If I Only Had a Brain

To quote MC 900 Ft. Jesus, “Suppose I accidentally got my shit together. Would I get a medal or a pat on the back and a little feather I could stick in my cap or pin to my shirt . . .” Nearly 5 months ago I made a non-New Year’s resolution that I was seriously going to get it together. I never did write that blog about getting hit in the face with hot sauce. There haven’t been too many “that’s so Janice” moments (quelle surprise!) so I guess I can smoosh these together in one post and start from there.

Flash back to November 7, 2013.
Noah, Michael, & I went to the Echo Theater Company‘s Lip Sync Contest and Fundraiser. A few times throughout the evening the effervescent mistress of ceremonies, the infamous Tara Karsian, was pimping out raffle tickets for some lovely donated prizes. During one such plea, she asked if anyone in the audience didn’t buy at least one ticket. I assumed this was going to lead to public shaming, it is Tara afterall (<3). Michael naively raised his hand. Surprisingly Tara generously offered him some free hot sauce and tossed it to him. But because Tara throws like a spaz or because she was staring into lights, whichever you choose to believe *coughEXCUSEScough*, the hot sauce bottle hit me smack dab between the eyes. Tara, though realizing she was lucky to hit me instead of a stranger, added “Oh, god, Janice. Please don’t sue us.” Comedy.
Not gonna lie, it hurt. Thankfully (?), I was sporting my spectacles but that did mean the little nose pieces poked pretty close to my eye sockets, which made them tear up something fierece. People around me thought I was crying. I AM NOT A BABY, OKAY GUYS? It did get me some sympathy though. After the show I got a bottle of sympathy wine courtesy of one of the judges, Anne Fletcher. So it all worked out in the end.
P.S.: Fangirl moment, Anne was the choreographer for Bring It On and the assistant choreographer for Buffy the Vampire Slayer “Once More With Feeling.”

Flash back to March 24, 2014.
Noah and I went home to Texas to celebrate my dad’s 80th birthday. Quick but fun and filled with lots of queso. APPROVED. Unfortunately, the trip (pun intended) didn’t end on a high note. I was standing in the security scanner with my arms in the air, patiently waiting to be told I could exit. It felt like I was in there longer than usual when I finally heard a woman shout “you can go now” as if I had taken too long. So I quickly turned and took a big step out of the machine in one swift motion. In doing so I totally missed that there was a slight step down, which led to the ground not being where I expected it to be when I shifted my weight. Instead of hitting solid ground with the sole of my foot, my ankle rolled and hit the ground (completely with lovely snapping noise). This was quickly followed by my face plant and a yelp that probably came out as “SON OF A BITCH!” The security lady asked if I was okay, to which I snapped “NO!” I mean, my ankle just made a snapping noise and my face smacked into the dirty airport floor. Did she really expect me to say yes? A few people rushed over, asking again if I was okay and if I could stand. Nope. I was a total disaster. I had to be wheeled to my gate. Oh, and Noah’s response? He turned, looked at me, said “shit,” and went back to collecting our items from the security tubs.
It’s been nearly a month and it’s doing better. It’s still cankle-y and hurts off and on, but I’m me so I don’t expect much different. It just better not ruin my birthday trip to Disneyland. That’s all I’m sayin’.

On the topic of “that’s so Janice,” I found these bandages that were obviously made with me in mind:
Shit Show bandages

Last update, but not least. Part of getting my shit together is contributing to the latest incarnation of my lovely friend Catherine’s television blog, My TV Family. Check it out, jerks.

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