Jackass 6: The Old Lady Edition

Alex:  So… Is it too early to start calling you “Dumbass”?

From my Admin guy, as he drove me to the emergency room Tuesday morning.

i rode the motorcycle to work – gorgeous day for it.  Took a carefully planned route, not a bit of trouble.  Felt great.  Went to park it in the motorcycle lot, and as i did a slow u-turn to park it?  Dropped it.  Managed to jump off in time.

Turns out?  it’s a heavyfuckingbike, and there was no way i was going to pick it up myself — doesn’t mean i didn’t try a couple of times.

Fortunately, help arrived soon — the organizational motorcycle safety rep pulled in and helped me get it righted.  He stayed with me for a few minutes. Because he knew i felt like a total dumbass, he proceeded to tell me of all the times he’s dropped bikes and said it’s part of the learning process.  i was just embarrassed, and furious at myself for the fuck up…

Collected my gear and got to my desk by 8:30.  Walked downstairs and grabbed coffee, cleared some e-mail, yakked with some folks.  Felt a little dizzy a couple of times.  Didn’t think anything of it.  Figured it was the adrenaline leaving my body.

Somewhere around 9:30, i noticed that my left sock felt sort of wet.  Went to the bathroom to check it out.  Boot was full of blood, and there was a rather disgusting, and large, gash on my left shin.  Bleeding.  A lot.  i didn’t look closely, but thought i might have seen bone.

A brief aside:  i am horribly squeamish.  “Pass out” squeamish.  Well-characterized “pass-out” squeamish.  The sight of my own blood?  Known to knock me down like a feather.

My initial reaction when seeing an open, gaping wound on my leg?  Put down the pant leg.  Go to the sink and wash out the boot.  Yes.  i will need to clean up the boot so i don’t make a mess on the floor at work.

i took off the boot, without lifting the leg of my jeans high enough to see the wound.  Sock?  Bright red.  When i lifted the boot to the sink to rinse it out, blood poured out.  Bits of skin sticking to the laces.

i decided that perhaps this wasn’t the best idea.  Put the boot back on, stuffed some paper towels over the gash.

Walked right past the elevator, and down a flight of stairs.  Went to find Alex, who is one of my closer friends at work, and the first guy i want at my back in a crisis.  He was with the division chief, helping her sort out an issue with her computer.

daisyfae:  Hey, Alex — when you’re done, i need a favor.

Div Chief:  Hey, why don’t you stick around?  I’ve got some things i want to discuss with you about the branch chief job.

daisyfae:  Ummm – i kinda need him to drive me to Urgent Care.  i have a cut that probably needs attention.

Div Chief:  GO!

Alex went to get his car, and said he’d meet me at the parking circle.  i walked back up stairs (yes, again past the elevator) to grab my wallet.  Settling into Alex’s car, i explained what had happened, and what i’d seen on my leg.

He requested that i just keep that pant leg down, as he’s just about as squeamish as i am.  And didn’t want blood on the floorboard of the caddilac.  He drove me to the emergency room at a local hospital instead of ‘doc in a box’ at an Urgent Care center.

He offered to wait, but knowing it would be awhile, i sent him back to the office.  Thirteen stitches.  Tetanus shot.  Antibiotics.  X-rays to make sure i didn’t hit bone (i didn’t).  Doc said “park that motorcycle for at least 2 weeks”.

daisyfae:  What about bike riding?  Elliptical?  Horseback riding?

Doc:  I had to pull that skin very tight to get it back in place.  If you rip these stitches out?  We’re talking skin grafts.

Oh.  Right…

Alex came back at lunch, took me for beer, called me a dumbass, and explained that he’d already worked a plan to get my bike home by truck… Even had a back up plan to have one of the other office bikers drive it home for me.

He put beer in me, made me laugh, dusted me off, patted me on the head, and brought me back to the office.  Where i made it through the afternoon.  A little battered, and stitched together – but mostly looking at a heap of my shattered confidence swept into a pile in the motorcycle parking lot.

What happened?  The left foot peg scraped my left shin as the bike fell.  Amazed that i felt nothing.  For an hour.  Other than a wet sock.  It didn’t hurt — must not have a lot of nerve endings in the ol’ shin.

Studley drove me home, but i was pissed off about leaving the bike.  So i had him drive me back that evening, and i rode it home, with him following in the chase vehicle.

i needed some mojo recovery. Didn’t want to have anyone else drive it home, and couldn’t leave it there through the weekend.   Was a little shaky, but i did it.

Studley stuck around as i washed out the boot. “Holy shit, that’s a lot of blood!  Amazing that you didn’t pass out!”

Lesson learned?  You’re not off the bike until you’re off the bike.  Get back in the parking lots and practice those “Figure 8” slow turns.  Over, and over, and over.

i’m fine.  Could have been a lot worse.  And i can’t wait to ride again.  Off to buy some leather chaps… and practice some “Figure 8’s”.

Crotch Rocketry – Addendum

My friend, DK, was tracking the motorized news of the weekend.  She made casual mention to her husband as she saw the photo of my new motorbike cross her Facebook feed…

DK: daisyfae’s got a new crotch rocket

Mr. DK: Oh really?  D cells or AC?

DK: It says here 800cc V-twin.

Mr. DK: That’s gonna chip some teeth.

How do you know it’s real?

It was love at first sight.  i saw her in the parking lot at work. Two weeks ago.  Suzuki sport/tour bike.  Candy Apple red, with a gleaming v-twin bouncing the morning light in my eyes.

“What IS that?  She’s beautiful!”

“97 Suzuki.  Thinking about selling it.  Bought it two years ago, and don’t ride it much.”

“Sold.  How much you want for it?”*

Grinding the gears.  Getting a feel for the brakes.  Nearly doing a face-plant into a telephone pole on the test ride.  Loving the warmth of the engine underneath you.  Slowly letting yourself un-pucker on the 30 mile ride home, with Studley in the chase vehicle**.

Heart racing when you see her.  Pupils dilated.  Face flushed.  When she’s between your legs, you’re scared shitless, but you don’t want to ever, ever stop…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

* Yes.  i know this is not proper bartering technique.  Fuck it.  Who’s to argue with true love? 

** If i lay down the bike, it’s nice to know that the person running over me will be my best friend.  Driving my car.

Melting away…

Where is this year going?  Beats me, man…

No time to think deep thoughts about time travel, or do much scribbling.  Or clean the garage to make way for the in-bound toy.  Or finish up the office renovation project.

But… Things do not suck.  My little town blues are melting away.  i’m once again off to the big city on business.  Perhaps a little pleasure thrown in for grins.

gorgeous image found here

Bruiser

Due to the copious amounts of topical steroids i use on my skin to treat an occasionally gnarly case of psoriasis, i bruise easily.  Very easily.  To the point that i have become accustomed to seeing a good deal of purple and blue in the mirror as i go about getting dressed.

Changing into my cycling gear last Sunday, Captain Bligh* commented on a large purplish-black baseball-sized bloodblot blooming on the back of my left arm.

Captain Bligh:  Where did you get that?

daisyfae [checking reflection in mirror]:  Huh.  How ’bout that?  i have absolutely no idea.

My shins and legs are in a nearly constant state of battery, but my upper body is usually spared.

Captain Bligh:  Pretty sure I didn’t do it.

daisyfae:  No.  But it could be some other sort of “USI” – “Unidentified Sexual Injury”.

Or, in fact, it could have been a “UDI” – “Unidentified Drinking Injury”.  Or some combination of the two.  But i’m sort of used to it… and don’t give it much thought.

daisyfae:  You know, if i ever die of suspicious circumstances?  You and my other gents are in deep shit.  The ol’ “CSI’s” will be on your doorstep in a heartbeat!

i’ve suggested that they should all wear red carnations to my funeral.  So they can identify each other, throw back a few beers and talk shit about me after i’m gone.

But maybe they should pool resources and hire a really good attorney…

* The gentleman formerly known as “Mr. X” has self-selected his own callsign.  After our tandem cycling ride, where he kicked my ass from the front of the bike, he thought it a suitable name.  Seeing as he both inspires and shames me into working out more, i’d have to agree…

Bad Theater: Coping 101

Creating a new play is not easy.  Creating a new musical is even harder.  But it has to start somewhere, and our local theater troupe bravely tackled a never-before presented musical.

So our expectations were well-managed before we agreed to attend.  Andie, who played my “little sister” in the Trailer Park musical in 2009*, had a role in this show, and was also making sure that we had sufficiently lowered expectations before we arrived…

“You probably want to turn this into a drinking game.  It’s really bad.”

That suggestion was roundly accepted within a fraction of a nanosecond.  But what to drink to?  It’s not like it’s a political debate, where it’s completely predictable, and you can always default to drinking when someone uses the “knuckle point” maneuver…

“The Diva hasn’t bothered to learn her lines.  She’s hidden them all over the set, all over her props.  And she STILL messes up…”

We knew we could work with that.  After confirming that it wouldn’t run over two hours, we made plans for packing in supplies.  Good sized flask** of whiskey in my hip pocket.  Another friend pre-gamed at a local pub.  Studley prepared a vodka tonic concoction that he wore in his “Beer Belly“.

Other than the fact that he looked pregnant, no one could really tell that he was loaded with distilled potatoey goodness!

When did we drink?  Whenever The Diva was obviously reading her lines from a prop.  Or, whenever she flubbed one despite the fact that she had them in her hand.

Four of us were hammered by intermission.

Leonard Pinth-Garnell.  Courtesy of Saturday Night Live. 

* Andie and i were in the Trailer Park with The Diva.  Yes.  And it is the same Diva in the current show that has made a difficult situation worse.  At least she’s consistent…

* i didn’t wear my “Wine Rack”.  We had plans to go out to the local dive bar for drunk karaoke afterwards, and i was afraid of a blowout…

Roadkill

“The dog was chasing a squirrel and knocked me over…”

“Had to dive into a ditch as one of my elderly neighbors came careening around the corner in his Oldsmobuick Roadbastard…”

“Flashback to the war… No idea where the feeling came from, but i felt compelled to hit the dirt.”

Oh, it would be nice if i could use any of these as an excuse.  The reality is far more embarrassing.

“i tripped over my own right foot while walking my dog.”

i had to explain the creeping bloodstain on the leg of my khaki trousers this morning when i got to work.  Limping, of course.

It was just yesterday that i noted my knee was feeling good.  No residual pain from the basketball injury.  Hitting the gym very regularly, and back on my bicycle due to the early Spring weather, i have been feeling almost unbroken for the past two weeks.

Oops.

Just bruised.  Probably not serious damage.  But bleeding.  Since i was already at work,  i decided to try to wash away the bloodstains on my knee.  Mostly because everyone who saw me offered to go back to their office and try to locate their “Tide” stick*.  One helpful colleague offered me a squeeze bottle of carpet cleaner.

Clean up failed.  Leaving the restroom, my pants leg was blood-stained AND soaking wet.  A fashion statement that screams “Sexy AND professional”.

Once i got the bleeding stopped, and eventually got most of the body fluids out of my clothing, i realized it could have been much worse.

My dog had not yet unleashed his fecal missiles when i hit the pavement.  i’d braced myself during the fall with my right hand — which was NOT loaded with a plastic bag full of dog poo.  And my wrist didn’t snap.  Also a good thing.

What did my loyal canine life partner do when i unexpectedly dropped to ground level during our morning walk?  Wagged his tail, came over and licked my head!  He thought i was playing.

The true beauty of this animal is that his favorite thing is whatever he happens to be doing at the moment.  As charming as this is, it also makes him pretty useless in a crisis.  i should probably reconsider that alarm system…

* Proctor and Gamble corporation makes one of the coolest damn things ever.  “Tide Sticks” are instant stain removers.  Useful for food and beverage spills.  Blood?  Not so much…. Unless they now make a version for serial killers.

Mad as a hatter…

This showed up in my inbox last week.  From last October.  A costume ball.  i went with a friend who is a rather accomplished photographer.

He fussed with his makeup as i minced about his house in my costume.  i’d catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror, or a reflection in glass.  Madly in love with the hat and red wig, i exclaimed “i’d totally hit that!  She’s hot!” while he finished putting the accesories on his Catholic schoolgirl costume…

It took him a few months to finish the pic, but he sent it to me a couple of weeks ago.

“Dear Daisyfae – Happy Valentine’s Day!  If you don’t have a date, have a wank to this picture of yourself instead.”