I like to start this blog like we are the oldest and dearest of friends...because in most cases this is probably incredibly accurate. I'm assuming that most of the people that read this blog are infact my oldest and dearest friends. Today I have a day off from the ole daily grind/rat race/squirrel cage/nine-to-five/treadmill (who would have thought I could think of so many fun ways to say "work"), so I thought to myself, "self? Self I said, what better way to spend your day then telling your friends what you have to say?" I often speak to myself in verse. We're starting to veer away from the point...
Sadly, it has been many a month since I have updated this blog with my awkward misadventures. And frankly that is shameful and sad. I can't imagine your lives without an injection of hilarity straight from my brain to yours. It must be hard for you all to wake up in the morning and not have something to read that solidly reinforces your confidence that you are cooler than at least one other person in this world. Well, that day ends today. Today. TODAY. WE DINE. IN.HELL!
Today you will be told all about how my limbs often fail me. Now you might be thinking to yourself that most of my stories involve my flailing limbs (coincidentally when I was a youth I used to work at a summer camp and my friends created a band entitled "the flailing limbs"...shit my friends are funny) For some of you that might not know me or what I look like...you are probably envisioning Lanky Kong. I WISH THIS WERE TRUE. Everything that happens to me would be so much more fitting if it was instead, happening to an awkward wacky orange orangutan. Sadly, in reality I am an average girl. On the taller side of average, but my limbs are still fairly proportional to my body. How I manage to get into so many uncomfortable situations involving my limbs remains a mystery to me, but hopefully with the right doctor...I can one day be normal. NORMAL. I choose a normal life.
As I was saying. My limbs often fail me. In particular, my lower limbs. I have gotten into more awkward situations with my legs then Angelina Jolie did at the 2012 Academy Awards. BOOM!....So, today I have 3 stories to share with you. (Sidebar: while compiling a list of awkward times I've fallen, the list grew to well past 20...SMH) So. Grab your cup of tea and come along with me (verse again).
Story Time ONE)
In my second year of university I lived on campus in the east town home residences at Mount Royal University. I had my bike with me on campus in case I ever wanted to bike somewhere (incredibly rare). A friend of mine lived across campus in The West Res, however, and I was bringing something over to her on this particularly lovely spring day. I had decided to take a leisurely ride across campus (Note: Campus is incredibly small...not sure why I thought I needed to take the bike on such an *arduous journey*...literally a 45 second ride) to deliver whatever I had with me. I was wearing a pair of flip flops on this particular journey and was looking super cool on my hot red bike. I was riding alongside a truck for the whole journey and noticed that it was full of super hot guys. Knowing that all good drivers follow the rules of the road, I knew that they would have to stop at the upcoming crosswalk to allow me to cross infront of them. Trying to make a super cool impression, it was my intention to dismount from the bike in style and walk my bike across said crosswalk (as is the custom with bicycling). Now the particular dismount I had planned was that super cool "fling-your-foot-out-from-infront-of-you-over-the-bar-of-the-bike-while-the-bike-is-still-in-motion-and-impress-hot-guys" dismount, as opposed to that super lame "swing-your-leg-out-from-behind-you-once-the-bike-is-stopped-and-impress-no-one" dismount. The crosswalk was within dismounting distance so I started to swing my right leg out infront of me and up over the bar. This is where it all goes wrong. Instead of clearing the bar, my flip flop got stuck on the bar and created a sort of trap for my foot. I couldn't stop, I couldn't dismount, all I could do was watch in horror as the momentum of swinging my leg over, and it abruptly stopping and getting caught, caused me to PLUMMET to the ground with the bike landing in a tangled heap on top of me. Nothing graceful about this dismount. Instead of impressing these boys, I ended up writhing in pain on the ground covered in bike. Then all of the boys laughed at me and drove on. Truly scarring. It was at this point in my life that I stopped trying to impress 19 year old boys...
Story Time TWO)
I was walking down a busy street a few years ago with my dear friend Maddie when story number two takes place. We were chatting happily as 20 year old girls do, when I decided that it would be sooooo funny if I did that cute little leg kick thing where you use the leg closest to your friend to playfully kick them in the tucus. You all know the kick I'm talking about...Before I continue, there are some important details of my 20 year old life that you need to know about in order to understand the rest of this story: I had (and still do have) a serious obsession with purses/bags. At this point in my life, the bigger the bag the better. If I couldn't fit at least 4 books, a laptop, a small child, and a 12 foot subway sandwich in my purse then it was just not going to work out between us. The purse I was using on this particular day was no exception. It was definitely one of my bigger and longer bags. Now while I was trying to follow through with my cute little leg kick maneuver, my left leg somehow got horribly tangled in my purse strap. For the split second before what happens next I tried DESPERATELY to extract my leg from the ever tightening death grip the strap was delivering. Alas, breaking free from my corded prison would prove to be futile. Instead I would awkwardly (and rather painfully) smash my entire body onto the sidewalk of said busy street. This fall was particularly epic, in that it wasn't just a "fall over and stay on the ground" type of fall...but rather...a "fall over and then skid down the pavement for a while before coming to a stop" type of fall. Rather then help me up off the pavement and untangle my limbs from my death purse, my friend Maddie just collapsed to the ground in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Really nice...REALLLLLLY NICE. I rolled over on the pavement, somehow managed to untangle myself and dragged my useless lower half over to the little grass hill to our right. I laid there for awhile, cursing my newborn baby deer legs, and tried to catch my breath, all the while Maddie nearly passed out from laughing so hard. After awhile we got up and I limped my way over to the nearest Shoppers Drug Mart where I purchased some bandaids to heal my injuries...Nothing however, would be found to heal my injured pride.
(picture me as the calf in the above picture...)
Story Time THREE)
Flashback 4 years in my life and you'll find yourself with me at Pioneer Ranch Camps in Rocky Mountain House, partaking in some seriously silly/excellent times. It was the tradition of the girls camp I attended to have summer rodeos in one of the large arenas on site. It was also the tradition of said girls camp to have some members of camp staff preform as rodeo clowns for the rodeo. This year I had volunteered to be a rodeo clown along with my friends Nikki and Robyn. We had raided the camp skit box for attire fitting of rodeo clowns and decked our faces out in rodeo clown face paint. We looked incredibly convincing. Don't believe me? Here is proof:
So the time had come for our great rodeo clown entrance. I wanted for my entrance to be epic and awesome. I had planned to dive through the middle posts of the fence of the arena and then somersault back up into the standing position. (This was an incredibly lofty goal...revisit the above picture and check out the distance between the rails to determine for yourself if this was a good idea) But whatever, it was going to look SO GOOD. So the rodeo commentators announced our arrival and I took off running toward the arena. I took the leap, and dove with all of my heart through the fence. Unfortunately for me, I tried to assume somersault poition too soon. My lower limbs had still not cleared the fence and instead of gracefully emerging on the other side of the fence I bent in half and SMASHED my face insanely hard on the bottom rail of the fence. Hilarious, I know. I hung there for awhile thinking I was probably dead. I felt hot blood pouring out of my face and it felt like I had knocked out a couple of teeth (I hadn't...). I slithered out of the fence and did a somersault to try and salvage the glorious entrance I had planned. My friends Nikki and Robyn ran over to me and I looked up at them, I heard a couple of gasps from the crowd closest to me, and to try and prove that I was alright to the crowd I broke into terrifying maniacal laughter (this did not help considering what I looked like at this point). I asked my friend Robyn (who is a nurse) if it was bad, and she just kind of looked at my face and grimaced. Someone brought over a mirror and tried to clean me up a bit, but by this point all of the camp had seen me with blood pouring down my face out of the gaping hole in my lip (and in complete whiteface clown makeup...blood really stands out). I had successfully accomplished nothing but becoming scary demon clown here to ruin your rodeo fun. In fact, on the caption of the above picture on facebook Robyn wrote, "hahahaha holly you were like the nightmare clown with blood dripping down your lips and off your chin". Sigh...my life is a diaster.
Moral of all these stories, is that I fall a lot. One day I'm sure it will come in handy. Like...picture this: I fall at the hospital while trying to empty a catheter bag and the person that helps me up is the handsome surgeon I will one day marry. OR....I slip in a puddle and fall down the stairs at a mall and sue the mall and they settle out of court for 500 million dollars. Both of these scenarios are entirely possible and highly probable....
Admit it....you're fall-ing in love with me.