Well, you might be wondering where I've been (or not, in which case...screw you). For the past week or so (or however long it's been since I last posted), I've been in Zimbabwe feeding tiny helpless orphans and helping old women cross the dusty, dirt covered streets. What? Oh. You've seen me since I last posted? Well, screw you too. The truth is, I've just been lazy. That and the longer I wait to post, the more glorious, exciting posts you get to read. I've decided to harvest the little gems that make my little mundane life worth living and stuff them like a squirrel would stuff acorns into his cheeks, like he's just waiting to vomit them all over you...covered in squirrelly slobber. Prepare thyself.
I fancy myself much like a cat with nine lives when it comes to irresponsible behavior. I am a bit of a risk-taker and luckily, to date the Darwinian gatekeepers haven't served me my "Weakest Biological Link" papers. I like to think that death by irresponsible behavior is simply natural selection in action. Perhaps the reason I haven't killed myself is because I am a prime member of the species with keen survival skills!
Allow me to cite examples:
Last week, after enjoying a rousing night out with one of my best friends EVER (whom hereinforeto shall be referred to as The German), I was pulled over for not using my turn signal. This is something I'm not good at doing anyway, but when you've had a couple of drinks, it's REALLY not a good idea to forget this important driving tidbit. Now, let me just state for the record that I was in absolutely no way drunk at all. I had three beers and several waters in a matter of approximately 6 hours. I was completely fine to drive and was in no way worried that I might go to jail. Well, that's kind of true. Why is it that no matter what you're pulled over for...even if you know you're not going to get in trouble...getting stopped by the police makes you shake uncontrollably, make stupid jokes and have to poop? Ok, maybe it's just me. So anyway, the cop takes my license and registration and begins to head back to his car when he stops just short of the back of my car and says, "Ma'am, I smell the slightest bit of alcohol...have you been drinking?" I explain to him the three drinks, many waters and six hours mathematical formula. Just as a precaution, he says, he wants to do the "pen test". I pass, he goes back to his car only to return, sans ticket, and request that I do the heal/toe line walk test. I explain that this is a lot to ask of me, as I'm not a graceful person anyway. He didn't care. He also didn't want me to hold my hands out like I was walking on a balance beam. Note to self. Despite the fact that my legs were shaking uncontrollably from nervous energy which probably made it appear as if I were drunk, I passed that test too and was sent on my way, unscathed. Whew!
Fast forward to the fourth of July. May I just mention that this holiday is the one day of the year when natural selection is out in full force? July 4th is natures way of thinning the herd. I'm not one much for statistics, but I bet a whole bunch of dumbasses die or are injured in some way on July 4th. I would like to state for the record that I am NOT a dumbass, hence (again) prime member of the species. Case in point: my family and I are enjoying a nice quiet evening sitting like a bunch of loyal rednecks would: in my brothers driveway, on folding chairs, Miller Lites in hand (cue Deliverance theme music). The men (notice I didn't say the women...) are head of the Fire and Festivities committee and are offering us the best show $10 can buy-bottle rockets, the things that make the little parachutes and the phallic looking ones that shoot up brightly colored balls of fire into the air. I'm sitting in my fancy Wal-mart foldy chair enjoying one of the phallic looking ones that shoot up brightly colored balls of fire into the air when said penis firecracker falls on it's side like a limp little penis fire cracker...but then continues to SHOOT BRIGHTLY COLORED BALLS OF FIRE RIGHT IN OUR DIRECTION! Let it be known that I HATE fire. It terrifies me. I won't even come within ten feet of a sparkler, but at this moment a giant, angry penis sparkler was threatening to kill me (and everyone else around me). So, what do I do? I RAN! In the opposite direction of oncoming death, knocking over Foldy Chair, tripping on my blanket and giving my friend Kelly a sharp elbow to the gut (he's fine). People, I was simply avoiding death...and what do my friends and family do? They LAUGH at me and make fun of me! Silly Carrie, running from fire! What a dumbass! Then I thought for a moment. I'm actually NOT a dumbass at all. My fight (or flight, in this case) response kicked in. I RAN FROM DEATH, while you sat there waiting for it, assholes. I WIN! I tried to explain this to all of them, but they only teased me more. Then my friend Kelly said, "Carrie, you can't spend your entire life living in fear." To which I responded, "Oh yes I can. It's served me well for 30 years!"
Lesson learned. Be smart. Be afraid...be very afraid. Darwin would have wanted it that way.
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