CRASH

Hello,
I am eager to start blogging here again, for the 2.5 people who actually read it. I miss online journaling and viewing others' thoughts and doings, so it begins again. It helps that my new place of work is not as prisoner-like about their IT department, like the last place. And since I don't blog much about work, I'll definitely be able to work on it during lunch breaks and the like.

So here's an auspicious '06 debut for the blog: I got hit by a car yesterday. Not while in a car--I, me, the person, got HIT by a car.

I'm from Chicago, where one can do cartwheels willy-nilly down the street without a crosswalk, and it's a-okay. I consider myself a professional street-crosser. I was leaving work yesterday and instead of taking a 10 minute round trip across a lighted intersection in a slightly shady area of North Hollywood to my car, I chose to cross directly across the street. Like EVERYONE DOES on this street.

I looked both ways, swore to God there was no one coming to my left, and literally out of nowhere, in the middle lane used for left turns, this car slams into me. First, a screech, then I look up, see the car, roll up on the hood, then back -oof!- on my ass on the concrete, like you see people do in the movies or every third episode of "Law and Order". Clearly the driver had been distracted and speeding--while other cars had been rolling to stops in anticipation of a red light further down the way.

I didn't hurt much at all, it was really just like taking a simple fall down a coupla stairs, and I was totally wide-eyed with shock. After some debate me and the driver - a chain-smoking middle aged woman with a European accent-- finally called the cops, and waited in our respective cars till they came, and I called a few friends to chat and help me stay calm. Though the woman who hit me was more irrational than me--i had to calm her down! Believe it or not... the woman had been claiming all this time that it was "my fault" becuase I crossed in the middle of the street--to which I reminded her that ped's always have the right of way. "Oh, is that what your insurance is telling you?" she snapped. Uh, first of all, yes, everyone knows that; and second of all, any concern at all for this girl you just hit??? Good lord!

When the cops came they were very polite and patient, and the woman's husband started bellowing how she was stopped at a red light (?!?) etc, and the cop asked him to stand aside. We all went to the 'scene of the crime' where I clearly pointed out that I was leaving work and thus the incident happend right in front of the building. Luckily the woman went back to the original, accurate version of the incident now that her husband was gone.

The cops filed a report, shook our hands, and took off. I went to the ER, and that's where the worst part happened.

They called me in right away. Woo! The nurse was sweet and funny, and then the doctor who came in was appropriately good looking and relaxed.

"How did it happen?" he asked. I gave him the short version. "Did you dent the car?"
I cocked his head and said, "I weigh 118, of COURSE I didn't dent the car!"
He laughed and said, "I haven't seen that kind of attitude before."
I joined in and said, "That's a pretty L.A. comment, huh?"
But seriously, after all my working out and ending my ice cream habit, me dent a car? Hurumph!

He did a little once over for broken bones, and then I told him that the only thing really hurting besides a mild ache here or there, was my bum (the bone you hurt when yhou come down hard on you butt in gym class in the third grade--you know the one). He said, "Okay, we'll just check that. Any blood in the urine? Any vomiting?" Nope, nope, nope.

"You're very lucky," he said. "Just get on your stomach and we'll check the spot that's bothering you." I complied, pleased that I'd be out soon, thanking God about a million times over that I was safe, and promising endlessly to Him/Her to go to church EVERY weekend...the doc lowered my panties just a bit to check my bum for bruising...and I hear him say to the nurse-

"Could you hand me the lube?"

My eyes widen again, like a deer, like a deer who has never been told to "bend over and cough," like a woman who has only experienced such...rear view action NEVER, not any time, who has NEVER been curious about that kind of "goin' up where stuff goes out--" I contain my apprehension and sit up.

"The next thing I have to do isn't the most pleasant," the doctor said kindly, surely smothering a giggle.

"Yeah--I got that," I said.

I did as instructed, laying on my side, and then he--well, you know what he did. Oh my god. It was worse than getting hit by the car, really. He had to check for inner fractures, so he poked around like dog sniffing a gopher hole, asking, does that hurt?

"YEEeeeEES," I kept replying.

"Okay--let's try to diffrientiate from the, ah, actual exam and--real pain."

"Yep, got it--okay, that doesn't hurt--oh. That DOES--"

I was clenched so tight around his finger, I swore I was going to break the man's knuckle. Freud would say his theories of anal retentive personalities are correct-- me, type A control freak; my ass, so tense it could spontaneously combust.

You know, I was meaning to see "Brokeback Mountain" this weeekend, but it's not going to happen. And the inner gay guy I keep declaring myself to be? He's a top.

After an xray it was determined my coxxus--the butt bone area--is merely bruised. Bruised badly, but nothing a couple of days of taking it easy and ocassional ice packs can't hurt. And thanks, God--not onloy did you spare me my life, you have ensured that no matter how many margaritas I have, no one could ever talk me into having a little action where the sun don't shine.