Oh, burn

450-degree glass baking pan + my little arm = SUNUVA BITCH OW OW OWWWW

black eye?

After my literal run-in with the front door this morning, I think a black eye is in the works.

(I still have not learned how to use photoshop.)

Past blunders: installment 2

You think I'm close to running out of stories to tell? Nope. Not EVEN. Writing about these past blunders puts me in a wistful mood...but in a GOOD way! It's like a stumbly stroll down memory lane.

Anyway, this is a story about a trip. Trip-and-fall stories are my specialty, I think. When chatting about this now, we refer to it as the "Relationship Ender."

Chris and I had only gone out on a few dates. We were headed back to his mom's house after getting a late night bite. As we tip-toed through the front door, he whispered "My dad's asleep downstairs and he has to wake up early. So, sshhhh."
I thought it'd be smart to take the book-it-quietly approach. Bad idea. As I was quickly and ever-so-elegantly prancing up the stairs, the pergo beneath my feet yanked me down. Or maybe I just slipped? No, I blame the stairs. THOSE BASTARD STAIRS. Have you fallen on wood stairs? It hurts. And it's loud.

I woke his dad.

During the time in a relationship when it's most important to make a good impression, I became that girl who made all the ruckus that one night.

Shortly after the thunderous fall on the stairs, we made it to Chris's room. My knees were bruised, but I was lightheartedly laughing at my idiocy. Then Chris said (this is where the story gets its name) "It's a good thing I like you a lot, because THAT was a relationship ender. Are you always that ungraceful?" To which I replied, "Of course not." Which was a lie.

So, I got some groceries

yesterday and, like always, tried carrying them all up in one armload. Sometimes I think I'm stronger than I really am.

My independence often results in stubborn accidents.

I made it up the first flight, second and third. In the home stretch. I got to the door and….the sonuvabitch was locked. I tried knocking with some swift kicks. Time was running out. My little teeny tiny pinky (which was holding the bag with eggs) finally gave out and I hear a hideous CRUNCH as it falls at my feet.

Chris came to the door and got an eyeful: me crouched down, groceries all around, hair in disarray, egg goo on my hands.

Assuming the worst

Let me preface this short story by saying this: Chris is not a serious guy. He's laid back, easy-going, fun and goofy--MOST of the time. We laugh a lot.

Today after work I was driving him to the Utes game. Earlier, he picked us up a CD/DVD burner for our computer (I have NO clue why it didn't come with one. This is the year 2009, right). The burner was in the backseat in an open box. Just before we arrived at the university, he says to me, in the most stern tone i've ever heard from his lips

"Can you please take this upstairs without dropping it?"

I reply, "Yeah, sure!"

And he's all "No really. You can't drop this. It'll break."

And I'm all "No really. I don't drop everything."

"Yes, Crystal, yes you do."

Just the presumption on his part that I ruin everything I touch, makes me laugh. Because it's so untrue. Do I drop a lot of things? Well, yeah. He will be happy to know that the burner made it up the three flights of stairs safe and sound; however, I did drop all the mail and a package through the stairs once I got up to the third floor. Oops. If it wasn't the burner, it HAD to be something else.

Past blunders

FLASHBACK. When Chris and I first started dating back in 2003, I was a shy, awkward teen (really, the only thing that's changed is my age).
There are several stories about me trying to be cute for him and (consequently) looking stupid. This is one that stands out.

It was late afternoon and Chris had just stopped by to pick me up for one of our first dates. I remember spending a significant amount of time fixing my hair in some unnecessary updo to impress him. I even put on heels, which (even to this day) rarely happens. We exited the house through the garage door. Chris made his way to his car as I entered in the garage code. He stopped and turned to admire me. I remember he smiled with genuine affection and his eyes sparkled in the sunlight as he said "you look so cute today." I was lovestruck. I stood there, smiling, feet planted firmly on the cement driveway, then it happened. I just…fell. Sort of like when it happened to Carrie Bradshaw…



…except I was STANDING STILL. I don't even know how it happened. I blame the heels.

After he asked if I was okay, he came over and helped scoop me up off the floor. He STILL tells people about this. He's like "and then she tripped…standing still!"

I tripped up the stairs yesterday

Okay. I predict that A LOT of posts on this blog are going to begin with the words "I tripped." I'm distracted, tired, stressed: whatever. It's inevitable. I trip, stumble or fall at least once or twice a day. Usually, it's a small ordeal; I'll pick myself up, brush off and go about my merry way. Yesterday, the trip sucked a little more than usual because it happened on the third floor
stairs at my apartment.

These aren’t ordinary stairs. They're the steel ones with cheese grater-like construction.


So it goes like this. On the way home from work, I'd drifted off into a deep sleep (one of the many perks of a carpool). It was one of those naps that leave you feeling that nothing else exists but you, your dream and the soft surface upon which you lay. Aaahhh car naps. Anyway, when Chris nudged me because we'd arrived home, I groggily picked up my lunch box and headed for the stairs thinking nothing else in the world matters more to me at this moment than sinking into the abyss of flannel pillows on my bed. I was on the last three stairs, so far luck was on my side, then it happened. My foot slipped.

The lunch box containing my Tupperware, phone, tampons and compact flew from my arm as I took a nosedive toward the next cheese grater stair.

The loud crash was followed by the tiny sound of my flip phone landing open, three floors below on the hot cement. That thing was brand new. I just bought it a month ago.

The imprints on the palms of my hands didn't go away for like an hour. It stung. Bad. But on the plus side, I was awake enough to make it to the gym.

Climbing stairs is a weak spot for me.

Clumsy

According to research, clumsiness is caused by stress, worry, too much multitasking--things of that nature. Some say that it's just bad luck,

or maybe even hereditary.

Whatever it is or wherever it came from, it found me. I'm a walking disaster. My mishaps aren't usually HUGE, though. There are mostly just lots of tiny ones.

My recent accidents, along with encouragement of coworkers and friends, have inspired me to start a blog ALL about the clumsy. I'll be sharing more of my stories and pictures along with anything anyone else dares to share. C'mon, let's be awkward and ungraceful together!