Month: May 2007

Sorry. I don’t know how to make my cell phone pictures smaller.

Okay. I am officially the world’s biggest narcissist. Taking pictures of my hideous disfugurement. My self-fascination knows no bounds.

But I very possibly broke the end joint of my finger here, which, as everyone knows, IS the worst thing ever. It was 7th grade — a softball hit the tip of my finger — and the tip of this finger is swollen and purple and immobile just like softball finger so it makes me wonder. Poor Sam had a freakin’ piano fall on her and yet I CONTINUE to talk about my finger. I am disturbed.

And yet …. here comes even more:

One girl at Boheme gasped today when she saw it, because — and this is where the picture isn’t doing it justice, darnit! — my finger joints are actually colored as follows: purple/green/white. Like a long freaky candy corn, a parfait of disfugurement, a veritable sausage of pain.

Yummy.

Besides “!!?#@&!!@??!!!!!!!” about my now grape-sized and -colored fingertips, there was also this from Carla, our Intuitive Clairvoyant:

“Um, what’s with the n*aked pictures in the conference (Misfit) room???”

My business groups had been on a 2-week break and so they hadn’t seen them yet and Carla …. was NOT pleased. She said she’d be writing an email to the Overlord.

So stay tuned on all THAT.

When she was a toddler, Piper always used to say “owwwbie!” whenever she got hurt; an expression I always loved and would like to steal right now:

Owwwbie!!

I am writing with one hand, peeps, because today at Boheme, I smashed my the tips of the middle and ring fingers on my left hand under a huge 10-foot umbrella. Rather, it smashed down on them — the tips, the tender baby tips! — and now they look like teensy little shovels, all flattened and steel-colored.

But I am basically two things which made me contributorily negligent in my disfuguring — (I won’t fix that typo, too much trouble right now, plus, I think I like the word “disfuguring”) — injury.

So — okay. The two things I am that made me Con. Neg. in this:

1) Too short to handle a very tall and heavy table umbrella

Annnd …

2) Grossly, hideously stubborn.

Basically, here’s the truth, the disfuguring truth — a 5’4″ woman married to a 6’3″ man becomes impatient waiting for his assistance. Oh — which activates the stubborn which activates the stupid which activates her decision to lift a giant heavy umbrella out of its little umbrella hole and depoof the unwieldy thing all by herself. Things go horribly awry. Can you see that all in your mind’s eye? The stubborn, the stupid, the smashing? Yup. I thought so.

Also of note: Just over yonder ’bout 5 feet away, stands a young, strapping Hispanic lad, watching the entire episode: huge cumbrous umbrella, stupid struggling woman, big smash-down moment. He doesn’t even move, but leisurely sips his vitamin water while stupid woman literally wails in pain, like a big blubbing baby. It’s like he’s watching a movie. Chivalry is dead, I swear. And, you know what? I DID swear.

So please — will you pray for my steel-colored shovel fingers? And for the person they’re still miraculously attached to — thank God — to become less stubborn and stupid and to learn more insults in Spanish?

Gracias a todos!

(Forgive any typos. Forgive me if blogging is light and one-handed and for the really stupid post in my drafts that I’m now probably gonna post. Forgive me if it chases you all off for good.)

But I am disfugured, you see. Inside and out.