Tag Archives: catastrophe

How Melvin Got his Head Back

24 Jul

This is going to be a three-part post updating you about various parts of my life.  The first two parts are mostly harmless fun.  The third part should probably be avoided by anyone who doesn’t like knowing about my period.  You know who you are (ahem, Dad…also, one other person who I will not mention because I don’t want to embarrass her but probably the third part will make you queasy).

An Update on Melvin:

Hey guys.  So, first thing’s first.  I know many of you were wondering what happened to Melvin the Snail.  Remember Melvin?  Remember that time he wore a jacket?  How about that time he posed in a bra?  Or the time he was giving a lecture to a bunch of kitties?  Well, an unfortunate thing befell Melvin.  He was traveling in my bag en route from Tucson when one of his antenna fell right off.  Luckily I was able to put it somewhere for safe keeping.  Then, a few months later, one of my kitties (my money is on Clark), knocked Melvin’s upper half off the place where he was magneted and BAM!  Instant decapitation.  I put him in a safe place while I mourned the loss of my travel buddy.  But then yesterday, in a fit of procrastination, I used some of the Krazy Glue that I borrowed because I am far too disorganized and forgetful to remember to buy it myself (hence why Melvin was in such a sorry state for so long) and I reattached Melvin’s head, and his antenna, back to his cute little neon body.  Here he is, happily mugging for the camera:

20140723_220710I guess maybe you can’t really tell that he is mugging because I didn’t get a good angle on his face, but suffice it to say that he is.  He always is.  He even had a cheese-eating grin on his face when his face wasn’t connected to the upper half of his body.  Now that’s a guy I’d like to grab a beer with, ya know?

Catastrophe!

So, as some of you might know, I am catastrophe proneI am also prone to being spit on.  Which really is a catastrophe all its own only a far less silly one than other catastrophes I have experienced.  Being spit on is actually rather infuriating.  I angry cried on the street the second time it happened.  It was the same guy both times by the way.  A few months after the second incident, after I had filed a report with my local precinct, I saw him at the Atlantic Center opening the doors with his elbows and almost spit on him.   I didn’t, though.  It seemed likely to blow up in my face especially considering there were cops outside and the most recent instance of him spitting on me was like, 2 months prior and I don’t think that revenge is covered by the law.  I probably would have gotten arrested.  Now that would have been a catastrophe.  Anyway, moving on.

The reason I bring up my having been spit on in the past is because of what happened yesterday when I was in the midst of running errands with a friend.  We were en route to buy some paper towels when I felt something wet on the outside of my right ankle. I walked a few steps, realized it was also maybe a little bit slimey, and looked down.  Obviously there was a huge wad of bright green gum stuck to my leg.  Not only was it stuck to my leg but during the 3 or 4 steps I had taken before I realized what was happening one portion of the gum had dislodged itself from my leg and fallen underneath my heel onto my shoe so when I took a step there was like stretchy green shit running between my foot and my sandal.  Also, another piece had gotten on the sole of my shoe and was creating the same mess of stretchy green shit between the bottom of my shoe and the ground.  It was, quite possibly, the biggest piece of gum that has ever existed.  Also, it was green apple.  I know this because fruit flavored gum has a very strong aroma.  I bet it was like, Bubble Yum, or something, only this person decided to chew the entire pack at one time.  Or it could have been Big League Chew.  Do they make green apple flavored Big League Chew?  It was really gross.  And, of course, this happened before I bought the damn paper towels.  Life doesn’t make it easy, ya know?  In case you were wondering, I am not entirely sure how the gum got onto my leg, although I do have a few theories.

1.  One of the dudes in the group milling on the corner that my friend and I had passed spit gum out at exactly the wrong moment (or the right one, depending on whether or not you’re an asshole) and it stuck to my leg.
2.  A cycler cycled past and, rather than being a good person and stopping at the garbage can to spit his or her gum out just spit it out into the world, sort of like a gift, and I happened to be walking by at that very moment, ready to receive it.
3. The universe thought I had been surprisingly catastrophe-free that day and, knowing my utter distaste for fruit-flavored chewing gum, dropped a piece of gum from the sky at exactly the right speed and in exactly the right direction to create maximal hilarity with minimal gum stuck in my hair.

I think probably option three is the most likely.

Not Safe for Dad (NSFD)

So I just now decided that I don’t think I want to write this third part at all.  I don’t think I feel like sharing this particular embarrassing story about myself just at the moment.  Maybe some other time, if you’re lucky.

The Day After

21 Jul

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.)