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
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