Thanks a lot, weird genetics.

I'm twenty-five, but if you were to just look at the state of my  hips and back, you'd think I was decades older. I have a lot of strange issues with my skeleton, most of which are caused by the fact that I have a very acute form of spina bifida. Don't worry, it's so mild that it isn't life-threatening or anything, but it does come with its own issues. Essentially, I have an extra vertebrae in my spine, and my tailbone never really... happened. I guess when I was still in my mom's womb, my tailbone was all "NO! I'M NOT READY! I WANT TO BE MORE LIKE THE REST OF THE SPINE!" and then the rest of my spine was like "Dude, if you don't do what you're supposed to do, this girl is going to be born with a tail. IS THAT WHAT WE WANT, REGGIE?" The end result? A sort of half-formed tail bone... thing. It's not noticeable in any way, unless you're looking at my x-rays, but it's a thing that sometimes causes problems.

For example, I woke up the other day and my hip felt like someone just popped it out of the socket and now it's refusing to go back in. And, because I know that whole song about all the bones being connected, there is shooting pain and discomfort up and down the whole left side of my body... which results in people staring at me when I think I'm alone as I try and bend my body into all sorts of weird positions to hopefully put my hip back in its rightful place. And this is a small town. People talk. So now I'm that girl.

And my hip decided to do this at a really not awesome time, you guys. As many of you know, I work in a bookshop, and yesterday was Independent Bookstore Day. Indie bookshops across the country, including this one, were celebrating with tons of festivities. I planned many of our festivities, and one of those festivities was a Rad American Women Dance Party. This was because one of the exclusive merchandise items was a 7-inch LP inspired by the book, Rad American Women A-Z, which is an awesome book, and I suggest you rush to your local indie bookshop and buy it right now.

So yeah. I was doing my best on this very busy shopping day to not show how much pain I was in, all the while knowing that the grand finale would be a dance party, and that I was to be pioneering this dance party, so I was really going to have to shake it.

Oh, and did I mention that I had no pain meds with me?

Let's just soak this all in.

  1. Spina bifida.
  2. Rebellious hip bone.
  3. Terrible back pain.
  4. No meds.
  5. LET'S BOOGY.

I was about to panic for a moment, so I went into the back room to take a deep breath and to try and stretch my back and then I took to twitter:

And all I really got in response was some nonsense about wildebeests that I'm still trying to make sense of... so twitter kind of failed me on that one. I think. I'm still not sure.

And then the time came, and - I kid you not, folks - no one showed up for this dance party. There were a few stragglers in the store, yes, but they were all very disturbed when I told them what was about to happen.

But you know what? I blasted Cyndi Lauper's Girls Just Wanna Have Fun and danced anyway. Because life is short.

Plus I was also hoping that if I danced, maybe I would move a certain way to pop my hip back into place.

I'd be great at fighting crime. If my face was crime.

So Monday was a weird day. I had gone to bed on Sunday night with a little bit of a migraine, not the worst of its kind, but still not awesome. It was one of those migraines that is dull enough to not ruin your day, but present enough to make you want to punch yourself in the face just to give the pain some validity.

Which is exactly what I did. I punched myself in the face.

Not on purpose. Sort of.

I was sleeping, and my migraine must have strutted into my dreams and was all "HEY! EVEN THOUGH YOU'RE SLEEPING, YOU SHOULD STILL BE VERY AWARE THAT I AM HERE. I'M GONNA MAKE MYSELF A SANDWICH, K? IS THAT COOL? NO? TOO BAD. I'M DOING IT. HEY, EVEN THOUGH YOU'RE SLEEPING, I'M GONNA MAKE MYSELF THIS SANDWICH, AND WHILE I MAKE IT, I'M GOING TO SLAM EVERY CABINET DOOR - EVEN THE ONES I DON'T NEED TO OPEN IN THE FIRST PLACE - JUST BECAUSE I DON'T WANT YOU TO FORGET ABOUT ME."

In a way, I feel bad for Migraine. This is obviously just a cry for attention because he never got enough hugs as a baby migraine. Perhaps if I just accepted Migraine for who he was, we wouldn't be in this situation at all... huh.

Either way, I didn't accept Migraine, so he was being a douche and because he was being a douche, I decided, in my dreamy state of defense, to punch him in the face.

Turns out that his face is my face.I'D BE GREAT AT FIGHTING CRIME......IF

I woke up just in time to realize that my own fist was rocketing toward my face, but without enough time to do anything about it.

Obviously, I texted my bestbian, who calls herself "John Hamm" on this blog, about this situation:

Me: I punched myself in the face while I was sleeping last night.

JH: ...what?

Me: Yup. Right in the eyeball.

JH: How do you know? Do you have a black eye?

Me: No, thank God, but I woke up when it happened.

JH: Omg I'm trying so hard not to laugh.

She loves me.

You'd think this is where the story ends. One would obviously assume that this is the only bad thing that someone's face would endure in one day.

So let's fast-forward to the end of the day, when I get home from work early because Snowmageddon2015 was about to hit Connecticut.

Monday was trash day, conveniently enough, so I got out of my car and thought to myself "Gee, I should probably bring in the trash can and the recycling bin so that they don't get buried in the snow at the end of the driveway..." and then I high-fived myself for being a responsible, forward-thinking adult and headed down the driveway to retrieve said trash can and recycling bin.

It is important to note here that my driveway is at an incline and I was wearing impractical footwear.

So, I'm dragging the trash can behind me, through the already sort of deep snow, and I've got the recycling bin in front of me as I limp-scoot my way up the hill towards the house.

Me: I slipped bringing in the trash cans and bashed my chin on the recycling bin. This has not been a good day for my face.

JH: Oh my gosh, just go inside and put on padding.

Me: There are so many corners in here!!

JH: We're gonna have to child proof your apartment.

 

This is Why I Don't Go Fishing

Last night John Hamm and I started watching The Perfect Storm when there was nothing else on TV. I had never seen this movie, but I've heard that it's amazing, plus the first thing I saw was George Clooney, so I was down. Proof that I will have sex with George Clooney no matter what he's wearing. Turtleneck & Beanie. Officially Sexy. I bet he doesn't even smell like fish. He just smells like essence of Clooney

This movie was pretty great, though (if you're into really depressing movies). There's this mega storm and stuff and these guys are determined to get fish - who wouldn't watch that? (Answer: People who don't want to watch depressing movies.)

However, it did make me realize just how much of a wimp I am.

There is one scene when John C Reilly (this is before he got into comedy, obviously) gets pulled overboard because his hand gets caught by a fish hook. The fish hook literally GOES THROUGH HIS FREAKING HAND. Like he's standing there all "La-de-da-de-da, it's stormy and my hand is just resting on this table..." and then the fishing line that is also on the table gets caught by something, which pulls it in such a way that the HUGE hook goes ALL THE WAY THROUGH HIS HAND! And then he gets yanked into the ocean! What the heck, Ocean? Why you gotta do that to John C Reilly?

Some other crew members jump into the stormy water to try and save him, which is totally noble, but I deemed it useless. My immediate reaction was this:

Me: Why would you jump in after him? He's obviously going to die. It's super stormy, so you'll probably drown, plus he has a hook through his hand!! I mean, it is not even worth living through that pain. My hand hurts just thinking about it! He'll most likely have to amputate it, plus he's drowning, plus OWWW! I mean, seriously - hook through hand: immediate death. Just saying. I know that it's not like a vital organ or anything and the injury itself wouldn't really kill you, but in my opinion, that is just too much to deal with. I would just let myself die at that point.

John Hamm: ::sigh::

Just so you know, John C Reilly totally survived and he got to keep his hand. All he needed was a bandage and a tetanus shot. I don't think I know how injuries and death work.

I officially need to start putting myself in more dangerous situations. I am clearly not badass enough.

Gio! Dragon! Grab your gear - we're going out! Make sure we have knives and other sharp stuff! It is time for danger!!