Down in a Blaze of Glory...

Last night I heard some Eminem which brought me back to the night I lost my virginity...I am sooooo tempted to write about it but 3 out of the 4 people involved in that event are on my Facebook (excluding his mom-long story) so I'm gonna do the lady like thing and forgo sharing that experience. Unfortunately you're stuck with another post about my leg...Shocker.

Typically, the type of surgery I had keeps people hospital bound for 2 days and then they can peace out. I on the other hand, was shackled up for 5 blissful days, rooming with the cast of Goodfellas (see last week's post to get my wise guy movie reference) There is a small part of me that kind of prefers staying in the hospital over living alone. I think P.O.W's are more comfortable than I am. Actually, I know for a fact they are at least more sane.

When you live alone, you have a lot of time to masturbate  think, and the strangest anxieties can manifest. MANY disturbing thoughts run through my head on any given day. For example, a couple weeks ago I mentioned that I believe there's a murderer that hangs out in my bathtub and today I believe that the fan I have blowing on my face at night is gonna spontaneously dismantle and the blades are gonna fly off and slash my face beyond recognition in my sleep. That's legit...right?

BUT, I do have to say that my biggest most traumatizing fear is showering these days. Showering with one leg ain't easy and the sheer terror of someone finding my wet, naked, lifeless body on my bathroom floor is enough to scare me in to making my own homemade catheter. Ugh. I just shuddered and swallowed my tongue at the same time. It has legitimately become my worst fear (well that and being swallowed whole by a shark and surviving it.) So now when I travel the exhausting 10 feet to my washroom I carry the following: 

Lip Gloss- If I'm going down in a blaze of glory the least I can do is have a kissable pout and die with some dignity. 

Phone- In case I need to call 911 if I go tits up. Or if I need to call my mom crying from the toilet to let her know how unfair it is that i have a broken leg AND my period. (That happened)

A book-If I were to survive a slip and fall but can't move until my landlord finds my rotting corpse, then I must keep my mind preoccupied with some sort of pleasantry. (This week's book was Justin Bieber's 'Oh Boy' book my co-workers sent me-don't judge. (Technically I don't have to bring a book, I mean I could use the time on the floor to practice my british accent but I'm sure that would grow old.)
3 towels:

• 1 for my luscious locks 
• 1 to wipe the pee off the floor - I recognize that I've talked about pee a lot lately but since I broke my leg during the great fall of 2012, I think I've shifted my pee hole and I pee straight out instead of straight down. It's the strangest thing. I'm okay sharing this with strangers, just not my doctor.
• 1 is a courtesy towel for the police to cover my saggy breasts with in my own do-it yourself crime scene. I'm not kidding about my breasts. As I was laying in bed this morning, I noticed the gap between my breasts is expanding. Actually, I wrestled my breast out of my armpit if you want the real story. 

Well, I could continue writing about more of my fears but I'm about to pee my pants and I must go pluck my nipple hair to prep for today's shower. But before that and in closing, I wanted to leave you with a pic of my assisted pissing device. Yup, I'm 90.

Have a good weekend,
Nanners