I never understood the expression break a leg. Surely, people don't mean for it to actually happen, right? I know my parents didn't - and not just because I'm their child, but because I'm a nightmare to take care of. Yet, four weeks ago, when I went off to learn to how to drive a motorbike, they wished me to break a leg, so being the ideal daughter one wishes for (yeah, right), I did. The fact that it wasn't a motorbike, but a scooter and it wasn't a leg, but a foot didn't matter in the end. It still hurt like a bitch and I had to be taken to the A&E.
Short stop at home to get changed and to wash the wound. As my mum did her best Maria Magdalena to my Jesus, we realised I was bleeding a little more for this to be only bruised so my dear mother braced herself remembering the '99 dodgeball incident. Back then, my chin had to be stitched and since the hospital personnel had made it difficult for me to relax (i.e. I had been hysterical beyond belief for no good reason), we had gotten thrown out of the ER. Ah, memories. Of course I wasn't going to kick a tantrum this time around, I was a strong and rational independent woman who...I give up, it hurts, make it stop, they will have to amputate my foot. Man, I had so many things still ahead of me, I mean, I'm still waiting for the time when I will learn how to walk in stilettos properly. Do NOT take that away from me, I'm still so young! Relatively young...ok, not that young. Who am I kidding? I will die alone. Footless. Wearing Converse.
So yeah, calm as ever.
After I was admitted, I was sat in a wheelchair, which might have been the first bright moment of that evening. It made me think of all the hot and sticky nights I worked at the airport where we used to hold races in the airport wheelchairs. Nothing made the nights more entertaining, apart from the passenger excuses for being late - I see, so you're telling me you were in the arrivals instead of the departures. Sure, makes total sense. Yes, technically, you ARE arriving somewhere. At times, wheelchair races were the only thing to keep me sane. Sadly, a ban followed suit. It didn't look good. Well, neither did the uniform, but who am I to judge.
Anyways, quick X-ray and then off to have it stitched. I will spare you the details. Bloody and painful. Bloody painful. I did discover something quite interesting though. Counting to 10 was a pretty useless way to keep my mind occupied so when Slovak and English were too easy, out of nowhere I swapped to French. There I was, lying on the table, seven, huit, neuf, quinze, seize. What? Not only did I go from English to French, I went from 9 straight to 15. That was bizarre, but then suddenly, done? Really? How many did you say? 7? ...I'm sorry, what was the question? How it happened? .... Well.
Here's the thing. I've never disliked driving, but even when I was getting my license, my instructor commented, in the most polite fashion, that my style is somewhat "sporty", i.e. I was being brutal to the stick. My sister drives, I ski. As in that's how we divided my dad's skills, not our choice of transport to work. Sadly, driving a scooter is nothing like speeding down a slope and you do. not. break. with. your. legs. Oops. Okay, in my defense, I don't really remember. All I know is that literally five seconds after I got on, I was heading towards pretty much the only car in the parking lot where I was learning and since my brain didn't process quickly enough to hit the breaks, my body did instead. I fell down on my right to avoid the collision. End of the story.
So here I am, one month in, crutches still in use and I'm constantly indoors. The good news is I was granted home office so I'm working. The bad news is I was granted home office so I'm working. As I don't really go anywhere though, I have some spare time to appreciate the fact that the new season is upon us. And I'm not talking about the gorgeous autumn outside my windows, I'm obviously talking about the TV. But before that truly kicks off, I've had the chance to catch up on some random things like Poldark - I see the appeal of shirtless Aidan Turner, but he is not my Bond in case that was still an option. #NotMyBond
I've also reaffirmed my belief in the fact that nothing beats soppy Korean melodramas, not even the Taiwanese ones. I'd spent half of one of my afternoons adjusting subtitles for a Bollywood film just to realize it was a musical (naturally) which made me want to scream, only to admit that it actually wasn't so bad. Something I will never say about Crazy Ex-Girlfriend. I gave it 20 minutes and that was it. Musicals suck, people. They suck bad. What else sucks, you ask? Watching Take Care, a film about a girl who got hit by a bus and has a broken leg and arm. Interested. She's at home and she's needy. More interested. And she forces her now millionaire ex-boyfriend played by Thomas Sadoski to take care of. Okay. Less interested. Where is my millionaire ex-boyfriend? Nevermind. Watch it, it's quite good.
The crown jewel of the entire watching random things experience, however, was a show I clicked on out of major boredom and oh boy, was I in for a treat. Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders: Making the Team. Just like SNL's Stefon would have said, it's got everything! The scary judgmental mentors, big hair, tight shorts, hair salon make overs, pom poms and the ultra-seriousness one reserves for lines such as "ladies, if this was a labour, it's time to push" uttered in the southern drawl. This was so much better than the US presidential elections.
Few episodes in and my superior smugness disappeared. Sure, I still find it a little odd to dedicate one's life to a perfect split wearing white cowboy boots, but my God, I admire their resilience. Smiling while someone's telling you that you're just too vanilla for this. I mean, whatever I want to achieve, I usually reserve the right to undermine it myself, before I even have the crazy idea to consider displaying it, so kudos.
I still have few weeks of isolation ahead of me, and even though the new TV season is on its way, I'd much rather be experiencing the actual new season outdoors. Hating on the weather if it's rainy, loving it if it's nice and warm a colourful and plotting how to get back on the scooter.
So yeah, calm as ever.
After I was admitted, I was sat in a wheelchair, which might have been the first bright moment of that evening. It made me think of all the hot and sticky nights I worked at the airport where we used to hold races in the airport wheelchairs. Nothing made the nights more entertaining, apart from the passenger excuses for being late - I see, so you're telling me you were in the arrivals instead of the departures. Sure, makes total sense. Yes, technically, you ARE arriving somewhere. At times, wheelchair races were the only thing to keep me sane. Sadly, a ban followed suit. It didn't look good. Well, neither did the uniform, but who am I to judge.
Anyways, quick X-ray and then off to have it stitched. I will spare you the details. Bloody and painful. Bloody painful. I did discover something quite interesting though. Counting to 10 was a pretty useless way to keep my mind occupied so when Slovak and English were too easy, out of nowhere I swapped to French. There I was, lying on the table, seven, huit, neuf, quinze, seize. What? Not only did I go from English to French, I went from 9 straight to 15. That was bizarre, but then suddenly, done? Really? How many did you say? 7? ...I'm sorry, what was the question? How it happened? .... Well.
Here's the thing. I've never disliked driving, but even when I was getting my license, my instructor commented, in the most polite fashion, that my style is somewhat "sporty", i.e. I was being brutal to the stick. My sister drives, I ski. As in that's how we divided my dad's skills, not our choice of transport to work. Sadly, driving a scooter is nothing like speeding down a slope and you do. not. break. with. your. legs. Oops. Okay, in my defense, I don't really remember. All I know is that literally five seconds after I got on, I was heading towards pretty much the only car in the parking lot where I was learning and since my brain didn't process quickly enough to hit the breaks, my body did instead. I fell down on my right to avoid the collision. End of the story.
So here I am, one month in, crutches still in use and I'm constantly indoors. The good news is I was granted home office so I'm working. The bad news is I was granted home office so I'm working. As I don't really go anywhere though, I have some spare time to appreciate the fact that the new season is upon us. And I'm not talking about the gorgeous autumn outside my windows, I'm obviously talking about the TV. But before that truly kicks off, I've had the chance to catch up on some random things like Poldark - I see the appeal of shirtless Aidan Turner, but he is not my Bond in case that was still an option. #NotMyBond
I've also reaffirmed my belief in the fact that nothing beats soppy Korean melodramas, not even the Taiwanese ones. I'd spent half of one of my afternoons adjusting subtitles for a Bollywood film just to realize it was a musical (naturally) which made me want to scream, only to admit that it actually wasn't so bad. Something I will never say about Crazy Ex-Girlfriend. I gave it 20 minutes and that was it. Musicals suck, people. They suck bad. What else sucks, you ask? Watching Take Care, a film about a girl who got hit by a bus and has a broken leg and arm. Interested. She's at home and she's needy. More interested. And she forces her now millionaire ex-boyfriend played by Thomas Sadoski to take care of. Okay. Less interested. Where is my millionaire ex-boyfriend? Nevermind. Watch it, it's quite good.
The crown jewel of the entire watching random things experience, however, was a show I clicked on out of major boredom and oh boy, was I in for a treat. Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders: Making the Team. Just like SNL's Stefon would have said, it's got everything! The scary judgmental mentors, big hair, tight shorts, hair salon make overs, pom poms and the ultra-seriousness one reserves for lines such as "ladies, if this was a labour, it's time to push" uttered in the southern drawl. This was so much better than the US presidential elections.
Few episodes in and my superior smugness disappeared. Sure, I still find it a little odd to dedicate one's life to a perfect split wearing white cowboy boots, but my God, I admire their resilience. Smiling while someone's telling you that you're just too vanilla for this. I mean, whatever I want to achieve, I usually reserve the right to undermine it myself, before I even have the crazy idea to consider displaying it, so kudos.
I still have few weeks of isolation ahead of me, and even though the new TV season is on its way, I'd much rather be experiencing the actual new season outdoors. Hating on the weather if it's rainy, loving it if it's nice and warm a colourful and plotting how to get back on the scooter.
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