So. Back in the day I was going about my business, casually dating, meeting various people and having fun regularly with a somewhat crazy girlfriend of mine. We would go to the local ‘place’ and drink and smoke and do whatever else it is that you do in a bar. One night in particular, it was Halloween. I dressed up. NO I didn’t dress up in a costume, I dressed up in a ‘really hot outfit’ or so I thought. Thinking back the thing that comes to mind first is WTH were you thinking?!
So. I’m sitting on a stool. I’ve got some new hot jeans on, fleur de leis on the pockets, woot woot, they were only about 150 bucks. They were worth it though. I got good use out of them. I think I wore them about twice. And a white long sleeve t-shirt, and these crazy high heels. Why were they crazy you say? Because they were cowboy style clogs. I mean the heels were like 4” high. They were really easy to get on, your foot just slid right into them. It felt like you were walking on stilts with these shoes on. Incidentally they were very easy to slip off your foot, while walking no less.
So. In usual style I drink. And drink. And drink. And smoke. And drink. Then I drink more. At this point I’m not thinking rationally. I go to the bathroom and sit down on the stool (I hate that term) in a little bathroom stall. A multi-stall bathroom. I feel sleepy. In my ultimate wisdom I think I should close my eyes for a minute. (Sitting on the toilet with my pants down in a public bathroom, at a bar) Yes it was a wise thing to do.
So. I wake up. I’m sure it was just a few moments that I dozed off. (Sure) someone is knocking on the stall. She says … “Insert my name here” What are you doing? You’ve been in here for a long time, you have to come out. I say “Insert her name here” I’m just really tired. I’ll be okay” She says “no seriously, you need to come out of the bathroom (Insert my name here)
So. Somehow or another I put my pants back on, I don’t remember if that was an independent effort, or if I got help. Two people (man and woman?) help me outside of the establishment, out the backdoor, around to the front seating area outside. Probably in case I threw up. As if I’d ever do anything that disgusting. (Look forward to more stories about getting sick later) My little friend, and she is little, comes out to help me. She decides she can half-carry me to her van and take me home. If I was of my right mind, I’d know she couldn’t do it. But I was giddy with vodka and thought the whole thing was hilarious and couldn’t stop laughing. As I’m leaning on her we walk through the lot and get within feet of her vehicle, and my shoes don’t cooperate. I’m not sure exactly what happened with my feet, but I start to fall backward and just remember a thud on the back of my head. This is where the story gets interesting.
So. Apparently I knocked the base of my skull on the back of a pickup truck bumper. No big deal. So I go about the business of my life. Go to work, Go out, Drink more, smoke more, casually date more, etc. I didn’t notice anything unusual. The only thing different in my life was I had just met Mr. Right. Yep this was the guy that was going to be with me forever. Let me go on …. Please!
So. Mr. Right #451 was a Dentist. He was well-educated. He was fit (if you call a tiny little anorexic man fit) He was cute (if you call an older guy who looked like a cartoon character cute … yes that is a reference to a past post) and he was, admittedly, rich. Now as you know RICH and WELL-EDUCATED and PROFESSIONAL is unusual for me. I usually am much more discriminating. Normally, I’ll say it again; I go for the biggest losers. Mr. Right #451 was definitely not a loser. On paper anyway.
So. I was dating Mr. Right #451 and we were having a good time. Dinner, talking, wine, chats, etc. The relationship was just moving to another level – if you know what I mean – coincidentally right after I hit the base of my skull on the bumper of the pickup truck. Actually I think it was just a couple days before. I arrive at Mr. Right #451 home, and we drink some wine, we have some dinner and we sit on the couch. We start to ‘make out’ and soon I’m lying flat on the couch. I’m surprised at how good Mr. Right #451 makes me feel. Whenever we start making out, never mind the fact that it also correlates with me lying flat, I get so dizzy and my head feels like its spinning. This surely is what love feels like. I’m in love with Mr. Right #451 I tell him, and he tells me the same. Life is beautiful. I’m the luckiest girl in the world.
So. Fast forward. We end up spending night after night after night together. Actually it was about 14 days straight. Some people may call this a weird unhealthy, moving too quickly relationship. I call it love. He told me how it ended with the last love of his life, he shared everything with me and if I were thinking clearly I’d have realized that he was a stalker and was involved in court proceedings because someone was pressing charges against him. One day, I decide it’s time to go home and feed my dog. I wonder if he’s still alive?! (Just kidding) and I go home. I’m tired and it’s good to be in my own bed. So I retire in my bed. I’m lying flat. Something really weird happens. I’m so dizzy and my head feels like it’s spinning, like I’m in love. What am I in love with my bed?! It goes away after a while and I don’t think much of it. Then I stay home another day, and another day, and another day. Guess What? I’m dizzy and my head feels like its spinning EVERYTIME I lie down in bed. This is a come to Jesus meeting with myself. I am not in love. He is not Mr. Right #451 and while sitting upright and contemplating the ‘relationship’ I’m realizing that Mr. Right #451 is probably crazy and I should make a mass exodus. I don’t know if that’s proper English but I love to say it whenever possible. Mass Exodus.
So. The moral of the story is, if you hit the base of your skull on a truck bumper, or anything else for that matter, you really should go to the hospital immediately. Otherwise you may put yourself in grave danger. You could fall in love and God knows what else could happen.