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I’ma jus’ gonna hang upside-down offtha couch all evening. Anything that does not require the use of my feet.

Feet are pretty pissed off. So they’re out.

Knee’s not too happy either. Tripped over a parking block walking up from the employee lot and tanked it. Fortunately the car I clung to in order to break my fall did not have a car alarm, otherwise it may have raised some eyebrows with the valet attendants. Unfortunately, the fall was not broken, nor was my knee, however, a rather impressive bruise ensued:

I kick ass with injuries. Grew up somewhat of a tomboy.

Arm went through a glass door when I was seven, scars and stitches aplenty.

Impaled myself on a picket fence when I was eight, so the back of my left upper thigh is beautifully mangled. Little bastard next door was chasing me, so I assign the blame to him.

Hit a dog on my bike when I was fifteen, knocking off my two front teeth and chipping off a chunk of my kneecap which required surgery to repair. Serious road rash down the center of my face, which can be catastrophic to a girl in high school.

Broke my foot, but that was covered in a previous blog.

Sliced my leg open on the handle of a printing press in my college printmaking class, requiring (another) tetanus shot.

Sliced my fingertip off whilst slicing oranges.

More concussions than I care to count.

My husband says I am a medically high maintenance individual. And exceptionally clumsy.

I prefer to be called a bad-ass.

Voulez-voulez-vous bad-ass