Because sometimes a status update just isn't enough.

Because sometimes a status update just isn't enough.

04 March 2013

The One With Humpty Dumpty

It happened again today.

For the third time in two weeks.

The first two were epic but not entirely original... I've totally done it before.

But today's?

Today's was legendary.

It looked kind of like this:

Only without skates, a short skirt, or someone else to blame.

And it happened in the parking lot of the busy government building where I work.


There was no way in hell I could casually get back up on my feet and pretend it never happened.


I'm pretty sure I broke something.

I arrived at work with barely seconds to spare (because I function amazingly well under extreme amounts of pressure).  

(No, really... I deliberately run late just to test myself.  It has nothing to do with me procrastinating, lolly-gagging around the house in my sweats drinking coffee until the last possible moment, or the fact that I don't bother figuring out what I'm going to wear until 8 seconds before it's time for me to leave the house.  It's all about honing my reflexes and keeping myself on my toes.  Because I'm an adrenaline junky.  I do this because it's cheaper than sky diving or bungee jumping.)

I grabbed up all my shit (tote bag, purse, phone, coat, super hero cape, Ninja ID card) and leaped out of the car with the total intent of flying across the parking lot like a speeding bullet...

And then?

It happened.

My (adorable suede cowboy) boot clad foot hit a patch of ice that was cunningly covered by innocent looking snow and shot out from under me.  I motored myself forward by making huge windmills with my arms, determined to fight gravity and win.  The propelling motion of my arms caused my coat, my tote, and my purse to fly in three different directions across the parking lot (and it doesn't even bear mentioning that my purse was unzipped and my tote was unfastened, which allowed the contents therein to take their own journey through the time/space continuum).  After an excruciatingly long battle with gravity (which all took place in slow motion) I wiped. the fuck. out.


My right knee made contact with the ice covered pavement at precisely the same moment that my head cracked against the floorboard of my car.  (Yes, my door was still opened.  I am like a whirlwind, I am, when I exit a vehicle 2 seconds before it's time for me to clock in.  You can't even see me, I move that quickly.  All you see is my aura, which is always startled by this phenomena and stays behind for a few seconds thinking, "What the...??")


My foot twisted, my ankle crunched, my head rang, my knee left a crack in the freaking pavement...

(No, seriously.  I landed that hard.)

My first reaction was to scream, "FUUUUCKKKK!" at the top of my lungs as I plummeted to earth.

My second reaction, upon landing, was to start whimpering like a little bitch.

My notebook, papers, ID card, wallet, tampons, keys, and coat all floated down around me, landing conveniently in the few puddles that weren't frozen over.

Jesus wept.

Okay, Jesus probably choked back a snort-laugh combo, because let's face it, that's what people do.

(No?  Just me?)

I, on the other hand, may or may not have wept.

My knee and foot hurt so bad that I just laid where I landed, in an awkward pile of black skull-print leggings, cute black and white tunic, adorable cowboy boots, and a charming scarf, sobbing quietly to myself while various governmental types and lowlifes stepped over me, around me, and through me, glancing at me in that slightly curious yet disgusted way that people use when they check out the suspicious looking carcass lying on the side of the road.

"Is it a cat?  Possum?  Rat? Oh horrors... it's a skunk."

(I didn't hear any laughter, fortunately.  Because if I'd heard laughter, there would have been bloodshed.)

Finally, a terrifying looking dude with a scumstache and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth appeared before me, holding all of my belongings and asking if I was okay.

My hero!

I somehow managed to get back up on my feet, accept my belongings back from Creepy Faux Manson, and limp into the building, while my dignity lingered in the parking lot, hoping no one would notice it had wet it's pants.

I held it together until I was confronted by a woman inside the bathroom (while I was accessing the damages to my person) who had witnessed my shame and inquired as to whether or not I had hurt myself.

Me:  *sniffle sniffle*  *whimper*  *pathetic crybaby face*  "I'm *sniffle* okay.  It just *whimper* hurt when I landed."  *attempt at laughter which instead sounded like a snort-cough combo*

Here's the thing:

I'm sure it's not the first time the world has witnessed a fat girl falling.  Lord knows it isn't even close to the first time the world has witnessed this fat girl falling.

And no doubt it is just as hilarious watching me do it as it has been for me watching others do it.

(Erase that... it can't be true.)

And I'm sure I could have laughed it off, even as my knee bled profusely and all the little bones on top of my foot shattered.

Except that just last week I skidded across the ice while getting out of my father in law's truck after going to dinner.  I didn't hurt myself, but I did drop my doggy bag and all my leftovers fell out and were ruined.

I hate ruining good leftovers.

And the fault may or may not have been mine as I wasn't exactly wearing shoes appropriate for tromping through the ice and snow.

(Actually, that particular fall was one of my more graceful moments... I stepped out of the truck and as my feet hit the ground, both legs slid slowwwwwlyyyyy out in front of me and I landed rather softly on my derrier.  The only damage done was the aforementioned leftovers ricocheting out of the container and landing in yellow snow.  And of course Dan laughing himself into a stroke over the whole incident.)

(Okay, the snow wasn't actually yellow but it might as well have been.  I just can't bring myself to be one of those people who can pick food up off the ground and eat it, no matter how clean you think the surface is.)

THEN the next morning, as I was hauling ass out the door, I slipped in a puddle of water that Dan had spilled on the kitchen floor and didn't bother to wipe up (because he's an asshole... have I mentioned that?) and landed on the same damn knee that I may or may not have broken today.  I also wrenched my back and hurt my wrist, because I'm old and fat and let's face it, I don't bounce any more.

The problem is that I'm beginning to suspect that maybe... just maybe... I'm being punished for laughing overly hard when that adorable actress, Jennifer Lawrence, crashed and burned at the Oscars.

I may or may not have laughed myself into a pants-wetting asthma attack, practically had a seizure, and died.

Coincidentally, my chronic falling began shortly thereafter.  

I'm pretty sure that was meant for me.

Here's what Karma doesn't understand:

I didn't laugh because she fell, per se...  Okay, I totally laughed because she fell because I'm an asshole and that's how I roll... but I also laughed because I know for a fact that the day I win a Major Award that is televised on National TV (Nobel Peace Prize, no doubt), I will absolutely and without a shadow of a doubt fall on my face and land with my dress over my head, my bare ass mooning the world.

Because that will be the day I decide to go commando.

I know this.

I was laughing with her, not at her.

I swear to God.

So back the fuck up, Karma.

And bitches can pack a punch, yo.