Caution: the merry-go-round is dangerous.

Saturday was my first amusement park experience of the year. As you can tell by the nasty photo, the day wasn't all good. It started off super. My niece and nephew were enjoying themselves, nobody was getting hurt, the weather was divine. But then the damned merry-go-round changed all that.

Have you noticed sometimes that when the horsey stops on the pole, it's clear toward the top? Shouldn't it default toward the bottom--uhh--because IT'S A KID'S RIDE? Little children (and little Crystals) could be seriously injured.

Luckily, this week-old leg bruise is the extent of the damage. But it HURT. (I may have yelled some swears.)

My lovely lil niece and sweet sister in law.

I was just trying to do a quick, cute craft.

Have you seen these cute embroidery hoop wall bubbles? It's a quick, easy craft project that's sweeping the web. Fabric clasped within the confines of a simple, wood hoop. Nail in wall. Hang. DONE.

When my eyes first fixed on these beautiful little artsy fartsy pieces, I was thrilled. THIS SEEMS LIKE SOMETHING I CAN DO AND NOT MESS UP, I thought to myself.

Hoop #1 turned out perfect. Gorgeous, if I may say. Hoop #2. Lovely. Hoop #3. What a cinch. I own this project.

Hoop #4, though, will now be referred to as the blue satin enemy. As I fixed the satin fabric in the main hoop and placed the smaller hoop inside, something awful happened.

A nasty mistake was made. One that won't soon be forgotten. Instead of pounding and pressing the wood until it fit into its corresponding piece, I smoothed my hand over the top, in one swift motion. The cheap, thin wood, its grain going in the opposite direction, revealed a tiny thorn that couldn't wait to attack the meatiest part of my fragile, little hand.

Folks, this sliver was 1/2-inch long. It was far enough beneath my skin that it couldn't easily be plucked out, but close enough to the surface to be seen in its entirety. I violently grabbed at it and pulled (first instinct). That was another stewpid mistake. The fragile wood broke off, leaving the majority stuck (and inaccessible) inside my palm, with nothing left for me to grasp.

This project is no longer my bitch.

No one was home, so I continued to angrily yank at the wood chunk. I started using tweezers and trying to push the sliver from the opposite direction toward the entry wound. Since this happened to my right hand, and alas I am not ambidextrous, it was looking more and more like a lost cause.

I ran to the Nabors' house (yes, my neighbors' names are Nabor).

No one home.

Sam licked my face. My whining and erratic behavior was concerning the lil furball.

Twenty minutes passed. My body started to respond to the embedded foreign object. The meaty part swelled and turned red and the stinging became a little more apparent.

Chris got home and dug into it with a knife, breaking very little skin, and smoothly removing the rest of the sliver.

Not too serious of an accident, but definitely a tiny mishap.

In case you want to see the finished project (note the blue satin enemy looking full of shame):

A funeral fluke.

My husband's grandpa died last week. For the past 7.5 years, he's been like a grandpa to me. The first time I met him, he insisted I call him "grandpa." Sweet, sweet man. Before he passed he told his wife specifically what he wanted to happen. Cremation. Celebration of life. Food. Fun.

So what does this have to do with me falling/acting stupid/dropping something? I'm getting there.

The service was beautiful. It was full of heart-felt stories about Cliff and the legacy he left behind. There was laughing and crying and every other emotional output you can think of. We headed to the church for lunch where we sat next to grandpa's son--Junior, his friend--the vet, and his neighbor. Nice guys, good reminiscent conversation.

Chris pulled out my chair for me and as I lowered myself to the seat, my exposed knee (I wore a mid-length dress and cowboy boots. What? Grandpa would have loved it.) bashed into some metal bar under the table. Why do fold-out church tables always have this bar? I'm no engineer, but I feel like perhaps a table design not involving metal supports ALL THE WAY AROUND THE EDGE could be implemented. Or maybe I'm just looking for a way to buffer the shock of my oblivion (?). Nonetheless, it hurt and I swore. (I'm deeply regretful of this, Mormon church.) The bruise is green and centered by an unsightly cut.

Oh but that wasn't it.

I ate my ham and three different assortments of funeral potatoes (not kidding). Then it came time for the main course: CAKE. I pressed down on my fork with my pointer finger on the side, trying to be ladylike.
 

What happened next is confusing. I'm not sure how it came about, but my accidental strength somehow BROKE the plastic fork into pieces, all while cake soared elegantly through the air, landing in the hair and on the nice, collared shirts of grandpa's friends and family.

My profuse apologies were followed with jokes and unaccusing laughter. Thank goodness no one was offended and /or horrified. Grandpa wasn't there so someone had to make fun of the blunders.

Two falls in a row

Anyone out there anymore? Eh, if not--oh well. I still like this blog and still have plenty of accidents to post about. Time was not my friend there for a while, though. Now I will make time to post these silly accidents. Because it's fun. To make fun. Or something...


Okay, so a couple weeks ago we went to a friend's wedding. Gorgeous. Perfect. Stunning wedding. It was held in the fancy backyard of a large Kaysville, UT home. Waterfalls, booze, dancing, BBQ. Completely dreamy.

But I wore heels. And backyards mean lots o lots o grass. Do I even have to finish the story?

We were doing great the entire night. Chris and I even slow danced. I even had 3 glasses of wine. The night was looking promising. Would this perhaps be one of those rare, accident-free moments? Could I just relax and be proud of myself for rockin those 4-inch stilettos? Perhaps I'd matured into a poised woman. Maybe embarking upon marriage brought non-frazzled, non-clumsy girl to the surface. 

Um, no.

On the way out those damn heels (like they always do) let me down. This tumble was special, though. I fell in a slow, almost graceful manner. Foot roll. Then knees. Then hands. {At this point I'm just sitting there in a dog-crawl stance.}

Chris laughed. I laughed. He helped me up and that was that. Until we got to the grassy curb where the car was parked. BOOYAH. Two in one night. This may be a record for me. Two, 100% feet-swept-out-from-under-me falls in a matter of 1 minute.

 image cred: http://karaandgroomzilla.blogspot.com/

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.