the story of my owie.


The story of my owie…

i got this barbie thing last Wednesday. For princess nekky It was sorta like a paper doll, only she is a magnet and has outfits you put on her….ya know what i mean.

Anyway when i got home, i realized that she talks!

“Lets get all dressed up!”

Help me find the perfect outfit!”

Lets wear the f**k me Jimmy Choos!!”

Oh this is great! Ken will so want to jump me with this on!”

OK, maybe not the last two, but you get the point. I can handle a little bit of barbie, here and there, but barbie talking, is NOT gunna be in my house.

i went to Eric’s tool box and got out his mat knife, and proceeded to cut off the talking part. It was harder than i expected, and after about 5 nan o-seconds the knife slipped and stabbed my hand in the web between my pointer and thumb on my left hand. Oddly, it did not bleed that much.

I knew the very seconded i had really done a number on myself. Eric was at his ( or on the way to ) his class at Lewis and Clark. So i did not call him. Wednesday nights is the only time he has for himself, that is why i did not call, not cuz he would call me as dorklamo and laugh in my face ( he did anyway) so i text-ed my neighbours who stayed with the kids. and called another friend who drove me to the ER.

At the ER. Every time i told the story of what happened. They laughed at me. AT. MY. FACE.

And then, the lidocain did not work. So i felt it all. ALL. OF. IT.

All cuz i wanted to protect my daughter from barbies evil, lustful and sinful ways.

Last night it was still hurting really badly so i went to the urgent care, i thought it might be infected even though i took all the antibiotics and i got a tetanus shot. It is not, but the Dr thinks i cut the muscle under my thumb and that the ER Dr did not give me any stitches inside. (he should have!) Every time i moved my thumb, i would sorta “re injure” it. So she gave me a big’ol brace, we tried on 3 or 4 before we picked the one i have. She wants to see me in 3 days.

I liked her.

She did not laugh.

And she knows that barbie is a skank whore.

A prayer:

Spirit of life, Holy One, Divine Love known by many names
and no name, one who is not bound by gender or form or ethnicity or
orientation  or  denomination or even political party.
G*d,

Thanks for good friends and neighbors and DRS and insurance and calm 12-year olds  and people who laugh at you and also the ones who do not laugh at you.

Thank you for the DTP and vicodine.

Thanks that we are ALL SAVED BY GRACE.

Even that SKANK HO Barbie.

 

 

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6 thoughts on “the story of my owie.

  1. That is a much better story than a gal who lived in our house in Colorado. She slipped in the kitchen while she was holding a glass and it sliced her hand and cut the tendons and all. Reducing Barbie’s evil impact just sounds better than a garden variety kitchen accident.

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  2. My kids tore all the heads off all the Ken dolls. I think that was some sort of statement about liberation. But it could be they just thought Ken was a dick head.

    Oh, and I “slit” my wrist after some little kid (one of mine, of course) poured water on the floor and left it there. I hit that water and jammed my wrist into the corner of the open dishwasher door. Thought I was a goner with all the blood. Then my arm was bandaged just like I HAD tried to slit my wrist and people looked at me all pathetic and worried like and kept asking me how I was doing. I had a freaking bunch of stitches in my wrist. How DID they think I was doing. I wasn’t suicidal, I was homicidal.

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  3. Okay, this is freakin’ funny. Not the cutting your hand part, but all the rest. YOU are hilarious! The skank, ho description of Barbie… classic. We’ve all thought that, right?! Perfect materialistic bitch that she is… anyway. Thanks for sharing. Sorry you had to suffer. Sorry this is a little late (I’m slow, okay!). Hope your on the mend.
    Hugs, Kim

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