Within about 15 minutes of rolling my car, I knew what I was going to post as my Facebook status update*
*(this blog post will not address the pathetic nature of the above sentence).
I had already called the people who would be most worried about me. And I realized that it was somewhat twisted that I always liked to use the phrase "that's how I roll" on Facebook and in real life, and here I was, living it out literally.
Leading up to the rolling of my car, it was just the average drive between the Twin Cities and Sioux City. A drive I first started making on a regular basis back in 1989. One I can do in my sleep. I think I know every single bathroom stall and gas nozzle between these two locations.
The weather was light snow. I've driven through countless ice storms and blizzards, even torrential downpours and the occasional tornado warning. This didn't seem to be anything to worry about.
I had told Kim I'd be there between 4:30 and 5:00. The roads weren't bad. Light snow falling.
Kim is pretty much a wimp when it comes to winter driving. She's the first to admit it. And she freaks out when people she knows are driving in bad weather. Which is why I generally found it was better to either lie or omit evidence when letting her know how the roads were.
But this time I was telling the truth. Light snow. Roads weren't bad.
So imagine my surprise when, while going around a curve, I found my car weaving from left to right, a little bit like a first-time ice skater. I quickly downshifted, one factor into why I'm lucky to be here typing this blog entry right now. The downshifting probably brought my speed down from 65 mph to about 45-50 mph.
Despite my best efforts, my car finally decided to win and my rear bumper swung around as if to say "Hey, Kim's going to know you're lying right about now."
The next few seconds, or minutes, or however long it was, were a slow motion blur. If you don't know what a slow motion blur is, well, you haven't seen your life flash before your eyes. I did. And I literally said to myself "This is it, I've had a good run." Well I also said a few words that I don't want to type.
As my car slid into the median, which was essentially a large mound of snow in a deep ditch, it smacked the snow sideways on the passenger side. It flipped over onto the roof, then flipped back onto the tires. The car thought about rolling one more time onto the roof again, but the snow won the battle.
The first thing I did was check the keys to see if my engine ran. It worked. Then I was wondering why if felt like I was outside, and then I looked up and saw my sunroof was gone. Oh, hey sky. what's up?
By now, a passer-by had stopped and opened my car door to see if I was okay. "Yeah I'm fine. But I don't think my car is so happy."
The man looked at me like I was insane. "I just watched you slide and then roll your car. I didn't know if I was going to find you conscious here." Touche.
"Yes, I'm very lucky. I should probably call 911, huh?" I replied.
The next little while went fast. In fact, between getting a ride to the gas station, then waiting for a different gas station to send the tow truck, then talk to the sheriff, then the state trooper, then get the car pulled out of the ditch and reports filled out, and payments made, and having all 3 entities telling me that my car looked like it was drivable and fine, well, you get the point with this run-on sentence, don't you?
Suffice it to say, I was an hour and a half late to my destination. Not bad for my first rollover. Let alone first car accident.
I've felt a mixture of emotions over the last couple days after my first car accident.
Number one...I'm reminded of what I learned at age 18 while working at the United 232 crash site - Live every day like it might be your last, because we don't choose when it arrives.
Number two...I've been laughing and smiling and grateful as hell realizing that I am one lucky person right now. I'm fine. My car is mostly fine, outside of a smashed roof.
Number three...I am going to have one hell of a bar story to tell when the topic of car accidents comes up. And an awesome nickname care of a Facebook friend..."Stevel Knievel."
And the punchline of the bar story will always be "Because that's how I roll."
Thursday, January 13, 2011
CONTENT WARNING: This blog entry contains material that is not appropriate for non-mature readers. Contains adult language, nudity, and mild sexual parts language.
About two years after Gman, my youngest mini-me blessing, arrived, I decided it was time to get the big snip. The big road block. The big V. Vas-ect-o-my.
Mind you I wasn't thrilled about it. Had some doubts. But I did it.
I still remember how scared shitless I was before I had the pre-procedure appointment with my doctor.
It didn't help that the doctor's name made me giggle. He was from India, and if I remember correctly his last name was Jakkuhav, which when he pronounced it sounded like "jack you off." I know, I know, I'm still in 7th grade mentally.
Anyway, during the pre-procedure consult, Dr. Jakkuhav tried to use a metaphor to explain the procedure. "A vasectomy is like cooking a chicken," he said with a big grin and thick Indian accent. "Sometimes it's really good, and sometimes it gets burned."
So THAT's why they told me to buy a bunch of bags of frozen peas for after the procedure!
The night before the procedure, I was a nervous wreck. I'd already done the manscaping they requested, and as I found out the next morning, "and then some!!!"
I had talked to my relatives and friends who had vasectomies to ask for thoughts on how bad it would be. The best advice came from my brother, Jim. "It feels like you got kicked in the nuts for a couple days." Ok, I can live with that!
The next morning, as Dr. Jakkuhav was preparing things, the nurse brought me back to the room where I'd be giving up my manhood. Turns out this nurse, who was pretty attractive, I'll admit, was going to be assisting the doctor, and this was her first vasectomy.
So as I laid down and they prepped me (they essentially tape certain things out of the way so they don't accidentally have a lawsuit for giving a bonus circumcision), I realized it was going to be a longer procedure than normal.
The cute nurse was asking a lot of questions of Dr. Jakkuhav because she wanted to learn what he was doing, and what her role was to be.
As they injected the local anesthetic, I realized that local as really local.
The attractive nurse decided to keep her free hand resting on top of my "taped part" during the entire procedure, which was very much NOT part of the local anesthetic.
Let's just say there is something very demeaning about having an attractive woman touching your taped part while you are having your manhood snipped away from you and cauterized with a laser. And I'm going to leave it at that.
I confess that the next 2 days were pretty nice, though. Between the painkillers and the tons of frozen peas used on my chicken, and the football games and requirement to not do strenuous activity (no honey-do list for me!), it wasn't too shabby, really.
And please allow me to offer some final advice to the men who complain about having to get a vasectomy.
First, if you've witnessed the birth of your child/children, then you know that the pain won't be anything close to that. So don't talk about your pain fears in front of mothers.
Second, call ahead and request either a male nurse, or an unattractive one.
And pray to God your doctor's name isn't Dr. Kutyernutz.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
"I recommend the Macaroni and Cheese."
I was having a New Year's Eve dinner with my date, Kim, at Golden Corral.
Before you say anything, this wasn't my choice. And it most certainly wasn't Kim's choice. She protested loudly at the suggestion.
We were going to an impromptu dinner with her mom and step-dad, and well, we got outvoted and Golden Corral it was.
So as we grabbed our neon plates and crusty silverware and moved toward the first buffet line, I leaned to Kim and said, "I recommend the Macaroni and Cheese."
She wasn't amused.
She looked like a deer in headlights as we walked in to the place just minutes earlier. And as we sat in the car in the parking lot just before that, she made it a point that she as a nurse knew what kind of public health risks buffets like this could offer.
But Kim was a trooper. She found a few things she would eat without fear of vomiting before we started having some New Year's Eve cocktails later that night.
Me? I thought I was in Heaven. Well I was, in a way, because I was in Iowa. * (c) 2011 Copyright of Cliches of Field of Dreams, Inc.
I had some mashed potatoes and gravy, some pot roast (actually they labeled it the "Awesome Pot Roast" if I remember correctly). A few green beans and some kind of a potatoey, bacony thing that I couldn't pass up.
Washed it down with a few Pepsi's (They only serve Pepsi brand soft drinks, if you're planning a romantic dinner there in the near future) and some mixture of chocolatecakepuddingcookiesandcreamthingie.
It was an awesome start to the night, because it was something that created some great memories that make me laugh until I snort.
My only recommendation is not to put that kind of a meal into your belly before you head out to enjoy some schooners/pints/shots/pints/shots/pints/water/champagne/pints/shots/pints.
And also, for your future reference, if you do combine the Golden Corral/Heavy New Year's Eve Style Drinking, be prepared for a much worse hangover than usual. My only guess is that for some reason, the Golden Corral Awesome Pot Roast must repel the alcohol rather than soak it up.
I had an outstanding New Year's Eve, regardless of the GCH (Golden Corral Hangover) syndrome.
Because when you're with good company, it doesn't matter where you are or what you eat. Laughing until you snort is sometimes worth a trip to the GC.
Happy New Year, everyone!
And I highly recommend the Macaroni and Cheese!