So. Me and the car accident.
We met yesterday for the first time.
The car accident was mild, and involved only me and my complete negligence for vehicle maintenance. It was raining yesterday and my tires slipped a little while I left a parking lot, but did I think, "Hey now, Candice. Be careful on sharp turns. Your tires seem to be having an issue" to myself? No, I did not think that, I thought, "Dude, is there anything OTHER than Lady Gaga on the radio?" And as my reward, I skidded across a wet patch of road on the access road of a major highway and hit the median.
Embarrassed, I tried to reverse and drive away only to discover that I had actually REALLY broke it. I broke my car. I couldn't even open the passenger side door. The axle was bent, the tire was popped. I'd officially screwed up big. I spent the next hour sitting in my car in the rain, calling people on the phone, while people drove past me, and a sweet co-worker of mine and a cop waited for the tow truck. It was my first real accident, the first time ever that I'd rendered a car un-driveable.
Did I cry? No. Not even when I realized that the insurance my mother pays for me is liability only. Meaning that it is all on me to get this car fixed. Meaning that a planned trip to Montreal is off. Meaning that "No thank you," is going to have to start coming out of my mouth more and more. As in:
"More wine, madame?"
"No. Thank you."
"Would you like to try this on, miss?"
"No. But thank you."
"Would you like to super size this for .75 cents today?"
"Let me check. ::opens wallet:: No, thank you."
So did I cry? No. Did I want to. Yes. Luckily, my family has passed down a long and storied tradition of coping with life's little curve balls: drinking. Wine was poured for me by 6:30pm, and remained steadily available until midnight. I tried to stretch out the tension and soreness in my back and neck, but even laying down I knew there was no real way to fight it.
But skating class was pre-paid, non-refundable, and cannot be rescheduled. I got up this morning, put on my leg warmers, and went to class. My back was stiff, and I had to take two Aleve before even walking out the door, but I went. I think I fell within the first five minutes of class, first executing that classic sort of Scooby-Doo-running-in-place move before ending up ass first on the ice. Undeterred I brushed off the ice, and set about trying to master swizzles, backwards swizzles, half swizzles, one footed glides (...sort of) slalom, backward slalom (...not really). Crossovers were discussed but by no means attempted. And then: magic words came from our instructors lips: "Let's do a spin."
I am mesmerized by spins. I'll soon be writing up my experience seeing Stars on Ice where I will explain why some traditional, well-beloved figure skating moves leave me snoring with boredom, but good lord, do I love spins. The only cruel thing about it was the instructor had us try it at the very end of class with barely a minute to really attempt it.
So what do I do? Do I say, "Well Candice, you've done enough. You were in an accident yesterday, and there'll always be more ice time later." No. I promptly pay the fee for to keep skating so I can practice my very first spin. I get up to two full rotations (listen, you gotta learn to walk before you can blur) and bam, down a go a second time, smack dab on the same ass cheek as before. No matter, though! No mind! I'm spinning! I'm attempting spins. I'm a step closer to actual figure skating. This is big. This is fun.
Still, let's take a break, eh? Let's practice some simple skating and try not fall again. We're skating, we're skating, we're inexplicably digging a toe pick into the ice and executing the patented slapstick comedy belly flop and slide forward with arms out and legs splayed. Your dignity, Candice, it's flying out the door.
Frankly, after that it was nap time. I slept for an hour when I got home after lunch, then slept another TWO hours instead of eating dinner. I am now lonely and bored but too exhausted to do anything about it.
This looks like a job for the internet!
The car accident was mild, and involved only me and my complete negligence for vehicle maintenance. It was raining yesterday and my tires slipped a little while I left a parking lot, but did I think, "Hey now, Candice. Be careful on sharp turns. Your tires seem to be having an issue" to myself? No, I did not think that, I thought, "Dude, is there anything OTHER than Lady Gaga on the radio?" And as my reward, I skidded across a wet patch of road on the access road of a major highway and hit the median.
Embarrassed, I tried to reverse and drive away only to discover that I had actually REALLY broke it. I broke my car. I couldn't even open the passenger side door. The axle was bent, the tire was popped. I'd officially screwed up big. I spent the next hour sitting in my car in the rain, calling people on the phone, while people drove past me, and a sweet co-worker of mine and a cop waited for the tow truck. It was my first real accident, the first time ever that I'd rendered a car un-driveable.
Did I cry? No. Not even when I realized that the insurance my mother pays for me is liability only. Meaning that it is all on me to get this car fixed. Meaning that a planned trip to Montreal is off. Meaning that "No thank you," is going to have to start coming out of my mouth more and more. As in:
"More wine, madame?"
"No. Thank you."
"Would you like to try this on, miss?"
"No. But thank you."
"Would you like to super size this for .75 cents today?"
"Let me check. ::opens wallet:: No, thank you."
So did I cry? No. Did I want to. Yes. Luckily, my family has passed down a long and storied tradition of coping with life's little curve balls: drinking. Wine was poured for me by 6:30pm, and remained steadily available until midnight. I tried to stretch out the tension and soreness in my back and neck, but even laying down I knew there was no real way to fight it.
But skating class was pre-paid, non-refundable, and cannot be rescheduled. I got up this morning, put on my leg warmers, and went to class. My back was stiff, and I had to take two Aleve before even walking out the door, but I went. I think I fell within the first five minutes of class, first executing that classic sort of Scooby-Doo-running-in-place move before ending up ass first on the ice. Undeterred I brushed off the ice, and set about trying to master swizzles, backwards swizzles, half swizzles, one footed glides (...sort of) slalom, backward slalom (...not really). Crossovers were discussed but by no means attempted. And then: magic words came from our instructors lips: "Let's do a spin."
I am mesmerized by spins. I'll soon be writing up my experience seeing Stars on Ice where I will explain why some traditional, well-beloved figure skating moves leave me snoring with boredom, but good lord, do I love spins. The only cruel thing about it was the instructor had us try it at the very end of class with barely a minute to really attempt it.
So what do I do? Do I say, "Well Candice, you've done enough. You were in an accident yesterday, and there'll always be more ice time later." No. I promptly pay the fee for to keep skating so I can practice my very first spin. I get up to two full rotations (listen, you gotta learn to walk before you can blur) and bam, down a go a second time, smack dab on the same ass cheek as before. No matter, though! No mind! I'm spinning! I'm attempting spins. I'm a step closer to actual figure skating. This is big. This is fun.
Still, let's take a break, eh? Let's practice some simple skating and try not fall again. We're skating, we're skating, we're inexplicably digging a toe pick into the ice and executing the patented slapstick comedy belly flop and slide forward with arms out and legs splayed. Your dignity, Candice, it's flying out the door.
Frankly, after that it was nap time. I slept for an hour when I got home after lunch, then slept another TWO hours instead of eating dinner. I am now lonely and bored but too exhausted to do anything about it.
This looks like a job for the internet!