Aug 26, 2012

"Oh That Cast Looks Like It's Hot!"

Tuesday will be my first day back at the office since April, so I'm assuming that my tradition of 'touch myself Tuesdays' will end since I'll probably be exhausted from actually thinking, moving, and putting on pants everyday. ( I was fortunate enough to work from home since this all went down and let me tell you, if you've never worked pant-less, I urge you to try it, I think the breeze on my vagina helps me to focus.)

I'm kinda shitting my pants about going into the real world. It's been me, YouPorn, Percocets and these 4 walls for the past 4 months. The only time I really left my apartment was to go to the hospital and doctors appointments-as it turns out when you're addicted to Percocets, you require more medical attention. Who knew? Anyway, anytime I leave the house total strangers feel compelled to comment on my cast and crutches, which at first I didn't mind but after months and months of hearing the exact same comments over and over... I've become one edgy bitch. I think no sex 3 hours of sleep in 4 months will do that to you.

Since writing is my outlet and I could never dream of ever saying what I'm really thinking to a complete stranger, I wanted to share with you the most common comments I've gotten all summer and what I'm REALLY thinking and desperately want to say, but would never.

Stranger: "Oh, that cast looks like it's hot!" 
Nanners: "Actually, I have a fan in my vagina that shoots cool air right down my leg and into my cast, so I'm good. Of course it's fucking hot asshole. I think sleeping in a lit barbeque would be cooler."

Stranger: "Wow that looks painful!"
Nanners: "Nah! I'm actually doing this for attention, but what I'd really like to discuss is how painful my period is. Do you have a minute? It's like there are little tiny ninjas marching up my fallopian tubes into my uterus and beating me to a slow death. AND not to mention, you should see the giant maxi-pad I'm wearing. Did you know they make plus size pads? They are essentially pads for fat people. You know the ol' saying " the bigger the girl, the bigger her snatch." What the fuck is that about? Oh and I haven't even told you the worst part! The other day I had a pad on while I was at the doctors office and I sat down too quickly and it made a "pffffffffffft" sound so everyone was staring at me like a balloon just deflated in my pants. Isn't that just awesome?"

Stranger: "Oh man, I know how you feel, I sprained my ankle once and it was not fun." 
Nanners: "Really? That sucks, I bet the sprain hurt most when you were WALKING to the Dr's office. OH and it probably hurt more when you were dancing and doing shots at the bar with your friends a week later!  Jesus, I feel so bad for you! Hopefully you got a chance to practice your British accent when you were stuck in bed for one day! I was in bed for 4 months so mine is pretty fantastic. Hey wait, did your pee hole shift when you fell? Mine did. Does it cause you to pee straight out and not down? I could imagine it would be pretty hard cleaning your urine off the bathroom floor with the use of both your legs. OMG, wait, did you launch into the fiercest panic attacks getting into your shower all summer thinking that your landlord would find you and your saggy tits lifeless and sopping wet on your bathroom floor? Oh sorry, you could probably stand to shower. My bad. Holy shit, did you gain so much weight from not moving that you're starting to look like Precious? I did.

Stranger: "Ouch!" 
Nanners: "Fuck off." 

I seem so pleasant don't I? Just like the kinda girl a guy would want to bring home to mom. 

Well, wish me luck and please pray for any stranger that gets in my way this week. I have no problem taking someone out with a crutch. 

I'm out, 
Nanners 


Aug 19, 2012

Some Things I Know for Certain...

I know I owe you all part 2 of my scintillating tale about balls, but this week has been a pretty big week for me. Not only was it Shark Week on the Discovery channel, but I also tried walking for the first time in 4 months since my high heel accident.

I can't tell you how many people have told me "One day, you'll look back on this whole experience and laugh." Um, bitch pa-lease. Not walking for 4 months, spending the entire summer single and sexless in the city, developing a slight drug addiction to Percocets and pissing with one leg (it's harder than it looks)  is VERY unfunny to me. (Actually, the only quasi-funny thing that came from this, was the night I accidentally lit one of my crutches on fire by leaning it against a burning candle while I was in bed. See pic below. It was literally smoking and I smelt burnt rubber for days.)


Anyway, my point is, I certainly don't think I'll be laughing any time soon ....But I do have a small list of things I do know for certain:

My mother threw my vibrator in the garbage. While I was in the hospital, my mother stayed at  my not-so- luxurious bachelorette pad in the city and cleaned the shit out of it. Now I'm talking like a "Mom clean", which entails hardcore scrubbing and mopping. Not a "Nanners clean" which is me blowing the dust off the t.v every 6 months and kicking everything under my bed an hour before my company arrives (and sometimes I put dirty dishes in the oven...oh it feels so good to share my secrets sometimes.) Anyway, back to my story... A few months prior to my fall, I accidentally dropped my vibrator under my bed and never bothered to retrieve it. Not thinking I would become virtually incapacitated in a high heel accident, I didn't see a reason to move my bed (God I'm lazy) and get it. Nor did I think my mother would ever be under my bed for any reason...ever. And um, I think a killer sleeps under there so I am definitely NOT going down there.

So one night last month my mom came down to stay with me while I was having one of my one-legged melt downs, and she saw a bag sitting under my nightstand and asked, "Amanda, what's in that bag?" I respond, "I don't know actually, maybe some stuff from the office that my boss dropped off?" And as I looked at her she was just staring at me with a bright red face and says "Well, I won't go in it. I don't want to embarrass you...just in case. I've found a lot of interesting things in your apartment" and she walked into the kitchen. I was so confused by that comment and her awkwardness that immediately my mind started racing through what she could have possibly found in my apartment. I mean, I'm super boring, I don't have a secret drug stash, I'm not into bondage, she won't find a gun. Hmmmm... It took me a few minutes and then it dawned on me. "Holy Jesus. She found IT."  And as if I'm ever bringing that up to my mother. "Hey mom, you owe me 40 bucks for that vibrator you tossed." NEVER. I'm gonna vomit.

That I will be killed by a shark at some point in my life. Even if I'm sitting in my living room.
Some of you may remember from an earlier post me mentioning that one of my biggest fears is being swallowed whole by a shark. Well, watching Shark Week on the Discovery channel just confirmed this. Even if were to never go in an ocean again and never leave my couch, I'm positive a shark will somehow find me and eat me. Do you realize how many people are limbless or dead from shark attacks? Lots.
You're all probably thinking, "Ummm....change the channel idiot" but I can't look away. It's like channel surfing and stumbling across an episode of Keeping Up with the Kardashians, I OBVIOUSLY would rather get a buzz cut and tattoo my face than watch them, but I always end up watching for a minimum of 6 hours.

That no one will ever be in the room when I've successfully rapped Juicy by Biggie Smalls. It's just a fact. I will never be able to prove I'm the next Nicki Minaj in front of my friends. When I'm by myself it's like the B.E.T awards up in here and I don't miss a beat. You think at a party or in a car with a friend I can bust out a bad-ass freestyle? Hells no. I consistently fuck it up. There is something so truly gratifying about rapping and doing it well. Jay Z must feel amazing everyday.

The resident surgeon at the hospital on Friday fully farted during my appointment. He was squeezing more than just my foot...He was squeezing his ass cheeks together for sure. Mid sentence he got a look on his face like a little constipated baby and out it came. I knew it by his sudden awkwardness and quick departure from the room. And not to mention my singed nose hair from the potent stench. Silent but deadly. Gross.

My orthopedic surgeon is the only man who has been inside me in years. I don't think I need to elaborate on this one, but that was my first thought at 7am when I creeped him at the bagel stand in the hospital before my appointment last week.

I will never ever ever wear high heels again. Yup, I have come to terms with the fact that I will be that girl in the office that will rock penny loafers and Hilary Clinton pantsuits for life. We've all seen what happened the last time I got dressed up and slapped on some heels. My desire for all things fashionable and uncomfortable has virtually disappeared.

I do apologize if this is not the continuation of last weeks story you were hoping for. But this was the only thing that came out when I started typing tonight.

Until next time,

Nanners











Aug 12, 2012

Balls...

When I was 16, all I dreamed about was balls. Well, actually I dreamed about pro baseball players but to highlight my immaturity, I just wanted to say a sentence with the word "balls" in it.

I was a full on stage 5 clinger when it came to MLB baseball players and anyone with a pulse.  My mom was totally on board with fueling my obsession of marrying a professional ball player by taking me to a Jays game at least once a week. Unbeknownst to many, she had a little secret obsession of her own...black men. And more specifically Joe Carter who played for the Blue Jays at the time. So her ebony and ivory fantasy worked to my advantage since it gave me the opportunity to catch so many games.
*Side note- I'm not sure if my mom's aware she married the whitest, palest, most freckled Scottish man on the planet but he's a far cry from Joe Carter. She once tried to hang a poster of Joe Carter over their bed after the World Series, until my father walked in and told her (in his scottish accent) "take that the fuck down"

Back to my story...

Sadly, at the Jays home opener on April Fools day 1998, my obsession with baseball turned into fear and our mother/daughter fantasy of tag-teaming pro ball players ended. Here's how it went down...or shall I say...how I went down. (*When I just wrote the sentence about me going down, it occurred to me that I've spent a good portion of my childhood/adult life on the floor either incapacitated or doing something gross.) 

Home openers were a big deal for my mom and I, but on the day of the game I had a little thing called "school" getting in the way of me going since it was a 1pm start time. So my mom called my school and told them I was sick. That was my cue to stuff my bra, put on my white eyeliner, draw my lipliner way outside of my lips to make them look bigger, pick up my two friends, and head out to the game.

Now any good slut knows that if you get to the games early enough to catch batting practice, that dramatically increases your odds of fucking a player getting an autograph so we OBVI did that. As my friends and I were standing down by the 3rd base line we saw some players coming towards us for autographs. It was at that point I began to prepare for the moment I would meet my future husband...that meant, tits out (pfft, I had no breasts) hair to the side, and that I must get my sharpie in hand. I realized quickly as they got closer that I didn't have my sharpie ready so in a moments  panic, I turned to my girlfriend Michelle to ask her to give me a pen and then....that was it....BLACKHAWK DOWN.

I HAD JUST BEEN HIT IN THE HEAD WITH A LINE DRIVE.
Wiki definition of a line drive:  in baseball is a type of batted ball, sharply hit, and on (or slightly above a level trajectory)
Nanners definition of a line drive:  the ball being hit really fucking hard into the side of my head.

After my brief journey toward the white light, I finally opened my eyes to find myself being cradled in the arms of one very creepy stranger on the floor of the stadium. His name was (read in slow-mo for effect)"Joooooohhhhhhnnnnnnn", which is how I heard it in my haze. For a split second, I thought I was dead. I could barely hear and everything was blurry. I remember thinking, "Is this man John really Jesus? Am I in Jesus's arms right now? Omg, I'm on the floor and unable to suck in my stomache rolls. Did I just shit my pants?" As I began to look around to see if the "big man upstairs" decided to send me to heaven or hell, I saw a bunch of White Sox and Jays players standing around me. Yup. I had made it to heaven. (Not to mention my view from the floor left me jock strap level with some of the hardest bodies in baseball. Trust me, it's always better on the floor. It doesn't matter how you get there but it always ends up being sticky. Strange. (I originally had something way dirtier typed and then the fear my father reading this and having a heart attack became too real) 

Over the next 2 or 3 minutes the commotion around me began to grow as me and my somewhat lifeless body lay with my new bestie John on the floor. By this time the player that hit the ball, Ozzie Guillen from the White Sox, was screaming in his thick latin accent at the guys beside me WHO HAD BASEBALL GLOVES ON and could have caught the ball while it was hurling towards my head.

Ozzie: (read in latin accent) "Oh my Gad, I can't belieb chu didn't catch da ball main. Now look, che lyin on da floor"

As distracted as I was by the little latin firecracker yelling at those useless fucks with their baseball  gloves on, I was even more distracted by my mother's ugly cry face that was happening across from me. We all have an ugly cry face but they make me very uncomfortable to look at and I can't look away. Ugly cry faces use the kind of facial expressions that no human should ever expose to another human no matter how tragic the circumstance. I've become a fan of putting both hands over my face and holding them there until I'm done or start sweating so much I want to die. Once you feel the chin quiver, take notice and get those hands ready. There is also something about seeing people's nostrils flare so rapidly that makes me feel weird. Ew. In my opinion, everyone should follow my lead and cup the ol' noggin before you make everyone squeamish.

Now this story is quite long as the second part of it involves half my body falling off the stretcher, the paramedics getting in a fight with a cab driver, getting a rub down from a douchey doctor, freaking a German resident out, and ending up as the headliner on the 6 o'clock news. So I'm gonna spare you all right now and save part deux for next Monday's post. ( And I have some major cramps and I'm losing focus)

I'm out.
Nanners






Aug 6, 2012

Random...

Last night when I took off my bra, a potato chip fell out (which I may or may not have eaten) Just kidding.  Not really. I think the most horrifying part is that I can't remember the last time I ate chips. I really need to pull my shit together and as my mother frequently reminds me, "start brushing your hair."

I'm in the homestretch of being able to finally walk again and I cannot fucking wait. I think it's safe to say that my level of excitement is comparable to eating a bacon wrapped hot dog when I was 12 and found out Joey Lawrence was doing an appearance at the Markville Town Centre by my house...like the Jizz.In.My.Pants kind of  excitement. For those who are struggling to remember who he is...I've uploaded a treat for the eyes. Who doesn't love a man that opts out of wearing a shirt, but insists on wearing a jacket? From this pic I'm thinking my chest may have more hair than his.

I vividly recall the moment I found out that Mr.Joey Lawrence was coming to town and I made my Mom rush me over to Northern Reflections to get my newest pimped out outfit. After all, this was gonna be the outfit I'd be getting engaged in. (For my American friends reading this, Northern Reflections was a cutting edge Canadian retailer that loved putting pictures of ducks, cats and old farmhouses on sweaters....so essentially outfitting the general public to look like assholes.) At the time, I thought it was pretty bad-ass though. I mean c'mon, the only way I was gonna get Joey Lawrence to put a ring on it was by luring him in with an awesome duck sweater. Makes sense... non?

And just when I thought I could never have room in my heart to love another man more than Joey Lawrence at the tender age of 12, my Dad went and hired the hottest 21 year old apprentice to work for him. His name was Jeff and Jeff was a God-he was quite possibly the dumbest person on earth but he was great to look at.  Anytime he would pull his truck in our driveway, I would get instantaneous upper lip sweat and my neck would start to twitch as I lurked through the blinds of our front window. (Please see the definition of 'creepy' to understand the full extent of my childhood lurking behaviour.) He would come in and have a beer with my Dad after work and you better believe I made sure that my side ponytail looked fierce and my leg hair was combed. Actually, Jeff was the real reason I started masturbating shaving. I once overheard him make a comment about a girl he dated who had the hairiest arms...well did I not lock myself in my bedroom with my mom's electric razor and shaved my entire body a few days later? Yup. NO JOKE.

I wasn't planning on writing a ramble this weekend and I don't even know if it made any sense at all...I'm all over the map and I'm actually suffering from another doozy of a hangover. Can you hear the tiny violin playing in the background? Don't you feel sorry for me? I just started writing tonight as one of the other 9 million activities I'm using as a distraction from cleaning out the cupboard in my kitchen.

The average civilian keeps pots and pans in their cupboards and in my opinion they aren't necessary kitchen staples...I get by just fine with a plate, a fork, a cheese grader and a corkscrew. The truth is I use cupboards for hoarding wine bottles. It's gotten to the point where I'm just too embarrassed to bring them out to the trash.
*ALERT-for any family member who is in the midst of organizing my intervention, I don't drink alone and I haven't been able to carry them down on my own with one leg. Whomp. Whomp.


I must say though, every time I wheel by this cupboard I do hear the voice of Jeff VanVonderen from A&E's  Intervention. "We've got a bunch of people in this room that love you like crazy, but they ain't gonna love you to death anymore." I gotta pull it together.

I'm out.
Nanners