I know. Weird. I'm usually all about the festive holiday themed tchotchkes and lighted tree and crapton of fatty, sugary edibles washed down with adult bevvies. Okay, I'm ALWAYS down with the treats and vodka, but the other stuff... Meh.
I really haven't been feeling it this year. However we had a late-season warm up which gave me the slightest inspiration to get my buttocks outside to don our porch rails and windows with some Goddamn gay apparel before the temps sank to subzero and I'm outside cursing my stupid procrastination while my icy blue digits wrestle with the hardened tie wraps in a futile attempt to force the twisted garlands to conform to my GODDAMN DECORATING WILL.
That's part one of the process. Part two is climbing out the second story window onto the porch roof in order to suction cup wreaths on the windows so our exterior is all pretty and shit. Now normally I climb out our so-called third bedroom window which isn't a bedroom as much as a vestibule to the third floor hoardfest and catch-all for copious tubs of various stuffs which will languish in limbo until it is unearthed centuries from now by future generations pondering the value of an ancient LL Bean catalog. But that's a story for another day.
ANYWHO...
As you may have guessed, the pathway to the double hung portal was blocked, meaning I needed to crawl my ever-expanding, middle-aged ass out the only other option for me: the 12" side window on our bay.
I know what you're thinking. "Just use a ladder, Drama Queen." NoNoNO! DAMMIT I am NOT climbing up a fucking ladder. No way. No FUCKING way! And here's why. Gravity and me...we're not on speaking terms.
Gravity took me down TWICE last week.
Gravity... is dead to me.
The first fall was in the studio at the Special K. We have camera cable covers that are made of the slipperiest materials known to man, manufactured by Beelizbub himself. I always warn our guests not to step on them for fear they will plummet to the floor. Last week, in front of a guest no less, I broke my own rule and accidentally stepped on the diabolical cable, sending me tumbling--in slow motion, arms akimbo, as one does when one is trying desperately to remain upright--to the floor, right on my knee cap.
SONUVABITCH!!
THEN, a few days later, a pack of us were walking to work on a foggy morning. I stepped on the metal plate at the end of the bridge and BOOM! I'm looking up at the stars. WTF??!? Thank the little Baby Jesus I had my backpack filled with all the useless things I insist on carrying day to day on my back or I would have surely bounced my noggin off the cement.
Yeah. Gravity's a giant DICKHEAD.
But I digress...
So here I am in the front bedroom, standing on a stool, shoving my left leg out the toddler-sized opening all cocky and shit. I can do this. No sweat. I may be a "woman of a certain age", but I'm still nimble.
In my mind. In real life, well...
Geo's with me, thank God, as my left leg finds purchase on the metal roof. Did I mention it was metal. And slippery, because, um.. it's metal. So I'm a little freaked, because, you know, my relationship with Gravity is on the fritz. Anywho, I manage to squeeze my butt through before efforting to maneuver my shoulders, which seem to have mysteriously swelled to 36 inches, through the wee window. At this point, I am figuratively breech-birthing myself through our Bay-Vajay. Before there's a need for forceps, I pop my shoulders through, then my pea-sized head, and then awkwardly spill out onto the roof in a crumbled heap.
Call me Grace.
And I'll punch you in the nut sack. Just sayin'.
The spectacle of my exit was so ridiculous, Geo started laughing. He shook his head and said he wished he had grabbed my phone to record my elegant escapade. Had he left me to grab my phone, I would have been PISSED, even though I would have laughed my ass off later. As it stands, it's funnier in my head, and honestly, I need no more physical evidence of my physical inadequacies.
But wait! Now I had to crawl back in the house. Reversing the entire process, I shoved my right leg inside and fumbled to find the step stool. Somewhere between scootching my butt and massive man shoulders through the window, I got the MOTHER OF ALL HIP CRAMPS!
M*%THERF#@KER!!!
(insert your favorite expletives here)
Geo had to play amateur OB/GYN and pull me back through the Bay-Vajay. No wonder infants burst into tears at birth. That shit's traumatic, man!
So get this. I stepped outside to take a photo of our house for this stupid-ass blog, and one of the wreaths has jumped ship!!
 |
| are you fucking kidding me??!? |
*sigh*
Well played, Universe. You hydroelectric asshole. Well played.
No comments:
Post a Comment