I'm Only Half Evil
So for the 17th night in a row….I can’t sleep. At night, that is. My internal clock has somehow switched to the complete reverse, and my circadian rhythms are all fucked up. I will be awake until at least 6 am, and then will want to sleep until 2pm. The only problem is, I have to be somewhere tomorrow (this?) morning at 11am. WTF? I blame it on depression, stress, anger, coffee, lack of sex, lack of exercise, uncertain direction in life and loneliness. And internet television. It all started with goddam peekvids. Damn you, all three seasons of “The L Word”!!!!
So, in the meantime, while I wait for sleepiness to overtake me, which may or may not happen, I will regale you with the story of the smashing of my face. It’s like a Choose Your Own Adventure: one of the following stories is (mostly) true……
1. I have an innocent look to me; it gets me far in life. I am also rather plain, unless you happen to be in love with me, which would then make me the most beautiful woman in the world. But, you are not, so it is likely you never noticed me…and that is what makes me such a great spy. Actually, we are called “Secret Agents” these days. The term “spy” is rather out-of-fashion, and reeks of cold-war mello-drama in a way that is no longer cool or sellable. Anyhow, my most recent assignment will be my last, because I was “made” by my quarry. I had been tracking him for several months, with the directive to bring him in alive. But, last Saturday, as I closed in on him, he caught me on the staircase in Union Station, and threw a vial of sulphuric acid at my face. Fortunately for me, just as he released the vial, he slipped on a banana peel and most of the acid splattered harmlessly into the air, and only a hit a small area of my face. Also, fortunately there was a little boy of about 8 standing right beside me, holding a 22 ounce Slushie (blue) which I promptly grabbed and doused my face with. It flushed away the acid, preventing anything worse than superficial wounds from occurring. In the mellee, my adversary escaped. I can only hope my replacement is more cunning and successful. Don’t worry, the little boy was uninjured, but pissed that I took his Slushie. I gave him five dollars, and called 911 from his cell phone.
2. I work hard; I play harder. Being a full time student and a musician is a taxing lifestyle, and every now and then I like to throw off the shackles of industriousness and have some secular fun. One such night, I had been into the gin, the champagne, the rum, the beer and the Bailey’s with some friends, and was feeling no pain at all, when it suddenly occurred to me that I had once been a very famous dancer. Not like parallel-plane stuff, but more like nobody knows that I used to be a body double for Britney Spears because I am not particularly proud of those days. Ahh, the treacherous freedom of youth, when everything seemed like a good idea. What actually occurred to me was that it was time to come out of the closet, so to speak, and confess my kinetic deeds of days gone by to my friends. Being that dancing is a language without words, I decided to proclaim (reclaim?) my infamy with a spontaneous eruption of dance, right in the street, as I spied a conveniently located bench. You remember the video for “Hit Me Baby One More Time” with the unforgettable scene with the chair? Well, I not only choreographed that entire routine, but also performed it for Britney, who was, at the time, too junked up on shrooms to do the sequence. Fast forward to last weekend, when, to the delight of all those around me, I began singing loudly and gracefully leapt onto the bench to recreate the dance in it’s full glory. Much to my chagrin, the bench was cemented to pavement or something, and refused to tip. So I went over it head first and ended with a grand finale of balancing on my face. TAH-DAH!!! I am so sexy.
3. Early one morning, actually it was the morning after the Britney Spears episode, I was riding my bike along College, near Augusta. I was wearing my sexy blue Fedora instead of a bike helmet (bad idea), and feeling rather spacey from lack of sleep and the two drinks I’d had at work. By the way, my bicycle is also a sexy blue, with red sparkly handlebars, which I like to think make for a pretty sweet ride. I was riding along, minding my own business, thinking about butterflies and kittens, when Out of NOWHERE, a black car, I think it might have been a Volvo, decided it was of the utmost importance to make an immediate 90 degree turn to the right, directly in front of me, with no warning. Needless to say, this did not agree with the directly forward path my bike was taking, and there was an ill-timed impromptu display of Newton’s First Law, despite the clearly-marked “bikes only” lane. As I flew over the handlebars (in slow motion, of course), I tried to tuck and roll, as I had been trained to do in that one snowboarding lesson I took 8 years ago. It’s much harder to apply than you’d think. Wouldn’t it be great if I could have gracefully just turned my face plant into a dive roll, jumped up, arms spread, tippytoed, beaming at the judges? As it were, I landed on my face, and sliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiid. Like an aging boxer who refuses to stay down, I leapt up, picked up what was left of my mangled face off the pavement, and turned towards the car, which had stopped beside me, side mirror dangling like a loose tooth. The driver, a pasty, white dough-boy with black hair and mirrored glasses, sat with his mouth frozen into a perfect horrified “O” as he digested the blood running down my face. He might have been about to get out and apologize, but my adrenaline and pent-up passive aggressive rage had kicked in and I started yelling things like “YEAH! YOU BETTER DRIVE AWAY DOUGH BOY OR I WILL KILL YOU! JUST GET OUT OF THE CAR MUTHAFUCKAH—I DARE YOU!” as I tried, in vain (stupid Volvo) to kick the shit out of his side door. Where actions like these, in the wake of an accident that was clearly not my fault, come from I have no idea. Rage obviously, fear, yes. But also perhaps it is my guilty conscience. I did kick Eric W. in the balls once, really hard, in Grade 4. I am sure he has never forgotten, and I am still sorry I did it.
4. I tried to sand-paper away that fucking stubborn wrinkle that is forming there.
5. I woke in the middle of the night to my cat calmly licking all the skin from the left side of my face.
6. I was abducted by aliens, I think.
7. fuckit i'm finally tired.........good night
posted by katherine at 9:17 AM
1 comments
links to this post
