I have been thinking of taking up roller-blading.
I know, right? Is there a thing in the world that sounds less like me than roller-blading?
Maybe surfing.
People? If my body ever washes up on shore and the police are all, “It appears there was a surfing mishap,” I want you to speak the fuck up. No way was I surfing.
Also? If my body ever shows up anywhere unexpected, and the police are all, “Shit happens. We are talking to the spouse, but he is not a suspect,” I want you to speak the fuck up.
If the shit that has happened is that I am dead?
Mark is a suspect.
Wait . . . where was I?
Yes! Roller-blading.
I bought a pair of roller-blades several years ago in one of those delusional moments that sometimes happens when you are about 40.
Yes, I know I have never been cool or particularly well-coordinated or athletic or popular . . . but that is only because I have not been on roller-blades! Once people see me zooming around the neighborhood? They will be all aswoon at my awesomeness. I will be zippy-quick and stunning and sexy and the wind will blow through my hair and people are going to want to be me!
I mentioned the 40 thing, right? A tricky year for sanity.
Sigh.
So I bought roller-blades. I put them on. Also put on my helmet and my knee guards and my elbow guards.
I was mocked mercilessly by all members of my family.
New cool sexy me was immune to their barbs.
I rolled around our kitchen, hanging onto the kitchen island for dear life.
There was more mocking.
Whatever . . . stupid family doesn’t have to support me. Wait until I am in the Ice Capades doing tricks and shit. They are going to feel pretty stupid then.
What?
OK, so I practiced in the kitchen and it turned out that roller-blades weren’t really that hard!
Fuck turning 40! I am young and fabulous and I am roller-blading! Yay!
I made plans to go to the park while the girls were at school one afternoon. A small park with a nice smooth walkway. A good place to test out my new rolling youthful sexiness.
The dog (we had only Persie the Labrador at the time) got all excited about going to the park, but there was no way I was ready to be one of those chicks who roller-blades with her dog. That was just asking for an ambulance.
But I felt bad.
So I went into the back yard to kick the soccer ball around for the dog. Persie is a weird dog, and she likes balls that she cannot actually fetch and retrieve. She goes nutso for rolling impossibility.
So I was kicking the ball for the dog. Persie was going insane with joy. OK, one more big kick and then I was headed out to be irresistible at the park . . . and . . . KICK!
And then I fell to the ground in agony.
Something in my thigh just snapped and tangled and bunched and then became encrusted with pulsating broken glass.
Oh my god. So much pain.
I hobbled into the house and called the advice nurse at Kaiser, who was SPECTACULARLY unconcerned with the fact that I was broken.
Sigh.
For the next week and a half, I walked around like a 90 year old woman. Tiny little shuffling steps of wincingly biting pain. Yay!
So that killed the roller-blading dream. If I could be taken out by a soccer ball kick? No way was I a woman destined to roll.
But I kept the roller-blades.
Since moving to Lake Oswego, I have become aware of a young impossibly hot mom who roller-blades through the neighborhood.
Sigh.
That was supposed to be me.
So I am thinking of taking up roller-blading.
I will be sexy and young and the breeze will blow through my hair and people will want to be me!
Fuck turning 45! I am young and fabulous and I will be roller-blading! Yay!
OK, but then here is this morning . . .
I am sitting at my desk in the basement and the doorbell rings. I start to get up out of my chair, but as I turn? My right foot gets all jammed and tangled in the leg of the table I use as my desk.
Ow Ow Ow! Fuck, that hurts!
As I continue to move up and out of my chair, I am stumbling and grabbing at my bare foot. I am also cursing loudly. All of this commotion draws the attention of Persie the Labrador, who sidles up behind me.
As I turn, I trip on the dog and go down hard.
And then there are the blended screams of aging me and aging dog . . . somehow, my knee and her skull have met with unbelievable force.
I crumple to the ground, crying and rocking and holding my knee.
The dog yipes several loud times and then starts to shake her head frantically, trying to make her skull-fractured pain stop.
I pull the dog to me and I snuggle, snot-faced and teary, into her brown furry flank.
“Guess what, dog? My knee fucking hurts. My foot fucking hurts. I can’t even get up out of a chair without injury. I am too old and stupid to roller-blade.”
The dog wiggles happily into my embrace.
I whisper into her fur, “But a motorcycle! That’s got wheels and sex and the promise of youth! I would be way hot on a motorcycle!”
People?
Did I mention I am about to turn 45?
It’s shaping up to be another tricky year for sanity.
Sigh.
In unrelated news? I have not been bitching at you about this voting link at the end of my posts, because I hate bitching at you about the voting link at the end of my posts. But it has been brought to my attention that without my bitching? Fewer of you are clicking.
I have just one thing to say to those of you who are not voting for me . . .
You are a bunch of lazy ungrateful motherfuckers . . . it’s one click at the end of each post!
What?
That must be the old-lady pain meds talking.
Ahem.
I think these “accidents” might be the universe’s way of telling you, “give up on the rollerblading, this pain is nothing compared to what will happen if you try the rollerblading”
But the wanna-be biker chick buried deep inside of me really wants to cheer on this new insanity you have thought up.
Also…I clicked. ;-)
Tracie -
Personally? I am noticing that the dog seems to be involved more than one might expect. Why would the dog care whether or not I roller-blade? What does the dog know that I don’t know? Why does the dog keep hurting me?
She has hurt me other non-roller-blade related times as well. I posted about one spectacular incident.
Our Labrador is possibly Satan.
Hmmph.
A snuggly evil flatulent aging Satan.
Here’s the link to the post in which the stupid dog took me down.
How have I never noticed how much this dog hurts me?
http://www.prettyalltrue.com/2010/02/head-injuries-and-first-impressions/
Clearly he is secretly (or not so secretly) plotting to kill you, thereby securing your side of the bed for himself.
I should also tell you that one time, I accidentally slammed a door in my own face, giving myself a black eye. (thankfully it was the day after my cousin’s wedding!).
I am that woman is terribly gifted at injuring herself and causing strangers to give my husband dirty looks.
If it helps any, I’m totally available to back up your bar fight story anytime.
Tracie -
I have hurt myself stupidly so many times.
Actually, almost all of my injuries involve stupidity on my part. Mark jokes that I should be kept in a big bubble . . . not because of germs, but so that I would bounce off of potential hazards.
In related news?
It is not smart to stand on the back tank of the toilet.
Even if you are not pregnant.
Which I so was.
Ahem.
This isnt the moment to tell you my mother is only 2 years older than you.
So I won’t mention that.
I am way uncool on roller blades, and I’m supposed to be youthful. Me and roller blades are not fucking friendly.
I would suggest that the insanity is always there, it just draws attention to itself around birthday times. Mine draws attention to itself regularly. I’m under no illusions, I’m sure I will be completely insane an insititionalised by the time im 30.
But yeah. Roller blades are the devils work.
Toni -
I am well aware that many of my readers are young enough to be my children. That sucks, but it also makes it easier for m to boss you with authority . . . see my bitching at the end of this post. Snort!
The only birthday that has EVER bothered me was 40.
And that one bothered me a lot.
I am trying to ward off any 45 nonsense by heading it off at the pass.
I will keep you posted.
Hee hee!
In other news. I was first.
*happy dance*
Yay!
Silly you.
Happy sighs that I already voted today. And sorry about your knee. Mine too was hurt when I tripped over my child’s toy and fell. With said child in my arms :(
Thank God we fell on carpet.
Have you seen my blog lately? I changed things and put your blinkie up!
Amy -
I have not been by your blog today. Making a note to visit in a bit.
And my knee still hurts.
Annoying to be this old and this ungraceful and uncool.
Bother.
True story:
This morning I was reading Amy’s blog (your psychophant). She had written a post about TMB and was thanking people for voting for her. I was all “Hey I should go vote for Amy cuz she’s pretty awesome.” So I found the link and then I clicked on it. And then I walked away from the computer to do my hair.
(This story has a point, I promise.)
So as I was doing my hair my mind was still on TMB and it was all, “Hey, you haven’t voted for Kris for awhile. Why not?” And then there was pondering. And then my brain was all, “That little vote every day message is always there in the same place. My brain doesn’t even notice it anymore. Today in my comment I should tell Kris about how her click to vote message is too easy to tune out.”
So…
Kris. Your click to vote every day message is way too easy to tune out. I cannot even notice it when it is always in the same place and saying the same thing.
Please make my brain notice it so I can think about clicking it!
Thank you. Also. I have clicked today. Because I have noticed. :)
Haven -
Here’s the thing. I do not mind getting all hyped up and loony over a limited time thing. Get your asses over to Amazon and leave me a review! Go visit this Featured Blogger! Get some people to friend me on Facebook!
But an ongoing begging for votes?
I HATE IT. I HATE IT MORE THAN I CAN SAY.
So I was really happy when I discovered I could just put the link at the bottom of my posts. Yay! People will get in the habit of just clicking to vote every time they finish a post! YAY!
And some people do. I love those people.
But then people forget . . . Which I totally get, because just like you? Once something has appeared before me in the same place for many repetitions? It disappears.
But I hate asking for votes.
And yes, I know I am in the Number One spot, and I should stop being such a fucking baby.
But I hate asking.
Bleagh.
Okay. I get the whole “I am so not begging for this!” thing. I do not even need to be begged.
I am all happy to vote for you!
But I just forget because my brain glazes over when it gets to the bottom. :(
If it was moved occasionally to the top of the post or some other place or a color changed or there was a little tag that said “vote” or something like that I would take notice. “Hey that’s different! Oh yeah. I should vote.”
That is a lot of work though. So hm. I don’t know. I will try not to glaze.
Haven?
Juggling stupid woman button . . . right hand side of my blog.
It says “We’re #1″
That’s a voting link that I move about my blog.
You have perhaps noticed?
SNORT!
Obviously not. I am a lost cause of obliviousness. *Sigh*
Hee hee!
I suspected as much.
I LOVE you for voting for me! I feel all happy and special and psychophant-y!
Snort!
Haven is kissing ass that is not mine?
And you are kissing Haven’s ass?
Annoying.
It’s called mutual gratification missy! And since we rode naked together on a carousel I think a me and Haven hook up is called for!
Snort! I meant “Neigh!”
Alright, smarty-pants you.
Alright.
Carry on.
I, too, have roller blades in my closet. Where they will likely stay. Until I move. Sigh. And I’m only 38.
But, I vote twice a day. Once from home and once from work. So you get double the goodness. :-)
And poor you and Persie.
Mary -
Yay for voting! Love that . . thank you.
As for the collision between me and the dog?
Persie seems to have made a complete recovery.
My knee is all bruised and bothered.
Hmmph.
Oh my God! This is a genius plan! Why have I never thought of voting at more than one computer?
I have my laptop at home, my computer at work, my iPhone and my husband’s too.
That is, of course, only if my brain can be wrangled into focusing on voting for 3 seconds amongst all the other awesomeness going on here.
Haven -
I would be all delighted except for my suspicion that you are easily distracted.
But if the distraction is “all the other awesomeness going on here?”
I can live with that.
Hee hee!
You’ve completely forgotten about the possibility of a convertible sports car. They are way sexier than motorcycles.
I’d definitely want to do you if I saw you driving around town in a Porsche.
Natalie -
Eh. I don’t like sports cars. And I detest convertibles.
I am weird that way.
Although if it meant you would want to do me?
I might reconsider.
Snort!
I was thinking (at 33), “This is what I have to look forward to?” But shit, I am not the youngest or the hottest or the most coordinated in my neighborhood even now. I’m fucked! However, I did get a sports injury this year (turf toe)…when I tripped on my own feet and fell down my stairs. At least you rollerbladed in the kitchen…(sigh)
Maggie -
I am way clutzy. And I forget when furniture is moved. Not that I am in the habit of moving my furniture around, but when I do? I always run into it several times before I get used to it in its new spot.
Stupid coffee table.
Did you break any bones when you fell down the stairs?
OUCH.
Eh, might as well have. My whole foot turned purple, it hurt the same, and the recovery was 6-8 weeks, plus it still aches if I wear tight shoes. I am all sorts of clutzy, yet felt super cool b/c I had the same injury as Jay Cutler! I felt so sporty! Though I did injured myself with the stroller, while putting the stroller in the car today. Lame.
Today?
I slammed all of my fingers on my right hand in the trash cupboard. SLAM!
Ow.
Watch for typos.
Sigh.
I clicked. But you’re number one anyway. No need for bitching!
You know why I laughed when reading about your accidents? I OWN the title of Clumsiest Person Alive. Toys on the floor fly furiously to my feet, and furniture will shift suddenly towards my knees/thighs/hips/arms. I am always bruised. Always.
I think it’s never to late to be that mom roller-blading through your neighbourhood, though… fuck 45.
Madeleine -
Bitching was required. I am Number One, but by an ever-decreasing margin. Bitching was required.
I would fight you for the title of Clumsiest Person Alive, but then we just both end up bruised and sad.
A tie.
And as lovely as you are to suggest that I may still have roller-blading days in my future?
The evidence suggests otherwise.
Annoying.
Who would be the winner in this fight, anyway? The loser?
Snort!
You are so smart.
Yes . . . a tie.
Definitely the way to go.
Yeah, I just turned 46 and am in the process of accepting that some things are just never going to happen. Sky-diving. Skiing. Rinsing plates BEFORE putting them in the dishwasher.
“Going to the gym” is still in play, but barely.
Chris -
Sky-diving was NEVER going to happen for me. I am phobic about airplanes, and the only thing worse than being IN an airplane? Would be to step out of it mid-flight.
ACK!
And skiing is out because I am allergic to cold. Really. Like a 911 emergency kind of allergic.
I am a freak.
But . . . I have lived to rinse dishes before putting them in the dishwasher!
YES! I am a sexy hot babe!
I am living the life over here!
Wait . . . what?
I was at an amusement park about fifteen years ago with two of my really good friends and my neice.
We decided to ride an ‘attraction’ that had cars that sorta looked like ferris wheel cars/containers, but instead of being open to the breeze and allowing you to appreciate the scenery, the cars had roofs and sides doors and such. Turns out that was a pretty good idea since the thingy they were attatched to not only lifted you up vertically, it also spun you around like a yo-yo.
Actually, the ride was pretty fun.
Anywho, trying to climb out the door of said ride? My foot got wedged into the step part of the opening and I flopped out of the car, foot firmly stuck in the opening.
Did I mention that the car rocked back and forth? So, not only was I all scraped and bruised from the inital fall, then I was turned into a human cheese wedge as my flesh was grated across the cement since no one came to help me.
It was a long hobble back the car.
In completely unrelated other news? I thought of you a couple weeks ago when I attended a Mouse Race fundraiser in the banquet hall of a golf course. The banquet hall was on the bottom floor. There was a bar/restaurant on the top floor where I had to go to get my very affordable, very large drink to get me through the night.
Just for shits and giggles, I picked up a to go menu. On said menu? A sandwich called….
wait for it….
Cousin Cooter’s Comeback Sandwich.
What’s the meat in this sandwich you may be wondering?
Why, it’s pork. Pulled pork.
Cousin Cooter’s Comeback Sandwich consists of pulled pork.
As I’m sure you realized instantly, the opportunities for mocking are plentiful. I immediately showed it to my husband who gave me a halfhearted chuckle because he could tell I expected it since I was crying with laughter.
No one has appreciated this properly. Restore my faith.
Cousin Cooter’s Comeback Sandwich consists of pulled pork?
I am gasping for breath and trying to comment quickly before someone else hijacks this comment.
DYING.
OK, and for some reason?
Because I am laughing until I am crying about the name of the sandwich?
The image of you as . . .
A human cheese wedge as my flesh was grated across the cement since no one came to help me . .
I am helpless with giggling.
Tears.
Gasping.
Oh my god.
You have this story on your blog, right?
So . . . much . . . giggling.
Thank you! I KNOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Seriously, who could NOT mock this?
Ahhhhhhh…the sweet, sweet taste of validated mockery.
What does that taste remind me of?
Pulled pork?
YES!
Um…wouldn’t the pork be more salty than sweet? ::Snort::
Snort!
“Is there a thing in the world that sounds less like me than roller-blading?”
I present to you 10 things that sound less like Kris than roller-blading:
1) “I’m a virgin!”.
2) A quiche being made that was not purchased pre-made from Costco.
3) Typn lik diz.
4) Your typical mommy blog.
5) A deep knowledge and understanding about the way the internet works.
6) Begging for votes.
7) Tallness.
8) Make-up, high heels, curling irons and the color pink.
9) Saying ****ing, freaking or effing.
10) “I’m never drinking beer again!”
You are scaring me, stalker you.
One of these days?
I will put up a trivia contest of all things Pretty All True.
You will do quite well, crazy lady.
Pretty All Sure.
Sweet! I am all psychophanty over here.
When you are incredibly famous and tired of answering people’s questions I will be the stand-in Kris expert!
If there are tampons in your dressing room I will be all, “Actually, she prefers pads. But toilet paper will do in a pinch.”
Haven?
YIKES!
Me
Just kidding. I am all sane and normal. Look at me!
*does normal things*
Kris who?
OMG, this is hilarious! haven you’re a riot!!
Haven is my younger cuter doppelganger.
Doppelgangers are harmless, right?
RIGHT?
Rollerblading is evil. Who has that much coordination? Not me.
Want to feel all young and sexy? Buy new underwear! Thats what I do.
Underneath my too big tshirt and sweats…lie the underwear of a diva.
Adriana -
I do not wear underwear.
Hmmmm.
Maybe a new sports bra?
Damn, I am sexy.
Snort!
Hey Babe
I click on you every damn day!!
Once from work and once on my laptop at home–
I love clicking you….
click, click
Haven is trying to steal my place as stalker…
Too bad I like her so much i don’t care,
Even though I left her scary comments on her blog.
Don’t be afraid Haven, I am harmless!!
OH OH I almost forgot–I found out one of the songs Ben sings
is American Woman!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I love that song
I want him to vlog it up
I am so demanding
that is all
Amy -
I AM NOT IGNORING YOU!
But I have to step out for a bit.
Will answer this when I return.
Love you.
Amy -
You and Haven make an awesome team.
Ok, now I am thinking of double-teaming.
Ahem.
And thank you for the voting!
There should be a way to get traffic that does not require voting.
More nudity is the ticket.
Pretty sure.
phil. phil is the solution to your problem. at 45, you are still highly qualified to just ride phil into the sunset.
ahem.
Sarah -
Happy sighs at that thought.
Phil will make me forget about my knee.
NO KNEE-FOLD COUNTING, PHIL!
Ahem.