I have a new blog

It's tiny and it needs some work. But it's cute. And the idea behind it is fun:

http://tinymishaps.blogspot.com/

My finger

is tingly. And numb. Still.

Forget diamonds...

Band-aids are a girl's best friend. Well, this girl at least. I have finally come to terms with the fact that I am accident prone. Well, I really always knew I was (because it runs in my blood, and my brother is just as bad) but I just denied it because I didn't want to be that girl. You know the one I'm talking about... that girl. The clumsy one that trips, falls, spills, gets attacked by flying butter knives, starts kitchen fires, etc.

After a series of about six small accidents in the last month, it's time for me to divulge (or even embrace?) this unfortunate characteristic; that way, people can steer clear of me. Or maybe by blogging about these ill-fated experiences, I will in some way be cleansing my aura and the universe will quit pointing and laughing at me. Uh?

So, to get you up-to-date (if you're my facebook friend, then you already know)...

If you recall, I grabbed a hot burner a little while back. I know, I know. STUPID. I thought it had cooled. But who needs fingerprints?

A couple days later, I cut my finger while cleaning out a used Campbell's Soup can. Sheesh. That's what I get for trying to save the world. It hurt. I danced around the kitchen yelling "OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD" until Chris came over and helped me clean it up. Not quite deep enough to need stitches, but deep enough that I could see all the white muscle, tissue and clear fluids.


Then I hurt my hamstring at the gym.

I fell down while putting on my pants (twice). I can recollect Chris saying something like "Wow, are you serious?" then the second time that same week "That was sexy, babe." It's a good thing he loves me.

Shortly thereafter, I burned the cookies to a CRISP because I didn't hear the timer. That was embarrassing because I was baking for guests. So they should have cooked for 12 minutes and were in there for, hmmm, I'd say about 45.

I started a kitchen fire (twice). Once by grabbing the burner with an oven mitt and once -- well, I blame that one on Chris for leaving crumbs under the burner. Wow, those burners really hate me. Our smoke detector goes off regularly. The neighbors love us.

I currently have an oozing blister on my wrist from a curling iron.

Now for the flying butter knife attack (you guys will love this -- it comes with pictures). I work in a warehouse as a copywriter writing product descriptions for the website. So my job entails of sitting, staring and typing. Oh yeah--AND the occasional walk to the warehouse to carry products to shelves. Apparently that was too labor-intensive for me? The work environment is very professional and we take our jobs very seriously.

Anyway, I'd just finished writing a very elegant and heavy-duty 65-piece sterling silver flatware set. It looked similar to this (pay close attention to the display window, because that comes into play later):

I carried it out to the warehouse, like a good lil employee, and placed it a shelf or two above my head. As it started falling, natural instincts took over, and I put my arms out to catch it. Well, the butter knife in that damned display window happened to be at the perfect attacking angle. It sliced my right index finger TO THE BONE. Yep. A butter knife.

Doctor at workcare center: [while preparing tools to scrub my cut] "So, what do you do, Crystal?"
Me: [ashamed] "I'm just a copywriter."
Dr.: "How'd this happen?"
Me: "It was just a freak accident. I don't even know." [eye roll]
[long pause during cut scrubbing]
Me: "If you could just throw some super glue on there, OR SOME OF THOSE DISOLVING STITCHES (!) I'll be on my way."
Dr.: [laughing] "Nope, sorry. Not with a laceration like this. You need stitches."
Me: [sob sob sob]
Chris: [in whispers] "Hey look, babe. That nurse looks like Christina (from Grey's Anatomy).
Me: [smiles]

She really did look JUST like her. And she talked like her. And walked like her.

This is what it looked like after it had been gushing blood for about 40 minutes already:

This is what the giant bandage looked like:

This is what it looked like after I got 4 stitches and endured the indescribable pain of the numbing shot:

This is what it looks like now (four weeks later):

It's healing up quite nicely; the only problem is, I've lost the feeling in my finger. Because the cut was so deep (to the bone, yeah, OUCH) there's sensory nerve damage. I'm hoping the numbness and tingling subsides because it's sort of a pain to ask Chris to open all the jars. And I like my index finger. I've grown quite fond of it.

So, there you have it. Butter knives are deadly and being a copywriter is a dangerous job, but someone has to do it.

What? I'm not accident prone.

So last night was curry night. We'd both been looking forward to some delicious homemade Indian food. Chris left to go get a car part and I started slaving away at the stove. It was a quiet, pleasant little evening. Little did I know, the night was about to take a nasty turn, then crash, then burn.
Things that went wrong:

1. I started to boil some water for the basmati rice—but something smelled funny. I noticed there was crap from the night before, smoking beneath the burner. I turned the stove off (mind you, it had only been on for about 15 seconds) and took out the burner and silver thingy (with oven mitts). It took me a couple minutes to get it clean, so I assumed the burner would have cooled off. I grabbed it with all five fingers on my left hand, realized it was burning me, then threw it (slow but hard reflexes) into the sink. Oh and it siiiizzzzllllleeedd when it landed; it was HOTT. My hand was stinging to the point of tears.

2. I wrapped a wet paper towel on my hand and continued cooking. The naan in the oven wasn't baking fast enough, so I turned the temp up to 450. A minute later it was black.
3. The smoke alarm went off and I had no clue how to turn it off—plus wasn't tall enough to reach it anyway. I took the bread outside to let it finish smoking.

4. The basmati rice overcooked because I was taking care of burnt naan. So it turned out moist and mushy.

5. Once the naan cooled enough to be thrown away, I brought it inside and threw it in the garbage. But then the garbage tipped over. Crumbs everywhere.

6. When I bent down to pick up the spilled garbage, I set my 7UP on the counter and it magically jumped right back off…landing hard at my feet, spraying pop all over the walls, my rug, into the living room and on the tile. My rug was drenched. My pajama pants, drenched. My slippers, sticky and wet.

Chris came home to a disastrous house, the smell of burning skin and naan, and a broken gf. After all that, the curry didn't even taste right. What a waste! Anyway, after I calmed down, regained my composure and figured out what I did wrong with the curry, we were able to laugh about the night. He promised he'd make the curry for me next time. It was obviously too big of a task for me.
He got out the camera because he thought it was funny we used all the band aids in the house bandaging up my hand. Today my hand feels better…although I am missing fingerprints on all five fingers. Coworkers tried to encourage me to commit a crime, but I don't usually give in to peer pressure.

He kept following me around with the camera...he wanted several pictures to remember this happy day.