Tuesday, December 16, 2003

I am home sick today. I got a sore throat before I went to bed last night, then BOOM! I got woken up in the night by soreness in my throat!! AHHHHH! Painful sore soreness!!
It's making me think about that old commercial for some type of sore throat medicine, and it was a little girl in bed, with the blankets pulled up to her neck, and she was chanting "It'll hurt if I swallow, it'll hurt if I swallow, it'll hurt if I..." (girl swallows painfully) "MOMMY!". Jeez that was a great commercial.
Now I'm off to watch "Cheating Death" stories on Montel. Some dude is talking about a snake "sinkin' in". I don't know what the snake was sinkin' in to, but I'm bout to find out. Aside from my throat hurting, I love staying home! WOOOOO!

Thursday, December 04, 2003

Before I begin this story, let it be known that my sister is, and always will be accident prone. The prosecution rests. When we moved to Arizona, Lisa and I used to share an apartment, and it wasn't much but we called it home. In the spring of 2000, we decided to part ways. She planned to move in with Tom, and I planned to move in with nobody. I rented a one-br apartment in the same complex, which made moving really easy. My moving day came first, and I had two of my friends, Dan and John, come over to help me. Everything was going smoothly, except for John bitching about how heavy all my stuff was, but overall it was a successful move. UNTIL WE MOVED THE COUCH.
John and Dan lifted the couch and walked to the door, but it would not fit through the doorway. They tried to turn it and get it through that way, but it was caught on something. I craned my neck around and saw it was stuck on a little wreath that we had on our front door. I told them what was wrong and went to pull it off, but Lisa shouted, "I'll get it!". Before I could say anything, she was barreling towards the open (or what she thought was the open) screen door. It happened so fast no one had time to stop her, we all just had to watch in horror as this vicious turn of events transpired. Lisa ran right through that screen door like a fucking linebacker on Superbowl Sunday. She fell straight through and onto our small metal bistro table on the patio, the legs of which bent and collapsed, throwing her head first into a cement wall. As the dust cleared, Lisa was just laying limply, face down in the rubble, and she didn't even move or say anything for a good 30 seconds.
Finally she stirred, and we offered up a stunned,"Are you okay?", to which she answered "NO!" and got up and went to her room in tears, saying she wasn't helping anymore. Dan and I were sympathetic, but John's first instinct was to laugh at the whole scene. I yelled at him for being an insensitive dickhead, but deep down I really couldn't blame him.
Lisa laughs about it now, so I guess she's okay. But that table was never the same.
The end.