Name two movies that could describe my day off...Man, what a weekend. Of course I was busier than hell at work--we're still short on dealers--but I spent all day Saturday being productive here at the house. First of all, I was tired of all the clutter in my room which I've just had stacked up in the corner and in the closet since I moved in back in October, so I finally decided to do something about it. We've got a storage area built into the carport, but I never utilized it until now.
I just had too much junk that needed to be stored, so once I got up and started doing laundry, taking out the garbage, and cleaning stuff up, I consolidated all the crap that I didn't have an immediate need for into big Rubbermaid storage tubs. Once I got the closet mostly cleaned out, I was finally able to use it to hang clothes in, instead of using the closet doors, the doornob, and the back of my chairs. So once everything was stacked and ready to go, all I had left to do was to move it to the other end of the estate and get it into the storage unit.
So I started carrying the tubs and boxes out, but there was an obstacle that I wasn't fully aware off. First of all, we have a really large covered patio on the side of the house--it can be used as a carport or just an outdoor entertaining area if we need it, as it's connected to the bbq and firepit areas, too. But at some point in the past, my roommate poured a new concrete slab down on the back half of it, raising the level of the floor several inches. Just where the pad is raised, the roof ends, and then you're on the outdoor part of the patio before you get into the pool area.
Well, the roof has a concrete overhang. And it hangs low. They tell me it hangs down to six feet exactly. Well, I'm here to tell you today that the roof over my patio actually hangs down to five-feet eleven-and-three-quarter inches. How do I know this? Because I am exactly six feet tall, and carrying about eighty pounds of crap in boxes like I was, I was moving at a good pace when the momentum of the irresistable force of Mikey ran directly into the immovable object known as the concrete overhang.
Imagine a cartoon moment, perhaps when the coyote runs into a rock wall at full speed... Yep, that was me. All my shiat went flying everywhere--camping equipment, electronics, magazines--it all came down with a crash, while my eyes immediately started watering, my head started bleeding like a stuck pig, and I went down in a heap. It felt like getting hit in the nuts with a hammer while simultaneously snorting a half ounce of pure wasabi paste.
If you were there to see it, you would've been laughing your asses off, but it hurt like a sumbitch. As luck would have it, that supernatural force that exists in my laundry room had provided me with an extra sock when fetching the latest load from the dryer, so I had that in my pocket. Once I gathered my senses enough to realize that I was bleeding, I used it as a temporary bandage while I stumbled to the bathroom to check out the damage. It looked a lot worse than it was--I was really hoping I didn't need to get stitches in my head and have to go back to work that night looking like the Frankenstein monster, but our patio definitely looked like a crime scene.
I finally got the bleeding stopped, the patio cleaned up, and the rest of my garbage stowed away. But my head is still tender to the touch and it's probably gonna leave a permanent mark. But that's ok, chicks dig scars.
As a bonus, the girls I work with decided to take up a collection for me to get a bicycle helmet to wear whenever I go outside, so that I'm no longer a danger to myself. They also mentioned something about how I'm only allowed to use a spoon while in the employee dining room from now on, too.
Guess who's dressing up as a piggy bank next Halloween...Mikey
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