MIA

I have been MIA for a while.  Mostly because I'm a train-wreck and I broke my face.  Like stitches-all-up-in-my-mug-broken.  Most people who end up with stitches get to tell a really cool story like:

"I did thirty flips through the air on my dirt bike and landed on my face." 

Or

"I climbed into the lion's den at the zoo and this is how they had to reattach my arm."

I, on the other hand, get to tell people that I tripped over a chair and face-planted into the desk in my hotel room while trying to answer my wakeup call.  And that is how I ended up looking like this:

Doesn't look so bad here but it was a nasty hole in my face before the stitches.

But before that, I did this:

Tebowing in the ER - please note bloody towel on bed.

So there I was in Dallas on Halloween (for work) taking a taxi to Baylor Hospital to get my face stitched back together (it is totally acceptable to make Frankenstein jokes here) and I felt like I was guest starring in a holiday episode of ER.  The waiting room was filled mostly with people whom I assumed to be vagrants looking for a comfortable place to crash for the night while most of the hospital workers were wearing some type of Halloween garb.  Meanwhile, I was walking around with all of my luggage and bleeding all over myself.  I think my favorite part of this adventure (besides missing my flight home and having the company travel agent laugh at me after hearing my story) was the conversation I had with the Pharmacist:

Pharmacist: "Car accident?"

Me: "Hotel room accident."

Pharmacist: blank stare

Me: explanation

Pharmacist: "You know, no one is ever going to believe that story."

Me: "Actually, you don't know me very well.  Two weeks ago I was rescued from a roller coaster.  I probably shouldn't even get on a plane today."

Pharmacist: blank stare

Anyway, four stitches later, I left for the airport by taxi.  My cab driver was mean and yelled at me for not being at the right location for my pickup.  I looked at the guy (still bleeding by the way) and replied, "You're picking me up from a hospital and taking me to an airport, I'm bleeding, do I really look like I need to hear this from you right now?" He didn't talk to me the rest of the way... it was nice.

Now I have a nice big scar on my chin that I am trying my hardest to repair ($30 for Mederma? Seriously?).  I'm guessing this is some sort of retribution for my early childhood vanity (see #4 here).

In other I-Think-I'm-Defective-You-Should-Really-Return-Me news, today is day two of migraine/headache/brainworm that is trying to kill me.  Yesterday I'm pretty sure I had a fever.  So when I mentioned to husband, over IM, that I had a migraine and a fever and I was probably dying, he sent me this.

I don't think instant messenger was the appropriate form of communication to explain my maladies. I think he might read everything I write in my "sarcastic voice."  Which totally sucks because if I were ever being attacked by rabid squirrels and could only plead for help over IM, he'd probably reply with this.

So today I wake up with same headache day two.  Well, not quite the same, today the light sensitivity has dissipated so I'm less concerned that I'm turning into a vampire.  So I say:

Me: "Ugh, headache"

Husband: "Do you want me to turn on Dan Patrick?"

Me: "Um, yesterday I told you I had a fever and you sent me more cowbell, today you offer to turn on Dan Patrick. I am uncertain of this treatment plan.  Is this approved by the FDA or does it at least get the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval?" (also, I kind of did want him to turn on Dan Patrick but it seemed weird to say: Yes, watching Dan Patrick is totally the cure for this headache.)

Husband: "I offered you an ibuprofen first.  You're making me sound like an idiot." (Now in the interest of full disclosure, I should mention that he **might** have asked me if I wanted an ibuprofen first but all I heard was "Do you want to watch Dan Patrick?")

Me: "It's funnier the way I heard it.  Where else would I get all my material from?"

Husband: "Michaels or Forsyth Fabric. (well look at that, design humor)  Do you want one?"

Me: "Yes, I will have one Dan Patrick, please.  Thank you."  

And then he brought me an ibuprofen.  Win.

By the way... I painted some lamps.  Here's what they looked like before:

Along with all of my supplies.

And here is one now in its half done state:

This is the good one.

You only get to see one because one is good and the other looks like it was painted by blind monkeys.  How do two lamps that are exactly the same, painted with the exact same paint, turn out different colors?  One was happy yellow, the other was "I'm kinda yellow but I almost look like throw-up orange oh and I'm also bumpy."  And before anyone says that I didn't shake the can well enough.  I swear to you, I SHOOK it.  I shook it real good. 

I was totally bummed out by my mishap so I gave up... well for a week anyway.  I was also running out of painting light outside and I still don't have lampshades because the ones I found that I totally wanted were $80 a piece and that is NOT thrifty.  Lamp saga will continue this weekend, if this brainworm doesn't kill me first.  Wish me luck... or wish the brainworm luck.  I'm not sure whose side you're on.