Tag Archives: accident prone

Kung Fu Furballs

29 Mar

So I’ve been on a super budget lately while saving up for the summer, but even poor people get bored and want to go see a movie. I really want to see Batman v Superman, but I can wait a bit if it saves me $15. So the date and I went to the dollar theater and saw Kung Fu Panda 3 (which is adorable, btw). I call it the sticky foot theater because, well, your feet stick to all the grime and spilled soda on the floor.

We sat, eating popcorn and giggling, till near the end of the movie. I ate a handful of popcorn, thought something felt wrong, and pulled a hair out of my mouth.

Now I’ve been a little super stressed lately and my hair has been falling out because of it (I know, it is the plot of a horror movie in the making, and here I thought I was starring in a slapstick comedy) so I wasn’t sure if the hair was mine or someone else’s. I sat the popcorn on the floor.

My date leaned over and said, “Is there a lot of hair in that popcorn?”

WHAT THE FUCK?!

I just looked at him like he was an idiot- because he is- and ground my teeth for the rest of the movie. It really is funny and cute. I liked Kate Hudson’s panda character.

Anyway so at the end of the movie I let loose with the “WTF? Why did’t you say something? Whats wrong with you?”

And he answers, “You know what’s really messed up? I kept eating it. I found like 4 or 5 hairs and didn’t think anything of it.”

…What do you say to that? I just stared, astounded.

I can fail at so many things…

20 Jul

This weekend was a great one. I went to Summerfest in Nob Hill Albuquerque for the first time in the many years I have lived here. That was…interesting. But while I was there a friend texted me and invited me along with him and his kickball friends to a float trip of the Rio Grande the next day. Sounds lovely, no?

So I woke up at the crack of dawn, made some sandwiches, crammed my kayak into my tiny tuna can of a car, picked up my friend and had a breakfast burrito, and proceeded up to Alameda. We parked the tuna can at the take out point and crammed into another friend’s car and proceeded on up to Bernalillo, where we were going to put in. The objective was to float the 12 miles down (around 4 hours) and then use my car as a shuttle back to the put in location. Easy peasy.

What a perfect day too. It was sunny, the water (yes, the Rio is pretty gross but one can’t be too picky out here) was cold and the wildlife was beautiful.

I did immediately find one floating turd that tried to follow me for a while, but I out paddled it and got along with my bird watching. The catfish were jumping and driving me crazy because I hadn’t brought my fishing rod (I don’t think my NM fishing license covers fishing on the reservations).

We giggled along, sometimes floating in groups and sometimes going solo and silent for stretches. I knew about half the folks present, and the new half were all just fantastic people. We all shared a watermelon as we came up on the ye old rope swing.

The water has been high this year. More than normal. The little bank that allowed scrambling access from the boats up to the swing was washed away. We floated on for a bit to find a bank to pull up the boats. We were sure there’d be a path from the next bank back to the swing. We found a bank, but no path, and the bush was thick and wild on the shoreline. The water moves fairly fast so my buddy Manny and I decided we couldn’t swim back up the river, that’d we have to bushwack it. So we did, about 70 yards through brush and brumble, thorns and poison sumac. By the time we got to the swing we were bruised and bloodied, and the others had figured out to park their boats on the other side of the river and simply swim across. They were already there waiting, laughing.

Now, true to Lindsay form, I fearlessly swung out over the river, high as a kite, flying across the beautiful NM sky.

And somehow the rope swing swung back, wrapped around my left ankle, tightened like a noose, and I dangled upside down in the river until the guys swam out to cut me down.

How can one fuck up going off a rope swing? I wish I knew. Freak accident.

So that’s be beginning of my summer. A severed muscle, giant ankle, a throbbing hematoma, and poison sumac. I greet far too many seasons with a limp. Le sigh.

BUT it was pretty fucking funny once the danger of drowning was passed.

I spent the rest of the river trip with my foot propped up on my kayak, an ice pack in tow, and sipping a delicious and cold Tecate. What a fun day.

This is what my blog does in 2013

30 Dec

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2013 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A New York City subway train holds 1,200 people. This blog was viewed about 7,500 times in 2013. If it were a NYC subway train, it would take about 6 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

Phew. For a minute there, I lost myself

11 Sep

Sleeping in the rainforest. I was dreaming about the memory again last night.

We set up camp in the Olympic Mountains underneath a giant tree stump as big as the truck. We ate the fresh salmon we had bought in Olympia. After dinner we walked down to Hood Canal and took a swim in the bioluminescence. The water was cool and clear and glowing and perfect.

And for a moment there was peace. 

We got out of the water and walked along the shoreline for a while. The beach was dark and quiet and serene. So dark, in fact, that we had somehow missed this sign:

Screen shot 2013-09-11 at 11.09.13 AM

 

I should know better than to think things can be so perfect.

This is what my arm does

30 Aug

Rode my bike miles yesterday.  Miles.

Screen shot 2013-09-11 at 10.21.14 AM

When I decided I had to go home or die, it was about 2pm and as hot as hell. I found myself peddling as hard and fast as I could to go up the hill at Carlisle in Nob Hill, but only to find the bike slowly creeping backwards down towards Central. Cars were honking. My body was failing. I had to get off and walk.

When I got home, after I passed out on the floor of the shower for a while, I tried to put on clothes and go about my day as if I hadn’t wasted one of my nine lives on the old Schwinn. To my dismay, I could barely lift my arms, frozen as they were in handlebar position.

I didn’t have the energy or the words to explain to the boyfriend when he got home. All I could do was lift my arm up halfway and say, “This is what my arm does.”

Somehow he understood exactly what had happened.

Wild Pack of Family Dogs

15 Jul

Bekah and I met in Belize. Boston, barracudas, viper, and archaeology were involved. But that’s a story for later. That’s a story I will write next week. But anyhow, so we met in the summer of 2005 in Belize and somehow I convinced her to move to New Mexico and attend UNM with me. We got a crappy dumpy house next to the university and a blow up mattress, some folding lawn chairs, and stole WiFi from the Wendy’s. On the weekends we would go out and explore the archaeological sites of northern New Mexico and made friends with our idiotic frat boy neighbors. Back when we were young, (even more) silly, and full of wonder. When we had nothing, and yet we had it all.

This picture from 2006 sums it up rather nicely. (I’m the one with the pickle).

Screen shot 2013-07-15 at 11.29.52 PM

Bekah had never been camping before. Being a city girl, fresh from Boston, she hadn’t done lots of things. Learned to drive a car, ridden a bike… but camping. That just seemed such a shame to me. We had just spent a summer or two in the rainforest and so we were up for anything. I had spent a research semester working at Chaco Canyon and I convinced Bekah and some of our idiotic neighbors to come out for the weekend with me so I could show them around all the sites. Chaco Canyon is unparalleled in beauty and culture and history. It really is a must see.

So it came to be that Bekah went on her first camping trip.

We packed up the old Subaru and headed out. We wanted a scenic route. And we also thought we were invincible. And we were both somewhat new to the desert southwest.

The Chaco Canyon website has this warning:

Warning: Some of the local roads recommended by map publishers and services using GPS devised to access Chaco are unsafe for passenger cars. Please use our written directions below to avoid getting lost or stuck.

I had even spent a semester out there and chose somehow to not heed this warning. So… yes we started late in the day. Yes, it got dark. We got lost. The water was up in the wash and we were afraid to try to cross. What to do? We set up camp right where we were- wherever that was.

There was no moon and it was really dark. We pulled our little caravan into a U shape and pitched the tents. Pulled out the hot dogs, snacks, some beer, and I’m fairly certain someone brought out a hookah. We proceeded to eat, drink, and be merry out in the middle of the desert, far from anyone or anything.

We thought.

One of the neighbors we brought along was a little green (I’m pretty sure he was still a teenager, if memory serves me) and he ended up a little sick and woozy, lying at the edge of our camp circle staring out into the distance.

“Guys. Guys. Guys.” he was shouting. We were ignoring him. “Something is out there! Something is watching me!”

“Shut up” we laughed, tossing bits of bread and things at him.

And then after a few minutes he would start again. Finally he was getting quite persistent and borderline hysterical, so we all looked over at him, out across the sagebrush and prickly pear and into…

A pair of eyes reflecting red in the beams of our flashlights. And then another pair.

A wild pack of dogs had smelled us and heard our commotion and come up on us without our noticing. A panic ensued, with folks tripping over other folks and screaming and running. I ended up in the car with Bekah. The sick boy was in the backseat, moaning. She and I were frantically running over scenarios of what to do, how we could get away. Finally (and this is how she tells it though I personally deny all suggestions about my inner redneck) I looked over at Bekah, dead serious and straight faced, and proclaimed, “Imma git ’em.”

I proceeded to put the car in drive and to the appropriate tune of banjo music I bounced us over the brush and dirt and actually tried to chase off the dogs, the kid in back dangling his head out the window and puking the whole time.

Well, I guess I did chase off the dogs, and I don’t remember how but we did end up getting to sleep that night. When we awoke in the morning we discovered that we had camped right on the EDGE OF A GIANT CLIFF.

And that was Bekah’s first camping trip.

Remind me sometime to tell you about the second time we encountered a wild dog out west. 😉

Punching Bags

15 Jan

My cat just came to hang out with me. She sat next to me while I slept, watched me for a bit, and then punched me in the face.

Which caused the biggest nosebleed of my life to occur. A true gusher.

My teeth ache. And my eyes. I’m worried she may have broken my nose.

How can so much blood come out of a face?

She maimed me (on accident) and now I know that my heart still works because it is pumping a steady flow of blood through my nostrils.

Fun fact: nosebleeds make you want to sneeze. Supplemental fun fact: it looks like American Psycho in here.

That’s good. This is actually a good thing. Maybe I needed some all-encompassing face pain to distract me from my heartbreak (life).

Always so wise, Floyd.

I swear to god if I get black eyes from this I’m giving up. No more fucks will be given.

Turns out I really like the taste of blood, though (probably something I shouldn’t say on the interwebs).

Ah, salmon steaks on the face. Classic Tuesday.

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