31 March 2007


There is just no accounting for how on earth I have made it thus far in my adult life, other than the fact that God has a sense of humor, and likes to humble me...?!

Let me tell you a story . . .

Driving down O'Farrell, not much traffic, window rolled down, Ozomatli blasting from the speakers, our Heroine finds a metered parking space! This is a Big Deal, as it is after 6pm on a Friday night, which all adds up to free parking. She effortlessly backs into the spot - on the left, no less - in one smooth arc. She leaves the car running so she can finish listening to track 9 as she reapplies her lipstick, tosses her hair, and thinks to herself - "damn, self, but ain't you havin' a goooood hair day.
She climbs out of her car, only momentarily getting the door stuck on the sidewalk - oops - in front of Naan 'n Curry, where three young, handsome gentlemen happen to be dining outside in the cool, Spring night. She throws her cd's in the trunk, locks her car and just as she gets ready to make her way the last couple blocks to her destination, she turns to double check that indeed, her meter does not need to be fed. Satisfied with the meter's hours, she steps away and just as she turns . . . TWACK!!! She walks SMACK into a metal pole - which she swears just came out of nowhere - making contact with the left side of her face. It was a 'no parking 2-6am sign, tilted towards her, instead of being perpendicular to the sidewalk. Right in front of the aforementioned table of men, enjoying their Indian food, she can't help herself - "S*&T!" she turns to them, ripping off her chic aviators, "Am I bleeding or anything??!" The men shake their heads solemnly, looks of disbelief slowing being replaced by the guilty looks of schoolboys trying to repress a laugh during church. "This is SO embarassing," she continues, "but, as long as I'm not bleeding, I guess I'll be okay."
She catches the eye of a Nick Lachey lookalike on the other side of the restaurant's window - he and his date are laughing their asses off. She waves at him, acknowledging the humor of the whole situation - but stops herself just short of taking a bow. "Well - you guys have a GREAT night," she says, turning on her heel (clad in very cute, high-heeled, gold wedge sandals), and heads off, again, towards her destination. She stops in at a corner market, quickly locating a bottle of advil and the coldest Diet Coke she can find in the back of the cold drink case. She pays, hastily rips into the ibuprophen, all the while using the soda as a make-shift ice pack. She leans against a parking meter, Coke against her cheek and eye, and watches the people walk by her. Thankfully, at that moment, the Critical Mass bikers start zooming by by the 100s, and she - as well as the other onlookers - have something else to distract them for a while. She can't help but smile to herself, even giggle a little bit, as one of her father's favorite sayings pops into her head. "Well, Grace, what've you done THIS time?" Grace, indeed . . .

So, now I sit, ice pack to head, thinking that come tomorrow, I'll probably have a black eye. I only wish I had some sort of COOL reason for having one. However, after retelling my story to Sibling, (who started crying with laughter), I guess I don't need to come up with a better story; this one is funny enough.

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