He Is Risen and I Can't Get Up

Ciao, you filthy perverts. 

Remember how, in the last post, I told you about being a little bit, um, accident-prone?

I have outdone myself.

I officially cannot be left alone for even a few hours.

Here's what happened on Easter Sunday:

I was staying for 24 hours at my sister's house in Minneapolis.  But Shelley was in Phoenix, so I was hanging out with Wes, her fiance. 
Real quick - I am so fucking delighted that these two are getting married. 
Because
1) I've known Wes for years and he makes my sister happy
2) I've always wanted a brother
3) Maybe they'll have a baby and then I can buy little useless Puma sneakers for it; and
4) Marriage is great because it increases the pool of people in my life that can't say no to me because I'm family.

Wes made me a delicious steak for dinner. 
Once I got to to the middle of it, though, I saw blood, and that's where I usually draw the line for my steaks.

"Don't be offended here, Westopher, but I'm going to go microwave my steak a little bit,"  I said.  "It's kinda raw in the middle."

"Bah.  Don't microwave it.  Go throw it on the grill again.  It's still going,"  Wes said.

I turned slowly around and gave Wes a withering stare.

"Wes.  I don't have insurance."

He laughed, but I was serious.  You have to learn to make choices when you're poor.

Ruin the char-grilled flavor of your steak OR wind up in the ER with 3rd-degree burns all over your arms and spend the rest of your life paying the bill.

I choose safety.  Every time.

Now, keeping my safety-conscious choice with the grill in mind, fast-forward a few hours. 

Wes had left, and I was doing my laundry. 
Everything in my suitcase was dirty, so I rummaged through my sister's drawers and found (among other things I'm not going to think about) a cute white t-shirt and some shorty-shorts.  

Upon trying on the shirt, I discovered it was see-through.

Who cares?  I thought.  Who's gonna see me? 

I tramped downstairs and pulled out my clean wet clothes. 
Then, outside, to hang my dripping sweaters on the big lilac tree.

As I strained, on tiptoes, to reach an empty branch, there was a soft *click*.

The back door.  The back door that locks automatically.

I was locked out.  Locked out in a completely see-through shirt and ass shorts. 

No key.  No shoes.  No phone.
 
And Wes had already said he wouldn't be back 'till late.

What would you have done? 

I couldn't sit on the front stoop.  I was basically naked.

It was Easter Sunday, and the neighborhood was full of kids hunting for eggs in frilly dresses. 

I couldn't hang out in the backyard.  The neighbors were grilling.
 
I didn't have any money.  I couldn't walk to a coffeeshop and use the phone. 
And also, thanks to technology, I don't know anyone's phone number, anyway. 

Helpless.
It was like being 5. 
Like being a 5-year-old dressed like a slut.

Furious with myself, I sat down where the neighbors couldn't see me and had a good cry. 
How could I have done this?? I had been looking forward to spending the whole day in bed!

But crying doesn't do any good.  Eventually, you have to take action.

I began casing the joint.

How could I get in? 
I circled and circled.  Inspected all the windows. 
Tried to get Artemis, the cat, to use his paw to open the lock on the door. 

That useless bastard.

The neighbors all saw me rattling the doors and trying to push the windows up from the outside.

Obviously, we don't call the police if a white girl is trying to break in.  What harm could a Caucasian female do?

And then!  I saw it.  A window was open.  There was just a screen.  And the screen had already come off a little bit.  I could peel back the screen and get in without even ruining the window! 
Genius. 
Problem-solver.

I grabbed a lawn chair and peeled back the screen. 
Then I pushed the window up a liiittle bit more, eyeballed how much I'd have to jump, and leaped!!!

As the glass shattered around me, I realized I'd done some poor math. 


I broke the window with my great head.
I was halfway into the house, my booty-shorts still out, and I was covered in glass. 


My first instinct was to pull my head out immediately, but it was like I suddenly heard a voice inside my head:  DON'T MOVE.


Gingerly, I shook my head.  Glass shards flew out of my hair.
I realized my hands hurt and turned the palms over.
Bleeding copiously.
Like, stigmata-style.

I reached cautiously around to feel my neck, which also hurt. 
My hands came back wet.  Ohhhh shit.


Slowly, slowly, I pulled my head out of the windowsill and eased back down onto the lawn chair.


I had seriously miscalculated how high I needed to leap to get into the window.

Wes and Shelley were going to be so mad.


But I still needed to get into the house. 
And I'd already ruined the window.
So I wrapped my hand in an old rag from the backyard, tapped out the rest of the glass shards in the window, and threw them into the house. 


I brushed all the glass dust off the sill, dragged over 4 more lawn chairs, steeled myself for more carnage, and leaped through the window again.

This time, I managed to slice up my ass, shoulder, and lower back.


I was like a little pink Easter ham.  A little hammy, all carved up.

The most difficult thing about being awesome is not having a body double.

Btw, do you know how hard it is to get glass dust off yourself?  Lemme tell you, a hot shower does nothing.

After I had cleaned up everything, bandaged myself, and thought up a story to tell Wes about how the cat did it, I took a nap. 

And woke up in the middle of it because my head itched. 

When I scratched my head, sluts, do you know what happened?

I pulled a shard of glass about 1/4 of an inch long out of my scalp. 
No lie.

I spent the rest of my afternoon on the bathroom floor, running my fingers over my scalp and placing the little bloody bits on a paper towel.

Today's topic:  I could have full health care coverage if CJ and I were allowed to get married.

That is all. 
Fuck you, America.