw a major fit and demanded to have another EKG. The cute nurse came over and told me she (yes, she) would be administering it but that I needed to be patient.

Instead I yelled at her and made her stop what she was doing and give me an EKG right then as I was currently feeling the sharp shooting pains. She was very sweet and took me to a private room. Everything turned out to be fine. I asked to be released, which the floor doctor was all too happy to allow after my irrational explosion.

At this point I idiotically decided I had nothing left to lose and found the cute nurse and gave her my number. I figured she’d already seen me naked from the waist up and knew what she’d be getting into. She very graciously accepted my number, which I definitely would not have in her position. But she never called, not surprisingly.

And that’s how I managed to be complete dick to the first girl I ever decided to hit on. And then  somehow still think I had a chance with her.