That's My Bix!

Many things have happened in the last twelve days since I updated this page. If you have a short attention span, here’s the high points:

Farewell Soirees: 3

Trips to the emergency room: 1

Stitches: 2

People who rubbed their hot sweaty bodies up against mine: 473

Dollars charged for two plastic cups filled with ice and water: 6

Times I decided that Tom DeLonge must be annoying as all fuck at parties: 7

All-American Rejects: 4

All-American Rejects I could see from in front of (but not on) the VIP viewing stand: ‘

People who have pissed me off: 5

People for whom the love I have is even stronger: 8

People who went away and broke my heart: 1

Pie alluded to it in her entry, but essentially, while slicing tomatoes with my very fancy brand new Wusthof tomato knife, I looked up to say something to Esteban and Mopie, grabbed my thumb, stuck my hand under the running faucet and announced ‘Esteban, we need to go now.’ Since it was t-minus twenty minutes to go time for Mopie and Mark’s going away party (Markus moved to Atlanta for a new job), Esteban gave over the responsibility of transport to Scotty Boom Boom, who yelled at me in the car when I kept looking to see if the gash had stopped bleeding (it hadn’t) and then watched with great delight while my physician’s assistant painted my thumb with iodine, did a tourniquet and shot it full of lidocaine and then waited for the shit to kick in (it didn’t). I demanded glue rather than stitches, and then when glue was determined unsuitable, I demanded lasers. I would have moved up to robotic thumbs had I not started to get a little foggy (syncope is fun at parties) and decided to fuck it and put up with the stitches. He started to stitch but since I could still feel everything and it was still bleeding like crazy, he shot the thumb with more lidocaine (or some kind of ocaine). So much somethingocaine that the thumb actually, in Scott’s words, ‘got pretty huge’. I could still feel the stitches but decided that I was sick of the tourniquet and wanted to get back to the party, so I manned up and went to my happy place. Which you would think would involve shopping but really, it just involved any place where my thumb was in one piece without a curled needle sewing it back together. I tasked Scotty with figuring out how many CCs of fluid a thumb could hold (my guess: not many more than 4 CCs, since my thumb looked pregnant for ten minutes after he removed the clamps) but he never did figure it out.

We went back to the party and had a great prop for the rest of the evening. My thumb was completely doped up, so it didn’t hurt unless I tried to use it. However, it became the expert tool for manipulation because any time I wanted someone to do something for me, I just had to make a sad face and do a thumb’s up and they would nod and accept the will of Zombie Thumb. Soon, Zombie Thumb had its own theme music (the Imperial March from Star Wars) and had orchestrated plans to run for Senate. I had to stop Scotty from putting black duct tape on it. Zombie Thumb does not approve of outward displays of fashion. Zombie Thumb prefers that its evil come from within.

The party was pretty fun and the fajitas turned out well (although Esteban completely tanked the tomatoes) and it was a worthy send-off to our friends. I was pleased that my sister came out and stayed until 2 am, which is when I headed home myself, leaving behind one dedicated group of partiers. My sister and I both headed home on the same stretch of road, and then the next morning, learned that we had missed an SUV drunk driving on the wrong side of the highway that collided head on with another car, killing both people. We talked the next morning and we had to have missed the drunk driver by maybe three minutes. So my bad feeling about that Saturday, as mentioned in the previous entry? Fucking eerie, people. Eerie as shit.

In the interim, I worked, cooked, worked on freelance, said goodbye to Mopie and Ian, and then I had a rock star weekend in Milwaukee and Chicago. But the rest of the short attention span recap will have to wait until the next entry. Because right now, there’s a man in my bed and crisp clean white sheets that need to get a little wrinkled.