Given my natural talent for hurting myself, skydiving, bungee jumping and crossing a road in Vietnam are activities best left to others. I often have some phantom bruise on my body earned from running into an invisible wall and the not so invisible ones.

Once in my apartment in LA, I stepped on a pile of newspapers that were on the floor, managed to lose my balance and fell backward, smacking my head on the floor. I lay there for a few moments. My cats crawling over me. . .mewing in that, ”Oooo! You’re down on the floor. . . are you dead yet so we can eat you?” way that cats have. And I knew. I saw with absolute clarity that this, someday, was exactly how I was going to bite it.

You read it here first.

If stubbing your toes were an Olympic Sport, I would be the Nadia Comaneci.

You don’t believe me?

Guess how I broke my ankle eight years ago? (Those that know, pipe down.)

Answer: Walking down the pavement (sidewalk) in Greenwich Village.

And so. Because Dear Reader, random, freakish injury is something I am terribly well versed in, it so happened in the wee small hours of the morning, I won a trip to the A&E (ER for my American readers).

Last night I had some people over for dinner. It was a no partner’s thing and Stuart was a doll and didn’t raise a fuss when I kicked him out of the house as it gave him a chance to give his father his Father’s Day present. (I don’t normally make it a habit to arrange dinner parties he doesn’t get to attend. He was supposed to still be in the US but had cut his trip short and come home early.)

Had ten people over which is always a bit of a military operation cooking for that many. Especially when you have a mix of low carbers, vegetarians and normal folks that are quite happy to eat whatever you give them.

Was a really fun evening. Wish I could have even more people over but space and my culinary ability is tapped out methinks at 10 bodies.

I had training to do the next morning so I didn’t let myself get too tipsy. Just tipsy enough.

All guests we gone by 1:30 and our cleaner would be here in the morning so I needed to do the dishes before she arrived and I left for work. I decided to clean before bed.

And so it happened that at 2am when I was three-fourths of the way through the dishes, I managed to gash the top of my right index finger. In the 10 seconds from it happening to my grabbing a paper towel to apply pressure, my kitchen looked like the Manson family had attacked me.

Okay. I could just put a plaster (band-aid) on it and carry on. Sure. I pulled the paper towel away to see if the bleeding stopped. Blood spurted like The Black Knight’s flesh wound.

Great.

Where do I go?

I called Stuart at his parents to ask for advice but he didn’t hear the phone. Don’t blame him. It’s two in the bloody morning.

What to do? I have zero clue where the closest hospital is so I dial 999 (911)

“Is this an emergency?”

“Well. No. Not as such. But I am bleeding and that’s not so good is it?”

She gives another number. I call. They give me the name to the hospital, St. George’s, which as soon as I heard the name I thought, “Oh yeah. I knew that.”

Take a mini cab the mile and half to the hospital (£7.50. Jerk. But I was too tired to fight his over charging me. I should have threatened to bleed on his backseat.

They look at it rather quickly. Tell me I will need stitches. And then I wait. And wait. And wait some more. What was odd is there were only two other people in the waiting room.

When they finally looked at me, the kid (had to be early 20’s tops) that fixed me up was great and I was sent on my way around 6. He was sweet and told me I was brave for taking the shot so well when he was numbing up my hand. (Which. Ok. I admit it. . . warmed me to him. Ooo! Look. I’m brave. But really how else are you supposed to take it. Sure those shots burn like a mother, but what choice do you have?)

I had to cancel my training this morning since I had zero sleep. Giving a class on Giving and Receiving Feedback would probably have not been a good thing.

The odds are high, that when my death (that will come from some random fluke accident like something out of a French farce) will be very funny to everyone watching.

Except to me. But hey. Feel free to giggle as I collect my Darwin Award.

2 Comments »

2 Comments »

Someone put this on my Facebook Funwall. . .

So funny

2 Comments »

Stuart is coming home from San Francisco today and I need to pick up the flat for him. It’s just a bit cluttered with laundry hanging up and I was cleaning up my closet yesterday getting depressed about the fact I don’t fit in 95% of the clothing I own.

It’s beautiful today.Sunny. Clear. Feels like Spring in Los Angeles.

I made coffee and settled down at the computer before the mad dash to pick up the house.

Something was missing. I needed something.

Then I knew.

In LA the background noise when I woke up was National Public Radio. It was a huge part of my life. I listened as I got ready for work. I listened in the car. I was one of those people when I got pulled into a story would sit in the garage waiting for it to end, even if it meant being late. I gave lots of cash to my stations as well supporting KCRW and KPCC. I went to events watching Prairie Home Companion and Wait Wait. . . Don’t Tell Me being taped.

I realize this makes me terribly middle classed.

Bite me.

I put on the stream.Who says I can’t listen to Talk To the Nation Science Friday on a Sunday?

Happy now. And Stuart will be home soon.

*All Things Considered Theme Song

2 Comments »

I will be attending my first English wedding in a few weeks and I have been rather excited by the prospect not only because I think the happy couple are lovely people but at the prospect of wearing a hat.Hats are big at weddings here.

I love hats.

I look really good in hats.

I was online last night surfing ebay and I decided to splurge on a  Karen Miller dress that was half the price of what it would be if I got it in a brick and mortar.

But what about the hat? A few searches later on “wedding hat”, “ascot hat” and finally “formal hat”, I found an American website (of all things) that had something I think will be fabulous.

Next stop. . . Ascot. 

2 Comments »

Saw this a few months ago and it still makes me cry-laugh.

I think part of the reason I find it so hysterical is I have met people here with unusual surnames- names so bad I don’t know how they survived school.

I have no clue how John Oliver held himself together for this.

No Comments »

I’m not too fussed.

Take the test- Questions are fantastic. . . like:

Praises marriage before young women contemplating it.
Often comments on husband’s strength and masculinity.
Is of same religion as her husband.

They have one for men as well.

-3 As a 1930s wife, I am Very Poor (Failure) Take the test!

2 Comments »

Rowers in Henley

Originally uploaded by treefrog girl.

I’m currently on one of the best courses I have ever been on in my entire life. I don’t want to talk too much about because I want to go for a walk but I will share this quote from the first page of the Participant Guide:

You are the storyteller of your own life and you can create your own legend, or not.
-Isabel Allende

The course is in Henley-on-Thames which is one of the most charming villages around. It’s absolutely gorgeous here.

I’m staying at the Red Lion Inn which I am certain is haunted. In a good way. It’s been here for 600 years or something crazy.

The course itself is being done at The Phyllis Court Club which is smack dab on the Thames. On breaks I have been watching the current, birds, bumblebees, rowers. . .

I could live here. (I would need to be very rich however.)

One interesting thing about Henley. There must be something in the air here that inspires men to tie their jumper around their shoulders. Between that and a few unfortunate popped collars, I feel like I’m in a John Hughes film.

In fact, that would be a brilliant John Hughes film. Oxford Blues meets Pretty in Pink.

American girl comes to UK. She has a past. Maybe she’s a bad girl. She has a chip on her shoulder. Daddy issues. Always a sarcastic comment ready. Gets on a rowing team. But she isn’t serious. She’s good at it- but doesn’t take responsibility for her skills- and she’s just out for herself and she doesn’t know how to work in a team. There is a nemeses. A girl she just hates and they hate her. There’s a funny best friend of course. She falls in love with a Brit- Let’s call him Nigel Copperfart. Montage on them falling in love on the river. Cute scene where they fall in the water. He reads her poetry, they go to a pub. . . But he’s upper class and he gets pressured to give her up. Montage of her being very upset. Then she gets serious about the rowing. Montage of her rowing. She learns to work with the team. She and the nemeses bond. Montage of the bonding. It’s the day of the big race. Big race montage. And. . . they. . . WIN! At the end, Nigel Copperfart begs for forgiveness and they row into the sunset. Funny best friend says something amusing. Credits roll.

I could write that in my sleep. . .

No Comments »

Damn. I never got to see him perform.

No Comments »

Was asked how the marathon training has been going.

I said “good. . .okay.” and I think okay is a fair statement. It hasn’t been good however. . . which is why I haven’t posted my updates. But in the interest of full disclosure- here it is.

Week of May 12th
Monday – 0
Tuesday – 3.1
Wednesday – 2.1
Thursday – 0
Friday – 0
Saturday – 5.7
Sunday – 0

Week of May 19th
Monday – 3
Tuesday – 0
Wednesday – 0
Thursday – 0
Friday – 0
Saturday – 2.9
Sunday – 2.5

Week of May 26th
Monday – 0
Tuesday – 2.9
Wednesday – 2.9
Thursday – 0
Friday – 0
Saturday – 5.25
Sunday – 4.4

So. 22 weeks to go and I need to be serious if I want to finish at all, never mind with a decent time. That said, over the last seven weeks I’ve done a little over 86 miles when I’ve done sweet f.a. for years. . . which isn’t terrible.

I’ve lost 5 pounds thus far, which isn’t hugely great but I also have (boys cover your eyes) my period this week and I haven’t had the usual gain from it which must be a good sign.

So yeah. Training. Tip-top. Onwards and Upwards. Never surrender.

Just do it Nicole, you useless bint.

No Comments »