Day one

Growing up, I remember my Aunt Shelly being a person of authority. She would yell at me for simple things like trying to ride her Doberman like a horse. Crazy, I know.

The first thing we had to do was weed. So much weeding. The first day consisted of weeding a small spot and planting two large plants. That was easy. Then we had a day off and I was suppose to weed the large wall. I worked for about an hour and then went to the beach. Shelly was not very happy with me after that, and she had every right.

Funny story: while we were weeding, the neighbor had a guest in town. He was a very attractive hippy-man with bright blue eyes. He stopped by to let us know the weeds we were pulling actually were a plant he uses for hippy-style salads. However, he did not help, he just grazed on the 'weed'.

In the end, the part of the wall looks amazing. I could not have done it without the help of my super fantastic aunt. The problem is, I kind of hate her because she looks a billion times better than me, yet is a few years older. Grrr.

Opps! Down I go

A little over a month ago, I was heading out the back door with crap in my hands. Holly was sitting on the stairs and the light was burnt out. I turned around to keep Dandy from getting out, but when I turned back around, my flip-flop slipped and I fell off the stair and down I went.

Everything would have been just fine, if days earlier I wasn't tiling the back hall way. I had a container full of cement that dried and was too lazy to get up and toss it in the garbage. I toss it out the back door. Bad, bad idea. That is what I landed on...

Right when I fell I knew I as in trouble. (The picture is of what I fell on). I could tell my lip was cut, but I didn't know the extent. Fast forwarded to the emergency room. They thought they could just sew it up right there and everything would be fine. Nope. It was far too extensive and I had to have surgery.

Not realizing how bad it really was, I kept asking if I would be out in time to see Rod Stewart. I don't like him, but I got free tickets and my aunt wanted to go. The nurse just laughed and fed me more morphine. I laughed too.

After over 14 hours of sitting there with my face split open, I went in to surgery. Within an hour (I think) they put over 200 stitches in my face.

It wasn't all bad, I got to stay with my dad for a few days. He waited on me hand and foot while we came up with scenarios to tell people. We had a lot of fun watching PBS and just talking. After only 10 days I was able to return to work with my new scar and teeth (I damaged two of them).

A short list of the really funny things that happened:
-My dad telling me to quit ultimate fighting in a crowed elevator
-Calling my co-workers out for calling me Nettenstein in a group meeting, even though I was the one that came up with the name
-Seeing people's look when I tell them I 'broke my face'
-Catching up on 90's cult movies

All in all, it sucked and hurt a lot, but it could have been worse. That is why I haven't updated my blog, cause I know the two readers (Shelly and Margi) are concerned.