Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Broken New Years

In case you don't know, I used own and ride a pink, 2009 Genuine Buddy 125 scooter. I now own a seafoam green, 2009 Genuine Buddy 125, which I have yet to ride...

And I've been blogging a bit elsewhere...

From www.brokennewyears.blogspot.com:


So, right before Christmas, I was invited to France by my ex, with whom I am still friends. I agreed, and NYE I was at his place making travel arrangements, when I decided it was getting a little late, and I wanted to take a nap and shower before going to a party for the evening. 

Downtown Chicago was all blocked off and detour-y for some reason, so every time I tried to head one direction to get home on a less-major road, I got thwarted, until I was almost at the entrance to Lake Shore Drive, so I decided that I might as well take that home. I drive on LSD normally coming from home to work, but generally not this far south after dark.

A few blocks south of Navy Pier, there is a small bridge that is part of the LSD experience. As I approached the bridge, which has a horrible grid surface that is hell on a narrow wheel base, like on a scooter or motorcycle, I slowed, and as I came up onto the bridge, I realized the car immediately in front of me, nor the car in front of that car, were moving. 

I swerved to miss, but there was other traffic, and I ended up laying down the scooter on it's left side, skidded sideways across two lanes of traffic, ultimately ending up facing the wrong direction against the concrete barricade on the opposite side of the road, tearing off the saddlebag, shredding the arm of my jacket, and snapping the olecranon process of my left elbow, the left side of my face inside my helmet beating a staccato against the pavement until I was able to stop.

People in their cars were stopping and asking if I was okay,  I was a little muzzy headed, and immediately aware that my elbow was broken, clutching it to my chest with my right hand, but managed to say I was mostly okay as someone helped me off the ground and out from under the scooter, then across traffic to stand with the drivers of the two parked cars that had been in front of me.

The first driver had slowed for the bridge, but the second driver was looking down at her GPS, and had rear-ended the first driver's car, both stopping their vehicles, obviously, and getting out to exchange info by the side of the road. I'm pretty sure no ones hazards were on or anything.

I struggled out of my helmet and dropped it to the pavement next to me, as I listened to the discourse of the two drivers as a police officer approached and started talking to them. I remembered that I was supposed to be somewhere, and that people would worry, so I got out my phone and called my friend John, to inform him that I was broken and was going to the hospital... as he answered the phone, he apparently heard me inform the police officer who had asked if anyone was injured that I had broken my elbow and needed an ambulance, just as I greeted him and informed him redundantly that I had broken my elbow and was going to the hospital.

I then remembered that my purse and all my stuff was in one of the saddlebags on my bike, and started to stagger through traffic, the police officer trying to stop me but recognizing my dazed determination, so he stopping traffic until I was able to get to my bike and root around, even helping me get the bike upright and on the kickstand, and picking up all of the things that had spilled forth from the topcase (trunk) of the bike when I hit the ground, as I removed the keys from the ignition and put them in my pocket. Of course, I immediately realized that the saddlebag in question was no longer attached to the scoot, and was instead near where I had gone down, and began to stagger through traffic towards the dark lump in the road behind the car that had caused the whole mess, the officer chasing after me and directing traffic, until I reached the bag and made some comment about it coming undone or something, then letting myself be guided back to the other people standing around.

The ambulance arrived, and I mostly remember having a lot of things to carry, with my helmet and gloves and bag, and the numerous contest and being hustled carefully into the back of the ambulance. One EMT helped me carefully unbend my arm enough to remove my jacket, to probe the area and then put me in a sling, while I tried to manage the mounting pile of my possessions that were everywhere. Another EMT was trying to ask me questions, and I answered them to the best of my ability, but then a police officer came and inquired after my license, registration and proof of insurance, so I gave him the keys and told him where the latter two should be, as I rummaged lamely through my bag inside the torn saddlebag and pulled out my wallet and my intact new tablet that I had just gotten for Christmas. I found my id, but was unable to find any proof of insurance, nor was the officer able to do so but did find the registration, and informed me as such as I gave him my license and he returned my keys.

Then we drove to the hospital, which went by in a blur. 

Saturday, February 11, 2012

5.11.00 witty and charming to boot

So, I'm standing there in my botany class, being my usual witty self, well I wasn't trying to be witty, I was just making small-talk, when the TA I was talking to started to get that look that I know so well. You know the look, the furtive and desperate look that comes over you when you are cornered by someone who is so amazingly dull that you can't actually break away because you are trapped in some sort of lameness gravity well. I tend to have this look a lot because I am famous for attracting the conversations of the socially inept, but that's neither here nor there. Anyway, if you do manage to escape, the next person that you converse with suddenly becomes some sort of asylum that even Twisted Sister couldn't scare you from... well, Rachel did scamper away from me awfully quickly, and then very rapidly engaged another student in a meaningful conversation I wasn't able to hear. She also kept furtively glancing in my direction.

I honestly didn't think that mentioning the amazing crop of galium [it's that weed that sticks to everything and seems to be EVERYWHERE this year] that's covering the world, but most notably my yard, was such a hideous sin. I mean, it's a botany class, for criminy's sake. A botany class where we go out and look at plants growing in the wild, notable among these being galium.
But that's not the point I wanted to address. Is it possible that I'm not nearly as amusing and cute as I always thought I was? I like to think of myself as being endearing and charming, and maybe I am for now. But what about when I'm 30? Will the endearing become annoying and the charming be immature and pathetic? That's just a little more than two years away, and I really don't want to have to grow up and be normal. I've always prided myself on being 'Peter Pan trapped in Tinkerbell's body'.
Oh well. 

So, next week I don't talk to Rachel about the thistles and sedum growing in my yard. I think I will manage to survive somehow.

5.9.00 everyone's multimedia darling.

I was recently informed that I have a "very direct voice" when it comes to the things that I say and write. I prefer to consider it a very singular voice, in amongst a crowd of people shouting, and a quiet voice at that. I suppose it all goes back to wanting to be heard, recognized and adored. I feel like TV Guide's "The Best Show You're Not Watching," except even the cool kids I know won't give me a simple link from their page. I suspect it's because I don't have my own domain name. But, I'd rather be able to afford to access the internet, than be everyone's multimedia darling.

Okay, that's a lie. I'd rather be both, but despite what you have heard about the cosmetological profession, it's not all hand over fist glorious earnings of phat cash and glory that Jose Eber and Frederic Fekkai make it all out to be. I lack two very important yet remarkably basic features: 1) I am not a man. Men make the most money in this profession. I'm not sure why, but it is sadly true. Yes, Virginia, even the hair salon has a glass ceiling. And, 2) I don't have some distinctive thing about me like a snotty French accent or a gimmicky, feather-encrusted cowboy hat. Honestly, I could be making more as management at Taco Bell, but then I'd be management at Taco Bell, and I would have to kill myself in shame, which would also be at counter purpose to my goals. I don't think martyring myself as The Man at a fast food taco chain will get me the adulation I desire.

So, Pinky, it's back to the laboratory. We'll have to wait to tomorrow to take over the world.

5.8.00 make new dreams

Have you ever fully invested yourself in a thought or idea, only to realize that it would never come to fruition? When you have those patent realizations that the dream you've been having - that sweet, happy place you go to in your head when you aren't at 100% - is, in fact exactly that, a dream? 

Just stop.

Close your eyes. Revel in the simple things. Resolve to remove the stains from your upholstery. Finish your final projects for that art class. Focus somewhere else. 

My illusions are shattered on a daily basis. The strongest sense of permanence I have in my life is little more than a tenuous thread, but I manage to get by. I acknowledge and move on. I find new distractions. I make new dreams.

5.7.00 e.e. cummings

Today I haven't anything interesting to say, except to say that I spent a greater chunk of this weekend reading Buffy the Vampire Slayer scripts. And as cliched as that is, it made me feel all emotional and gushy. So I am going to share a quote and a sonnet, and if they mean anything to you, yeehah. And if they don't, check back tomorrow.

"It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion, maybe we'd know some kind of peace. But we would be hollow; empty rooms, shuttered, and dank. Without passion, we'd be truly dead."
--Angelus, 'Passion,' BtVS

5.6.00 anticipation

05-06-00

I have this strange, anticipatory feeling that I can't adequately describe. It's like when you read a fortune cookie fortune or a horoscope, and for that brief, fleeting, infinitesimal moment, you believe it with all the essence of your being. One of those feelings, except that you can't tell whether or not it's good or bad, and it feels like burning, and butterflies, and running for 15 minutes on the treadmill at a 6% incline, but all at the same time.

Or it could be heartburn.

5.5.00 millertime in chihuahua

05-05-00

Why exactly do we celebrate Cinco de Mayo? It's not like most people gather in French restaurants to guzzle champagne and eat baguettes on Bastille Day every year. Maybe it's because Mexico is a hell of a lot closer. 

Yesterday, I was listening to these women discuss the imminent currency conversion in Europe to the "euro" dollar. One of them was talking to the other specifically about how resistant the European people were to the idea. So, I had to chime in and ask her how she would feel if the President announced that the Powers That Be in North and South America got together and decided to make us all use "americos". Imagine how fucked up the economy would be if all the little Central American and South American economies were suddenly tied to ours. Black monday would look like a mild off white day.

I still have a hard time imagining a bunch of people in Chihuahua drinking Miller Lights and eating burgers on the 4th of July, though. Maybe I'm too cynical.