will write for tacos: confessions of a klutzbomb

"klutzbomb" is a word I made up just now. It means someone who is so terribly un-graceful that they're like a bomb waiting to go off...you never know when they're gonna trip over something and stab themselves with a pen.

and it describes me perfectly!

gosh. it's a good thing I'm not a unicorn because I would definitely fall and stab other people in the face (alan I know you're reading this and smirking).

sidenote: this is a t-shirt and I really need it. like really bad.

in the last week, I have electrocuted myself, tripped over a flat surface, fallen out of my bed, and slammed my hair in my car door.

#sendhelp

Most of the scars on my body are from me being a klutz-face.

exhibit a: One summer we were at the Oregon coast and I was climbing on some tide-pools (not unusual). However, I was not wearing proper shoes for tide-pool-climbing (R.I.P. you worthless Old Navy flip-flops). And I slipped and fell and boom now there's a scar the shape of the Florida panhandle on my leg.

My reaction was to say this to the rocks which I fell on:

exhibit b: I was hiking on a trail (not meant for humans) and basically just fell over onto some gravel. For some reason this gave me a huuuge gash which made me lots of awkward friendships over the summer. Everywhere I went, people would stare horribly at my leg for an awful amount of seconds, at which point I would say "It was a cougar." And then I'd walk away. Sha-bam.

exhibit c: I was at my sandwich-place job back in high school times and was slicing meat with the meat-slicer (how very original). We were supposed to wear this chain mail glove when we sliced, but nobody ever did. Because we were 17 and inviiiincible. Amirite? Well anywayz, My hand decided it wasn't invincible that day, and while I was cleaning the blade (whilst it was still moving...I know, how smart am I? not very.) it chopped a piece of my finger clean off!

That night in my journal I traced an outline of my hand with the part of my finger missing. Gotta preserve those memories, you know.

exhibit d: When I was 5, I had a sleepwalking problem. I think this problem continued until about age 12 or so (mom can confirm this...she had a creepy encounter with me once at 4am but that's another story). Anyhow, I slept-walked right out of bed and into the living room. Upon arriving there I sat on the couch, peed, and went back to bed. Of course, since I was sleeping through this whole experience, I had no memory of it. Didn't matter...everyone knew it was me. I guess this isn't really me being klutzy..it's just my bladder being klutzy and ruining the couch cushions forevermore. Whatevs.