July 13, 2012

I’d had every intention of leaving you with a post, Pranksters, telling you that:

a) I hadn’t gone off the rails of a crazy train, shaved my head and moved to somewhere in Siberia to breastfeed baby Yaks.

2) Getting the hell out of Dodge was the birthday present I was giving myself.

But Thursday got late, and Dawnie got to my house at the ass-crack of dawn on Friday and anyone who owns a mobile device that rhymes with MyPhone understands that posting to a WordPress blog while on a “smart phone*” is nearly impossible. Or maybe, it’s just me.

(it’s not just me)

Sunday, as the always-lovely Avitable reminded you, was my birthday. And despite the recent “series of unfortunate events,” I didn’t feel as though I was particularly immune to my Birthday Curse, which happens to generally be a series of unfortunate and ill-timed events as well. I’ve probably spent more birthdays in ER’s and Urgent Care facilities than anyone under the age of 80 should admit to, but suffice to say, it’s generally DIFFERENT issues, which meant that this year, I was expecting to go big or go home.

So I figured if I died, I may as well be doing something I loved as I went out. Like, for example, going down to Nashville (NashVegas?) with Dawnie.

We hopped into the car, or, more accurately, I slogged my tired ass into the car, around 8AM on Friday and we set off to find some…thing.

“Dawn,” I said. “You’re aware of my birthday curse, right?”

“Yup,” she replied.

“If I get decapitated, please just put my head back on,” I asked.

“Fuck that,” she said, “I’m going to make it hang out of the window.”

“Like a dog?” I asked.

Something like that,” she gave me A Look.

I stared out the Indiana countryside, marveling at the sheer amount of dead tires on the side of the road, trying to imagine what she meant by that. Was she planning to shrink my severed head and use it as a car ornament? Was she going to let it dangle from the rearview mirror?

“Look,” I said. “I don’t want to be pushy, but I’d like it if you could somehow either reattach my head – maybe with a broom handle or something – or have it nestled in my lap, like I’m holding it.”

She sighed. “I guess,” she replied, clearly unhappy with my demands.

And then we saw it. The most amazing thing I’d seen in at least three minutes:

fucks-lubeAnd for the very barest of moments, all was, at long last, right with the world.

*if my phone can’t cure cancer, it’s not very smart.



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