Archives for November 2012

How I Sprained My Knee 3 Times in One Semester AKA The Fucking Strawberry

Confession Friday: I sprained my knee…slipping on a strawberry.

“A what?!” You may be asking yourself…and yes, I said a strawberry.

If you aren’t caught up on the fact that this is part 3 of a series of blog posts, you can read the first two, about my skiing injury and then my epic battle with an icy alley.

Now that you can see what you’re dealing with here (you know, the biggest klutz in the history of ever…), let’s move on, shall we?

So I was finally out of physical therapy for the second time…thank God for Bradley and their fancy pants PT department because we had no insurance…and I was walking a little bit better. My physical therapist friend who was a physical therapy major was making me do regular exercises to regain mobility (Sit on the ground with your legs straight out. See how they both look normal? Now pop one knee up about 4-5 inches… And imagine that you have a hyper-extended other knee…because I have hyper-extended joints… That’s what my knee looked like. It would not straighten out completely. And it still hurts a little bit to this day Oh, hey! We’re still inside a parenthetical statement. Sorry about that…)

So I was doing everything she told me. Even though it was essentially healing really well, I still iced it…and used elevators…and was late to math class (okay, I was late to all classes, but math was the best. Math 101: the only math class I took at Bradley. Math 101: in which I hobbled in late on crutches every day. Math 101: in which I walked over to the far side of the room after class started, pulled out the left-handed desk, and pulled up a chair to rest my knee on… Math 101: where I was the biggest asshole in the history of ever.)

I may have mentioned that I’m a stubborn ass Polak…and I like to do things for myself. I don’t like to rely on other people, and I certainly like to push my limits. So I always wanted to keep moving and get my mobility back. But I did what my physical therapist friend who was a physical therapy major said. I even used the elevator when I wanted to take the stairs (Yes, there was a time when I wanted to take the stairs! (I don’t particularly care for elevators. After you’ve been in a few too many over-stuffed elevators that have ever gotten stuck or *gasp* dropped a few floors, you wouldn’t either!)

So I was feeling a little pain after a long day of walking to class…and I thought to myself, Self, you should ice your knee. So I got up from watching bad college TV (at one point we had a lava lamp channel!) and started to head toward the stairs. I thought twice and decided…No, Chrissy…it’s already been a long day. Suck it up and take the elevator. So I walked to the elevator. Rode up to the second floor. Made my way to the laundry room, which had two doors on either side of the floor (girls on one side, guys on the other). I walked into the laundry room with the sound of dudes’ laughter on the other side. But the second step, I slipped comic-style with one foot in the air and my ass going toward the ground. My knee was shot. Again. I screamed the way that I scream when I injure myself or see a spider or accidentally forget to take cookies out of the oven and burn them. And the boys on the other side of the door looked at me like I was crazy.

And I panicked.

Again.

And when I saw the apparatus of my demise…I was like, why the fuck is there a rotten strawberry on the floor of the Willy 2 laundry room? And then I remembered that one of my dear friends had also banged some dude in that same tiny laundry room and decided that it was better not to ask questions like that.

I crawled back downstairs and handled myself…and called my physical therapist friend who was a physical therapy major…she came over and told me I was an idiot and had sprained myself again. I whined, “But I took the elevator and was getting ice and everything!!! It was that fucking strawberry!!”

A fucking strawberry.
Not a banana; that would be too cliche.

A fucking strawberry.

9 years ago.

And yet, just this year, Katie, my favorite little bookworm, Katie decided to tell me that she saw the strawberry…a few days before my little slip. And didn’t like…tell maintenance or anything. So, you know…if you don’t visit her blog today in solidarity with me and the strawberry incident… And she’s been begging me to tell this story. (I’m not going to lie, it was my favorite to tell on first dates. It gave me an idea of whether a dude could handle my shit or not.)

A fucking strawberry. In a laundry room.

Are you kidding me?

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And the knee sprain story continues…

If you aren’t caught up, go ahead and read about the original knee sprain when I made the mistake of going skiing without health insurance. Go ahead. I’ll wait.

You’re back? Great. Let’s continue.

So I went home for the rest of winter break, and hobbled my uninsured ass around for 2 weeks. Upon my return to the great state of Bradley, I was forced by my physical therapist one of my besties who was a physical therapy major to go to the health center. This is where I received “free” medical care and crutches. They set me up with a physical therapist (a legit one, who taught at the Bradley PT school) and I was on my way to a not-so-speedy recovery.

Let me reiterate this to you with a few key points

  • College Campus
  • College Student
  • LOTS of alcohol
  • Crutches
  • Winter
  • Snow
  • Ice
  • Death Snow
  • Death Ice
  • Stubborn ass Polak

Is the picture becoming a little bit clearer?

So I was finally off the crutches, some time in early March. I was healing. I was walking without assistance. I still had some pain, but the sprain, per say, was healed.

One of my roommates was singing in a choir thing, so we went to go support her. I had to leave early in order to attend an Alpha Phi Omega meeting (I was a vice-president at the time, and needed to make my presence known to all the little pledgies. I was might still feel very self-important.)

The music hall was off campus, and a few blocks away. It was dark, and icy…

You can see where this may be going.

I was crossing an alley covered in black ice…and lost control. I slipped. I tried to re-balance myself, but I overcompensated and pulled my knee out of line. At which point, I, not only re-sprained the knee, I fell on my ass. And to make matters worse, there was a car coming.

The car didn’t see me, so I had to quickly scoot my ass off the alley before it hit me. I made it JUST in time.

My roommates were in a concert. They didn’t answer their phones. To be honest, it was lucky I had just gotten my first Sprint phone a few months earlier…otherwise I would have been stranded on the street! So I called Robert. He and his Audi picked me up. He told me I should just go back to my dorm and rest it, but I was a stubborn ass Polak, and needed to go to the pledge meeting. When my physical therapist one of my besties who was a physical therapy major saw me hobbling, she was pissed. She told me to sit down and let it rest. She made me get the crutches. Again. And so I was back in PT for the second time that semester…

Oh yes…there’s more.

To be continued….

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Wordless Wednesday: Baby Chrissy

Baby Chrissy Swimming

 


Life as we know it by Paula

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This is Why I Don’t Ski Anymore

When I was in 7th grade, my church had a ski trip for all of the junior high kids. So I packed up some of my best buddies, and Mom drove us to our first ski trip (about 20 minutes away on a little hill of a mountain.)

It was amazing. We had so much fun that we did it again the following year.

Of course, the year after that, I was in high school and too cool to do that sort of thing. Also, I was very busy being a cheerleader…and I may have just sprained my ankle for the first time…

So I happily went many years without so much as a thought about skiing. Several years and hundreds of injuries later, I was a sophomore in college. The boys were planning a ski trip over winter break, and I just HAD to go. Mark and Robert were two of my best buddies, and I wanted to play with the big boys.

My mom, of course, was against the whole thing. “You’ll hurt yourself!” Our insurance company had gone bankrupt or something, so we were in between medical insurance policies at the time and Mom knew my history with injuries. At that point I had sprained both ankles numerous times. I was a walking disaster. They tell me I can’t chew gum and walk up the stairs at the same time…(I can’t chew gum at all anymore because of my TMJ disorder, but that’s beside the point.)

So, being the stubborn 19 year old college student that I was… I went skiing.

I was happily skiing down the “bunny hill” and going at my own pace. The boys, though, were not pleased with my la-dee-da thought process. They both came packing with their own ski equipment, and wanted to try the “black mountains.” Of course, with their “younger sister” type in tow, they didn’t feel comfortable leaving me all the way on the other side of the resort.

So I agreed to step it up a notch.

I moved to one of the next harder hills, and I was doing just fine. There was a dip in the hill where it was flat, so I could slow down and pace myself. It worked out quite well. Until it didn’t.

Mark was ready to head towards the bar and I was considering taking a break/calling it quits, but I was sort of crushing on Robert at the time, and I thought…if he’s going down once more, I can too. So I told Mark I’d meet him at the bar and I thought Robert was right behind me.

I started going a little too fast…and the break, where I was supposed to slow down? I missed it. I went straight through it.

I started panicking. I lost control.

There was a guy in front of me, going way slower. I screeched, “Get out of the way!!!!”

I thought, and I panicked.The boys said “if you need to slow down, turn, and if you feel like you are going to fall, let yourself fall.”

So I did both.

Everything happened so fast. I heard a crack. My left ski popped off. My right ski did not. But my right leg was positioned unusually awkward. My body was in pain. I was cold. I was screaming. I was crying. I couldn’t move my right leg.

The guy I passed turned out to be ski patrol. He came over quickly and called for backup. He took the ski off my right foot. He helped me get myself situated. When the ski patrol jet ski guy came, he helped me onto it.

I rode it up to the medical attention center, where they elevated my knee and iced it. “It was probably a sprain,” they told me. I was in shock. They asked for my friends’ names. I told them. All I could think, though, was she’s going to kill me. She’s going to kill me. She’s going to kill me.

When Mark and Robert arrived with their heads shaking, my thoughts were now verbalized, “She’s going to kill me. She’s going to kill me. She’s going to kill me.” I probably looked certifiable. I was rocking back and forth repeating the same thing over and over and over again.

And so, we had a strained ride home in a tiny little beater Audi from the 80’s with 2 dudes, 2 sets of skis, and a Chrissy with a bad knee. For like 4 hours. Then I had to drive my ass home the next day with my driving leg not so much working. I learned how to drive with cruise control and my left leg that day.

Mom was not pleased.

To Be Continued….

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Sunday Evening News: In Which I was in the Newspaper

That’s right. I’m legit famous now. I was in the Chicago Tribune yesterday for my Black Friday shenanigans. You remember how I was boycotting “Black Thanksgiving?” It totally made the paper. Well, that and the fact that Mom, my sister, Mary, and I were all dolled up for “Bling on Black Friday,” in which we won all sorts of free gift cards.

Our local mall, Yorktown Center, hosts an annual Black Friday shindig. The first year was all about hats. The second year was ugly sweaters. This year was all about bling. Mom did princess bling with a tiara, a mink shawl (that was given to my great aunt and was once owned by the founder of World’s Finest Chocolate’s wife), and a fancy antique brooch. I did Christmas bling, with a necklace of bows and garland wrapped around me. Mary did glamazon bling with glitter everywhere. Mary even got a $50 gift card for painting her jeans in glitter.

Bling on Black Friday

You can read the newspaper article on the Chicago Tribune website. We’re about 3/4 of the way down.

They interviewed us for a pretty long time…I was a bit worried that I would sound totally unintelligent. I think I did alright. What do you think?

 

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Brian Shares Saturday: Christmas Cards and a Sleepy Kitty

First, and most importantly! If you would like to receive a Christmas card from Brian and I (and it’s going to be an excellent card, full of funny), just send your info to quirkychrissy@gmail.com. I’m so excited about my idea, that I can’t wait to send it out…and I really want to tell you, but it has to be a surprise. I’ve got lots of cards to send and would love to add some more! Christmas is my happy place.

Back to your regularly scheduled shares.

As it was a short week, and I kept him pretty busy, Brian If we were ever to get a normal pet, and not our future sloth, Ebenezer, Brian is most agreeable to cats, which is great because I also enjoy cats. He doesn’t want a puppy or a dog, which makes me sad…but  I think that one day, he will come around. When we have a house. And a yard. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t want a yard… hmmm…

Anyways, so he sent me this gif this week:

sleepy kitty cat

Cute, right?

Due to the fact that it was Thanksgiving week, and I kept Brian pretty darn busy… that was all he sent me. So, I’m sure that next week will be chock full of options! I hope that you’re having a wonderful holiday weekend. I’m off to finish cooking for Second Thanksgiving.

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Confession Friday: In Which I Talk About Black Wednesday

Confession Friday: I went out on Black Wednesday. In sweat pants. And drank water. At a bar.

I’ll bet you thought I was going to talk about Black Friday, didn’t you? Admit it.

So, every year since turning 21, I’ve joined in on the “everyone’s home for the holiday, no one has to work tomorrow, let’s go out and get shmammered like we’re still in college” holiday. The busiest bar night of the year, I spent many a Thanksgivings praying over my grandmother’s toilet, unable to consume so much as a piece of cheese throughout the day. (To be fair, this had also happened on Christmas and Easter…I was a bit of a lush back in my younger days.)

Some years, (back in the owning-of-the-bar years), I would be working–though I often turned down the shift in order to participate in the debauchery of drinking with my peers, my brother, and my dad.

Last year, Brian and I went out to a fancy-pants dinner with some friends, where we ate, drank, and were merry…instead of doing the bar scene. But there was that air of “we don’t have to work tomorrow” excitement.

This year, one of my best girlfriends is leaving me. Lily is packing up all her stuff tomorrow and moving to freakin’ Iowa. (I know what you’re thinking…who the hell moves from Chicago to Iowa?) I’ve been thinking that since the day she told me. But she’s moving.

And since her going-away-party was not really a chance to actually hang out with her…because she has a lot of friends and I couldn’t really get some legit Lily time out of it, I made her go out last night for karaoke at our local tavern of choice. Where we both drank water. And sang some karaoke. And I argued with some young early 20-something dude about almost everything.

Singing Karaoke

This was not Wednesday night. But I like this picture. Because I was skinnier then. And I was singing karaoke at Sal’s. Which is what I was doing on Wednesday night.

So I had fun doing the things we used to do before we got old. Except for drinking. Because we were both tired. And I don’t like to drive on amateur nights with any alcohol in my system. Because people are stupid. And my insurance is high enough.

Enjoy the long weekend, kids!

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Just Say NO! to Black Thanksgiving

I was going to write a post about the worst Thanksgiving ever, in which my family dragged me to a casino in the middle of nowhere Iowa with a buffet Thanksgiving dinner. But that can wait. This is more important.

Now, I’m not going to preach to you about how much better I am for not shopping on Black Friday (because I do) or about being thankful for what we have and blah blah blah. I’m not going to preach at all. I’m just calling it like I see it.

We’ve all been bombarded with Christmas (which I love) and Black Friday (which I love) since November 1 before Halloween. I’ll admit that I get just as excited…and yes… 2 of my trees (yes trees) are already up. But not until Halloween is over.

And I’ve been patient. And tried really hard not to throw Christmas all over the place…yet.

But I’ve discovered a really annoying little problem. While the whole country has been busy giving thanks, telling the world what they’re grateful for, whether it’s their new fancy phone or cheese, the retail world has been preparing to steal your national holiday. And you’re okay with this. You revel in it. You’ll leave your family at 2 PM to get in line at Toys ‘R Us which opens at 8 PM. ON THANKSGIVING. And they aren’t alone.

Walmart. Sears. Both 8 PM.

New York & Company. ALL FREAKIN’ DAY.

Target. 9 PM.

Best Buy. Kohls. Victoria’s Secret. Carson Pirie Scott. LOFT. Sports Authority. Gap. The Limited. American Eagle. Midnight.

The list goes on.

So I won’t be shopping at any of those stores this Black Thanksgiving. I will make a stand to stop the madness. They won’t even get my Black Friday dollars. In fact, I think that Mom and I will just go get our usual freebies from Yorktown Mall, JC Penney, and World Market. Then we’ll eat breakfast. And go home. And sleep. Because Black Friday isn’t Black Friday anymore.

Black Thanksgiving

Will you stop the Black Thanksgiving madness?

 

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Wordless Wednesday: I’m Thankful For…

I'm Thankful for Cheese

Thankful for Cheese

Tim & Tom's Cheese

Cheese Sign

cheese porn

gratuitous cheese photos

cheese porn

cheese porn

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Fairytale Interrupted: What RoseMarie Terenzio Taught Me About Nothing…

I’ve said before that I’m a voracious reader. My friend Katie often makes me laugh with her brilliant book reviews. I recently have had a little bit of time to do some reading, and after finishing Water for Elephants, I decided that it was time to read some nonfiction. I found this one on my Nook, and thought why not?

The following is my review from Goodreads. If you have an account, feel free to add me. I love book suggestions!

Fairytale Interrupted: What JFK Jr. Taught Me About Life, Love, and LossFairytale Interrupted: What JFK Jr. Taught Me About Life, Love, and Loss by RoseMarie Terenzio

My rating: 1 of 5 stars

This was a free book on my Nook, and I just started reading it. I had never been into the Kennedy thing, but I thought it might be interesting to learn about JFK Jr.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t get past the voice of RoseMarie Terenzio. She cites in the book that she knew she wasn’t as knowledgeable as many of her peers at George, and you can tell that she hasn’t done much to improve on that in the 12 years since the tragedy of Kennedy, his wife, and his sister-in-law. Her voice is boring, self-absorbed, and weak. She spent more time talking about how lucky she was to have John and Carolyn to dote on her than talking about John and/or Carolyn.

I did not identify with Rosie on any level, so I felt disconnected from her in general. Even when I should have been emotionally wrecked at the end with the impending death of JKF Jr. and his wife, her best friends in the whole world, I didn’t find myself empathizing at all.

Her dialogue was also confusing. One paragraph she was talking about John and in the next paragraph she was bringing up her friend Frank or her parents with no actual relation to the story she was telling. It took me several pages to infer whether Frank was, in fact, gay…she just sort of rambled in a stream of conscious that was definitely no Faulkner.

Overall, I didn’t hate it…but I didn’t really like it either.

View all my reviews

I originally asked the question, why not? Here is the afterthought of that why not:

1. Because I’ll only be mad that I feel like I’m a more interesting writer who is not formally published.

2. Because I’ll be jealous of the ridiculous bragging about fancy clothes and shoes and being able to yell at JFK Jr.

3. Because I get annoyed when decent looking human beings talk about how unattractive they are…especially when they’re writing about themselves. She reminded me of the lead in 50 Shades of Grey. Whiny. Pretentious. Ignorant. Annoying. Got way too lucky for her own good. The only difference is that she’s not sleeping with her boss. And he’s not into crazy kinky weird (that we know of).

So now, I’m finally getting to Jenny Lawson’s book. I have a feeling this one’s going to be way better.

Note to self: Don’t read the free books. Stick to your laundry list of to-read by recommendation.

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!