Radio silence: over!!
Actually, I don’t know if any of you guys really care all that much about my recent lack of posting. You know who does care?* Facebook. The other day I got a message from my franklyrebekah Facebook page saying that people miss franklyrebekah because I hadn’t posted anything in a while. I called bullshit because not many people have “liked” my page and I am sure that a lot of people who have really only did so because they are my friend and wanted to be supportive and then promptly hid my franklyrebekah updates from their news feed because it jams up the works. I might do the same thing if I were them. Oh but by the way, if you want to like my page, you should. I think there is a handy little Facebook link button somewhere or other. To the right maybe? Yea, I think it’s somewhere on the right. At least, that’s where it should be. All you have to do is click it. That’s what they tell me, anyway. Then you can tell your friends to like it also, I mean, if you’re so inclined. Is what I am doing right now lame and also sort of rude? Yea, probably. I’ll stop. Okay.
Anyway, so maybe some of you know this already but this past Saturday, July 19th, was my birthday! Hooray for being born! I had a really good day, actually. I decided this year that I didn’t want to plan a whole thing so I picked up a bartending shift and then a bunch of my friends came over to hang out and my family surprised me with a visit and my friends who own the bar bought me a birthday fruit tart and everyone sang happy birthday to me and I blew out the candle and I think maybe I saw my mom shed a little happy tear. Yea, it was pretty neat. And then I went out with some friends after and there was A LOT of whisky and a Nutella-stuffed calzone and some beautiful sunflowers and lots of hugs and some more whisky. I actually had to work the next day, which is sort of what this post is about, and on the way to work I had a moment of fret that there might actually not be any whisky left in all of Brooklyn. Or, at least, not any Powers. But I got to work and, lo and behold, there it was: a shiny bottle of Powers perched upon the shelf right next to the Jameson. Phew.
So that all isn’t the point really. The point is that on the night of my birthday I went to bed really late. I went to bed really late despite the fact that I knew I was working the next day from noon to 9 and that there are few things that I dislike more than bartending hungover. The thing is that I took the shift specifically because I figured that knowing (a) I had to work the next day at noon and (b) just how much I hate bartending hungover, I would make responsible, wholesome decisions the night before. At this point in my life I feel I should just stop lying to myself. Honestly, it’s embarrassing. Anywho, needless to say the yesterday morning that the title of this particular post refers to was less than stellar. I got out of bed and went down the hall to brush my teeth and everything. I had to pee. I looked at the toilet and noticed that the seat cover was up and the seat was down, as it should be. Then I put the seat cover down, blocking access to the bowl. Why would I do that? I don’t know. I then proceeded to stare at the now unuseable toilet with a feeling of complete confusion. How would I pee with the cover down? What would become of me? This lasted for about 30 seconds before I thought to myself,
Hey, asshole, just undo what you just did and all will once again be right with the world. Or at least, the world of this particular bathroom.
So I put the lid back up again and all was right, as I had hoped. Then I went back into my room and smacked the side of my ankle on the wall. How? I don’t know but that’s what I did. Luckily I don’t bruise easily but the spot is sort of sensitive to the touch so I am pretty certain that I have some serious subdural bruising. (As an aside, I looked up the definition of the word subdural because sometimes I use words incorrectly and no one tells me and this is what it said: “situated or occurring beneath the dura mater or between the dura mater and the arachnoid membrane.” That definition cleared up absolutely nothing for me and made me feel like maybe there are a bunch of spiders living under my skin. Is that possible?) Anyway, that’s not even the best part. This is the best part. So I had gotten myself all ready to go and was speed walking down the hallway when I realized that I had forgotten my phone in my room. Oh no! So I turned around and rushed back to my room and in the process, and unbeknownst to me, I got the strap to my canvas shoulder bag stuck on the doorknob of the closet outside my bedroom. I bet you know what happened next but if you don’t, I’ll tell you. I ripped my bag clean in half. Top to bottom. And all my shit came pouring out onto the floor. My wallet, a book, some magazines, a pocket knife, my mace, some old receipts, a few gum wrappers, and a lot of sand. So, yea, that was pretty fun. It was a cute bag, too.
Other weird things happened later in the day but nothing that would really stand up well against that story so I will just leave it at that. Oh, and also, I have come up with a new way to describe myself. I am catastrophe prone. So, stay tuned for future catastrophes because for someone such as myself, they are hiding behind every corner, just waiting to appear.
*Following the whole Citizen’s United ruling, I feel as though it is okay for me to refer to Facebook as a “who” as opposed to a “what.” Just so you all don’t think I had a total grammar fail right there. (But let’s be real: this is totally just me justifying my grammar fail. I could never lie to you guys.)