OKay, it is 11:
0031p.m. and I am BEGINNING to do laundry for the Chicago/BlogHer trip. My flight leaves at 7:55 a.m. (seriously, why do I do this every. single. time.?)
So, in case you missed my subtle reference to the I am going to a "conference" nod in a prior post, yeah, BlogHer. I'm going. Sort of. I have "signed up" (okay, I WILL have signed up) for the cocktail parties. The rest of the time I will be chilling with my peoples (all 2, maybe 3 of them). If you are one of my peoples (i.e read here and I don't bug ya) and this is the first you're learning of my "I'm going" and you're also going, please tell me. Or e-mail me. Or whatever. I'm "down". I'm "with it". I'm "hippity hoppity" or whatever the hell it is the kids are saying these days.
P.S. I'm staying at my Dad's place and no Dad around so, y'all know what that means...
PARTAY AT JEN'S DAD'S PLACE!
(Dad, I'm, like, totally kidding.)
(Ladies, it is, like, SO ON.)
(Dad, OMG, that's like, an ex-pressionnnn? Girl lingo. Means, like, we're getting our periods.)
(Man, why is my Dad being so uptight ?)
(Dad, like hellooo, Cramps?)
(OKay, cool, I believe he's tuning me out now...
...so anyway, to get by security, the secret code is "The basselope flies at dawn". Once at my door, knock 3 quick knocks, pause, then 2 quick knocks. Bring booze, bad boys, and a slightly reckless attitude. Think "la Lohan". That's where I'm at.)
Also, Rules of Engagement henceforth while erstwhile fortooth in my presence:
Ignore the mutliple, only slightly-to-moderately oozing cuts that I have just received as of Tuesday night. (Both knees, both palms.)
Oh, I'm sorry, did the wittle "oozing" word flip your stomach?
YEAH, TRY BEING THE ONE THAT HAS TO FEEL IT. TO KNOW IT'S THERE.
LIKE ALL THE TIME.
Yes, I am actually grossing myself out. Now instead of looking cute for the conference ( i.e. Plan A and Plan A-), I am going to be "That Girl with Band-Aid Mosaic".
Very quickly, the particulars:
Playing soccer, saving a ball from going out of bounds, pulled back on the ball after a furious sprint to get to said ball, ball goes back, body still catapulting forward, only to then learn I am woman with absolutely "no brakes", proceed to slide, upper body falling forward, and BITE IT BUT HARD on a **GRAVEL TRACK** that separated the 2 soccer fields.
In front of 25 soccer players, 2 refs, and a handful of teens.
The right knee in particular, if I may be extended some bragging airtime, is the largest, baddest cut I have ever endured (the left with smaller cut with side dish of road rash). This is saying something. And right knee, it is still, uh,...howyousay ....draining. It is awful and disgusting and WHY YES, I WIll HAVE SOME KIND OF BANDAGE ON IT. What do you take me for? Jerk.
Oh yeah, also good times? Spending a quiet Tuesday night tweezing gravel out of your hands which also broke the fall (honestly, I am VERY lucky I didn't break my wrist AGAIN, seeing as I am only 4 wks. out of a cast and did you know that E.R. visit ran me over $11fucking hundred??? WHAT?).
Anyway, my point is this:
RESPECT THE SOCCER STIGMATA.
See ya when I see yas. I hope.