2017 has been a year of great revelations for me. I have discovered things about myself I never knew or was never willing to admit and I feel like this year is setting me up perfectly for a pretty epic 2018 – a sort of set up punch for an upcoming 365 days of magic. Some of the things I’ve learned are – the power of choosing what to give a fuck about and not get on someone else’s angry ride, the ability to use my voice and ask for what i want and need and expect and finally, that The Chop Stop is my happy place. Scoff all you want but never underestimate the power of a great salad. However, everything I know and feel and want and expect were thrown up in the air and out the imaginary window the minute something happened that made me realize I am utterly and completely alone. I had literally fallen and couldn’t get up. It will heretofore be known as “The Incident at The Chimenea.”
First of all – a Chimenea is an outdoor freestanding front-loading fireplace with a bulbous body. Same way I describe myself. I bought one for my yard and dragged the incredibly heavy piece of pottery from the hardware store to my car to my yard. Then I bought an equally heavy bag of sand to coat the bottom, a stack of wood to burn and a giant stand to sit it all in. All of these items were painstakingly put in my yard – all by me – all 5’4″ 110 pounds of pure jewish strength. I was exhausted but thrilled that I did it all myself. A thrill that quite frankly is starting to get a little old. In fact – we’re past little and way into super fucking annoying. It turns out – I don’t need to do everything for myself to feel accomplished. Turns out – I’d be fine if someone else wanted to drag a chimenea into my yard. I’m fucking tired. I know I could pay a handyman but quite frankly I think this is why women get married so that they have someone to cary shit for them. I would buy so much more heavy stuff if a guy with muscles and a tool box lived here. I mean – I have enough extra closet space for a tool belt. But thats about it. Maybe he could be a guy with one t shirt one pair of jeans and a tool belt. It could happen. Anywhoo – I was all finally all set up and thought – i’m gonna have my first backyard fire and its going to be so amazing I don’t even need anyone to enjoy it with me and so I took one step toward a lighter, tripped over my own two feet, saw myself falling slowly and put my hand out. What happened next was right out of a horror movie and not the good kind wear you scream and giggle thorough your fingers over your eyes. No this was full on snot flinging tears pouring out of my face horror movie. I looked down at my hand and my finger was doing something not humanly possible. It was pointing in a direction it definitely was not meant to go and it looked like it wasn’t attached to my hand. Oh fuck . What is that? Whats happened? This isn’t good. Ohmigod it hurts so badly. Holy shit its swelling. Fuck my ring is stuck. Am I dying? Who do I call? WHERES MY BOYFRIEND!!??? I just kept staring at it and I literally did not know what to do. It turns out the reason I’m so calm when shit goes down is that I am actually so dumb that I don’t know what to do in a panicked situation. I texted my friend Brian to see if he would know what to do. He always knows what to do. No answer. How dare that mother fucker go and get a job when I need him. I literally thought to myself – well if I had a boyfriend he’d probably be at work right too and he’d definitely have a big job because I’m not going to date some fucking loser who sits home all day. I already do that enough for two people. So he wouldn’t be able to rush home and save me anyway. Meanwhile my hand is blowing up like a Thanksgiving Parade Garfield float and that’s when I lost it. This is why I need a boyfriend!!! Why am I so stubborn? I need a partner. He’d know what to do. Or at least get me a tissue and hug me. My finger looked so disjointed and it was as solid as a piece of steel. So I did what any normal person would do – I tried to pop it back into place myself – hahahahahahahahahha. Idiot. Finally it dawned on me that I needed to go to an Emergency room. Now where do I find one of those? Turns out there is one down the street from my new house. I cried all the way to the hospital. Why isn’t my boyfriend driving me there? I’m such a loser. I have no one. Sigh. Weep. Snot. Sleeve. Wipe. Repeat.
Once at the hospital it really hit me how awful this would be if it were a break. I need my hand to type important things like this – shut up – and a break would mean a significant amount of down time and possible surgery. I went in to x-ray. “Holy shit you really fucked it up” said the x ray technician with terrible bedside manners. Thanks for that vote of confidence. i burst into tears again. What am I going to do for 8 weeks? Who’s going to help me cook and dress and most importantly – dry my hair and put on false eyelashes? These are two handed jobs!! I cursed myself for not getting in this stupid dating game. I’m going to die alone – my middle finger twisted up in the air in a grand statement of “she said fuck you to everyone and now she s alone!” Why me why me why me? Then the doctor came in and said – you’re good, it’s just a dislocation and poof I was fine. Oh , so you’ll just pop it back in and splint it and i’ll go home and be fine in a week? Sweet. Fuck you non existent boyfriend! I didn’t need you anyway!!! I did it all myself!!
They shot my finger with numbing drugs and then a big nurse came and pulled on my finger and i heard it pop back into place. It was very cool actually. I grabbed my things, went home, smoked a joint and sat on the couch and watched the entire season of Stranger Things 2.
Sure it has taken me 12 hours to type this blog with a bum hand but I did it and I did it on my own and while one can’t do everything by one self – I am a pretty tough bitch – and now I know what to do in a crisis. Marry a doctor.