"What Does Not Kill You Will Only Make You Stronger"
Or at least end up with your clumsy ass on crutches
WARNING! Harsh language alert! Must be the Tramadol talking.
Yes, I'm on crutches. Torn left calf muscle, and I'm high as a kite.
Here's what happened -
I'm doing some road work a little over a week ago, and I see this older gal sitting in her parked car with her face down on the steering wheel. "Oh, shit!" says I. "That ol' broad's havin' a cardiac!" I'm literally ready to SPRING into action! Here's my big chance to put my official American Red Cross CPR Training to use.
How'd the first step go again? Hmm.. jab an index finger wildly about and sternly say; "YOU, call 911! YOU, do you know CPR!? One-and-two-and-three-and-four-and-five-and-BLOW!!"
I felt kinda like a super-hero. I even came up with my own snappy catch-phrase: Let's Go Save Some Lives. All I need now is my own theme music.
Anyhow, all this crap went through my head in a span of about three seconds. And the whole damn time, I'm eyeballin' Grandma Moses to see if any new medical malady may have struck. And I'm also wondering of my Red Cross Lifesaving Card has any possible eventuality checked off. Stroke, rabies, gingivitis, Bubonic Plague, crabs... hell, I'm ready. I've been ready.
Little did I realize that in front of me was a crack in the sidewalk that gave about a half inch or so rise. And yes, I went ass over tea kettle. ARRRRGH! To say I ripped the livin' shit outta my calf would be an understatement.
Of course, some Northern Transplant (sideways Mets cap and all) runs up to me was says as only a Brooklynite can say; "OH MY GWOD! I sawz da whole freakin' ting! Youze OK? I seen youz fwall down. Did it hoit? Gwod, it lookz like it hoits!" My new friend, Vinnie (aren't they all named "Vinnie"?) ended up giving me a ride home. God bless his gold-chained wearin' Yankee ass.
But the coups de grâce to my spaz-moment was when granny rolls down her window and croaks "You alright?" Through clenched teeth, I manage a smiling "No problem, I'm OK!" But I was thinking; "shit lady, out of common courtesy, you could at least have a friggin' mild heart attack!" I still haven't figured out why her head was on her steering wheel.
And it took me a week and a day to finally go to the doctor. And yes, the doctor asked why it took so long for me to see him. My stereotypical answer; "hey, I'm a guy!"
For whatever reason, he didn't find that as funny as I did.
Or at least end up with your clumsy ass on crutches
WARNING! Harsh language alert! Must be the Tramadol talking.
Yes, I'm on crutches. Torn left calf muscle, and I'm high as a kite.
Here's what happened -
I'm doing some road work a little over a week ago, and I see this older gal sitting in her parked car with her face down on the steering wheel. "Oh, shit!" says I. "That ol' broad's havin' a cardiac!" I'm literally ready to SPRING into action! Here's my big chance to put my official American Red Cross CPR Training to use.
How'd the first step go again? Hmm.. jab an index finger wildly about and sternly say; "YOU, call 911! YOU, do you know CPR!? One-and-two-and-three-and-four-and-five-and-BLOW!!"
I felt kinda like a super-hero. I even came up with my own snappy catch-phrase: Let's Go Save Some Lives. All I need now is my own theme music.
Anyhow, all this crap went through my head in a span of about three seconds. And the whole damn time, I'm eyeballin' Grandma Moses to see if any new medical malady may have struck. And I'm also wondering of my Red Cross Lifesaving Card has any possible eventuality checked off. Stroke, rabies, gingivitis, Bubonic Plague, crabs... hell, I'm ready. I've been ready.
Little did I realize that in front of me was a crack in the sidewalk that gave about a half inch or so rise. And yes, I went ass over tea kettle. ARRRRGH! To say I ripped the livin' shit outta my calf would be an understatement.
Of course, some Northern Transplant (sideways Mets cap and all) runs up to me was says as only a Brooklynite can say; "OH MY GWOD! I sawz da whole freakin' ting! Youze OK? I seen youz fwall down. Did it hoit? Gwod, it lookz like it hoits!" My new friend, Vinnie (aren't they all named "Vinnie"?) ended up giving me a ride home. God bless his gold-chained wearin' Yankee ass.
But the coups de grâce to my spaz-moment was when granny rolls down her window and croaks "You alright?" Through clenched teeth, I manage a smiling "No problem, I'm OK!" But I was thinking; "shit lady, out of common courtesy, you could at least have a friggin' mild heart attack!" I still haven't figured out why her head was on her steering wheel.
And it took me a week and a day to finally go to the doctor. And yes, the doctor asked why it took so long for me to see him. My stereotypical answer; "hey, I'm a guy!"
For whatever reason, he didn't find that as funny as I did.
posted by Vir Speluncae Catholicus at
9:59 AM
13 Comments:
I suspect the real story have something to do with your dishwasher.
PS Any guy named Vinnie who likes the METS can't be all bad.
& no they ain't all Vinnies. there is the occasional Vito or Angelo.
Nice story Caveness, now tell us the truth we are not your wife. A Marine tripping over a crack in the road because he thought an old lady was in distress.........???
You couldn't sell that to a sailor wearing his dress whites.
Oh I'm sure it was of the female persuasion that you were looking at.....
Geez even a 20 year Lcpl having been busted down twice could have come up with a better story!
LOL!!!!!
As improbable as it sounds... it's true. Do I need to send Vinnie your way "to tells ya da troot" about what happpened?
Be advised, Vinnie's my good goomba now. I'd hate to have him "pay a visit" to a fellow parishoner (evil grin inserted here).
Bummer. Dr. Trotter of Dodge City, KS had just arrived in town to start his practice. Pulled over to help someone change a tire, got smacked by a car, broke his leg. True story.
You're lucky it was a Met fan. A Yankee fan would've stepped over and laughed at you. They probably would add salt in the wound by saying, "Tony Gwynn is a punk" if they picked up on the fact that you are a Pod's fan!
NYPD,
But then I would have had to kill him.
Oh. That's terrible. Tramadol is good stuff though. My husband just got out of the hospital with a torn up knee and that's what they gave him.
Cavey, terribly sorry about your injury, but enjoy your Tramadol. My Beloved fell through a rotten pier board in Belize while we were on vacation a few years back, tore several importantish bits of muscle and gristle in his ankle, and that was his reward. He loved it. Nothing bothered him. He sat there on the beach with his ankle propped up on the cooler, a beer in one hand and...well...nothing in the other one [because I learned quickly to stay out of wife-grope range], and any time I had something less than worshipful to say, he called out to the children:
"Hey girls, your mamma's talking...someone fetch me my Wife-a-dol."
He still insists the bruised ribs didn't hurt as much as the ankle...
Who said it would be a he? You've met my daughter , our rouge Yankee fan. She's pretty fast...especially when it comes to gimp retired Jarines!!! :)
"My stereotypical answer; "hey, I'm a guy!"
I switched doctors a year ago. Found one locally who is also a part-time farmer (or he's a farmer who is also a part-time doctor - whatever...).
He maintains that Viagra is a godsend. Why? His answer is not the obvious one: "Because it makes guys go see doctors!".
You're probably not there yet, Marine. But you will be...:)
So happy that you met my cousin (Have two, the other's "Sonny") Am a Mets fan married to a Yankee fan) Hubby's also a Franciscan (Third Order) and between us, the Padres should go back to the Brown Uniform, it's only fitting!!!
NYPD,
The 10K Queen gets to live.
The Caveman has spoken. So let it be written. So let it be done.
*Drums thumping -- Bum, buum, bum, buum.....*
"The Caveman has spoken. So let it be written. So let it be done."
So, when will you be sending down the 10 plagues & parting the Red Sea. I'll settle for the Mississippi on the latter.
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