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.