My OperaHappy Mardi Gras. Ow.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009 5:37:35 PM
Happy Mardi Gras everyone! I hope that you all have a sweet freakin' day. Carnival in New Orleans is the butterfly after the cold of winter and today is Fat Tuesday, a day to revel in all that is unholy before the Lenten season and Easter attempts to remind you that there are groups of people who think you are evil and that they hold all of the answers in baskets full of plastic grass and chocolate.
Some friends of mine from Colorado are down here visting and Saturday night we decided to ride our bikes to the Endymion parade in Mid-City. After much substance abuse and frollicking, we decided to venture homeward. At some point, I lost control of basic motor skills and balance and careened off of the street. Fred yanked me up and we continued home, which was still a few miles away. I suppose I was in so much pain, I fell twice more.
The next morning, I couldn't move, so I laid in bed all day. Laurie was furious at my blatant disregard for my own safety and threatened to leave me.
Yesterday, I went to the Emergency Room. It was like some freakish waiting room for admittance to Hell. Drug addled clowns and drunken grandmothers in leather cat-suits and feather boas were sprawled across the couches in a scene from Beetlejuice. Police officers were subduing screaming, toothless men in straight jackets and orange parish prison outfits. I was sober and in large amounts of pain.
Long story short, I've got a fractured hand and a snapped collar bone. I'll be out of commission for a few weeks, and hopefully during that time I can figure out a way to run my business from my couch. I can hear the brass bands playing in the streets from my porch and I'm currently very envious of everyone with intact skeletal systems. At least I've got some pain pills. That's the only way I'm able to type with this cracked hand.
I feel that this might be the straw that broke the camels clavicle. I'm ready to move again and start over. No more boozin' and destroying myself. Damn you NOLA! I won't let you kill me this time. Just give me a little time to heal...
Some friends of mine from Colorado are down here visting and Saturday night we decided to ride our bikes to the Endymion parade in Mid-City. After much substance abuse and frollicking, we decided to venture homeward. At some point, I lost control of basic motor skills and balance and careened off of the street. Fred yanked me up and we continued home, which was still a few miles away. I suppose I was in so much pain, I fell twice more.
The next morning, I couldn't move, so I laid in bed all day. Laurie was furious at my blatant disregard for my own safety and threatened to leave me.
Yesterday, I went to the Emergency Room. It was like some freakish waiting room for admittance to Hell. Drug addled clowns and drunken grandmothers in leather cat-suits and feather boas were sprawled across the couches in a scene from Beetlejuice. Police officers were subduing screaming, toothless men in straight jackets and orange parish prison outfits. I was sober and in large amounts of pain.
Long story short, I've got a fractured hand and a snapped collar bone. I'll be out of commission for a few weeks, and hopefully during that time I can figure out a way to run my business from my couch. I can hear the brass bands playing in the streets from my porch and I'm currently very envious of everyone with intact skeletal systems. At least I've got some pain pills. That's the only way I'm able to type with this cracked hand.
I feel that this might be the straw that broke the camels clavicle. I'm ready to move again and start over. No more boozin' and destroying myself. Damn you NOLA! I won't let you kill me this time. Just give me a little time to heal...
