Back to Bidness

Ah, taxes are done and paid and probably wrong, but I don’t care anymore, I just don’t.  Too many maths make Hoody something…something…

Anyhoo, back before Uncle Sam and Step-Daddy Earl Ray got their hands in my pockets, I was actually GIVEN something:

I's Is Kreativ!

That there award comes to me courtesy of the amazing bluzdude, who is being rewarded for his generosity by promotion to the Royal Court as my “Official Mirror Spirit” (you know, as in “mirror, mirror, on the wall…”).  Thanks, hon! Never let it be said that I cannot be bought!

Now, the rules are thusly:  Post the picture, thank the sender, then list seven (YIKES!) interesting facts about myself.  Now, I don’t know that there’s much left I haven’t shared about myself, but I’ll do my best:  Let’s talk about scars, shall we?  Chicks dig scars, right?

  1. I was never in a street gang, but I have in fact been “jumped out.”  For some reason, the twin girls who lived down the street from me growing up decided to celebrate my move from grade school to junior high (they were a little younger) by beating the fuck outta me with baseball bats.  Fortunately for me, they chose ALUMINUM bats, and the recoil time gave me room to run before they’d got more than a couple licks in.  Stupid bitches.  WOODEN bats are the way to go.
  2. No scars from that particular incident, but my lower back is a veritable palette of bad decisions.  First, there was the huge bite mark from my uncle’s miniature Shetland Pony (twice as mean as catshit, that little fucker was).  For some unknown reason, he decided to chase me down one day and bite the fuck outta my back — I sweartaGAWD, it felt like he hit spine!  This is the origin of my theory that miniaturized animals are proportionately meaner than full-sized ones.
  3. Once that healed, I somehow managed to get a Brown Recluse Spider to decide that my bedroom window was an excellent place to have her little spider babies.  Yes, I know we’re not supposed to have them here in Wes’BYGAWD, but believe me, we do.  As you may know, brown recluse venom makes your skin… kinda… melt…. yeah, it’s really gross.  Thank Goddess it was just the babies or my ass might have completely disappeared!
  4. And as a final insult, I had a wireless microphone battery pack pretty well catch fire with me wearing it… causing the finishing touches to, you guessed it, the small of my back.  I don’t need a tramp stamp, I EARNED this shit!
  5. But wait, there’s more:  I had to wear an eyepatch through part of kindergarten because I fell on my fool head and bashed myself in the eye on the edge of my Dear Sweet Grandparents’ (DSM’s folks) coffee table.  There’s still a little dent if you look close.
  6. Same kindergarten, I had a nosebleed so bad they had to cauterize (yes, burn) it shut… resulting in an enormous black booger THAT I WAS NOT ALLOWED TO PICK AT.  Dammit, I wanted to pick it!
  7. The latest really good ones are the ones I got when a horse threw me through a barbed wire fence — it wasn’t her fault, she was in heat and no one had thought to inform me of that — but they’ve almost faded off my shoulder.  I was the most badass girl at church camp after that, though.

So there’s my seven things you may not have known (or wanted to).  This particular award doesn’t come with pass-along directions, so I’m throwing it open to all of y’all:  What’s your best scar/wound story?


Filed under Getchore LEARN on!, I Rule You, La Vida Loca, The Royal Court, Youse Guys

29 responses to “Back to Bidness

  1. Congrats on the award! And these are some squicky facts. AHH SPIDERS!


  2. Ow! How are you still alive?

    Congrats on the award! You deserve it.


  3. cinemasugar

    You could tell about what got us into that party that one time. It’s become the stuff of legends, with diagrams drawn on bar napkins.


  4. WELL… I don’t think the whole “burning off my face” thing is gonna scar (yeah, I finally posted a story about hurting myself… Oh wait, practically ALL of my stories are about stubbing my face and biting off my tongue…).

    OK, how’s this one… I was helping a friend move in the hot summer sun. It was hot out. And sunny. And hot.

    Later that eventing, I went out to eat with a friend, and I started feeling funny. I decided to go to the bathroom and splash water in my face.

    Apparently, I was so sun-sick, that I walked into the bathroom and passed out. Straight down to the public bathroom linoleum floor, and smacked my chin so hard the skin split open. I got 7 stitches and a ride to the hospital in an ambulance.

    My friend called my father, who arrived at the hospital to sit with me and got to watch 5 different doctors and three nurses ask me if I was pregnant. Finally, one said, “How can you be so sure?”

    And I said, “Well, don’t you have to have sex to get pregnant?”

    So, I was scarred not only from the stitches, but because I had to discuss my sex life in front of my father.

    Moral of this story: Drink more water!


    • Oh, I didn’t even COUNT the times I’ve injured myself by falling while fainting! I was a very fainty child. Also, I used to get SOOOOOOO irate when I told the ER docs I couldn’t possibly be pregnant unless there was a star in the East, and they’d do a pregnancy test ANYWAY! Grrr…


  5. Wow! The Royal Court! Totally unexpected… but much appreciated! My only goal was to get more people to recognize the wicked cool of Hoody Hoo.

    Now, my scar story…
    When I was in kindergarten, I bit an electric cord. (I never claimed to be a brilliant child.) I was running my toy fire truck behind the couch and the cord was in the way. I tried to pull it out, but it wouldn’t budge. Out of frustration, I tried to pull it out with my teeth. Shot me clear across the room. For a moment, I was like, “Look at all the colors.” NOt for long though because I felt it was time to start screaming. Scared the hell out of my own DSM. Ended up with a huge swelling and scar on the corner of my mouth.

    Obviously, the swelling is gone, but I still rock a small scar there.


  6. Guys dig scars. Or is that, chicks dig scars? Either way, you’re a badass mofo.


  7. Oh man, Hoody. How are you allowed to walk around without a helmet? You are really very . . . um, special? Yeah, let’s go with that.

    I don’t have any scars. Well, unless you count stretch marks, but I’m trying to ignore those suckers. Damn kids. One day, they will pay for what they have wrought upon my body. VENGANCE WILL BE MINE! Oh, ahem, sorry. I mean LOVE YOU GUYS . . . BIG HUGS! 😀


  8. Chris Cochran...Do I need a snazzy nickname or what?

    I have a scar on the side of my head where someone lost thier sanity/temper and clocked me with a broad sword.


  9. Congratulations!

    (Number 6 is the best. How the hell did you leave it alone? When I had chicken pox my dad had to drug me up on Nyquil to stop picking…)


    • It was AWFUL, but DSM basically convinced me that if I picked out the boogie, all my blood would fall out and I would be dead. I think that may have been an exaggeration…


  10. Holy carp, that’s a lot of scarring. Have you tried dressing in bubble wrap?

    When I was 5, I was at a park with some older boys (sons of my mom’s friend) and the youngest one was on a teeter totter with me. Bear in mind, these are MUCH older kids and he was heavier so I was getting frustrated with spending most of my time up in the air. Finally, after saying something like, “Down,” I decided to just climb down by myself. Which is when he got off the teeter totter and the damn thing came up and smacked me in the chin. It was completely split — blood everywhere. His oldest brother scooped me up in his arms and ran in a panic to the other side of the park, where some folks were having a reunion. Some kind soul gave us a ride back to the boys’ house — I have a vivid memory of laying across a huge 70s bench seat, bleeding — and I was rushed to the hospital.

    They had to stitch my chin, of course, but I was in a serious panic and wouldn’t stop fighting (why they didn’t just knock me out is anybody’s guess) so they had to have two or three burly nurses hold me down. They were trying to stitch on a collapsable gurney and the gurney kept getting lower….and lower….until they finally finished sewing me up in a squat.

    I have bigger scars, but that one is the most ridiculous story.


    • All that medical school, and no one knows how to lock the legs on the gurney… I did something similar falling backwards out of a swing — hit the ground so hard I bit through my bottom lip (yes, you could see teeth through it). But I was an indestructible child, so I think I just laid down with an ice pack til it stopped bleeding and DSM bandaged it, then went back outside. Not to swing, though…


  11. I have a scar on my ass from when
    my goddamn brothers shoved me into a cheap metal bookcase that didn’t have side pieces so to keep the books from falling out my mama put scraps of equally cheap fake wood paneling acrost the ends and the corners poked out and of course a corner is what I crashed into and that sharp splintery fake wood tore right through my favorite Daisy Dukes and my panties and my left buttock. Bled like a stuck pig and my mama wouldn’t even give me a band-aid, the horrid old bitch.


    • My only ass-wound has been a dog bite, and when the E-R doc asked me where the dog bit me, I told him “Down the street from my house.” I ain’t saying buttock to the doctor, I ain’t no Forrest Gump!


  12. krazy kris

    When I was barely 2 1/2 yrs old my mother (no Einstein that one) let in a stray cat to the house which I apparently had the good sense to play with, because this kitty didn’t like having me grab his tail and then hold on for dear life. He split my left eyebrow, side of nose & upper lip wide open…flayed me like a flounder. My dad said tears rolled down my face the whole time the put my lip back together but I never cried out loud. No hair grows in the big ass scar in my left eyebrow so, it looks like I shave it… a la Vanilla Ice. Good news is, I still love mean ass cats with claws.


  13. I once broke my toe answering the phone.
    I had to have surgery a couple years ago because I messed up my knee tripping over a shoe in my own bedroom.


  14. When I was a kid, I found a tree FULL of caterpillars around the block from my house. Naturally, I decided these NEEDED to be collected and my mother HAD to see them. Immediately.

    I grabbed a plastic bowl, filled it with caterpillars and ran towards my house screaming bloody Mary, with glee.
    I tripped. Hard. 2 pebbles and broken glass from the road embedded themselves into my knee.
    Later, at the hospital, I locked myself in the bathroom to hide from the surgeons.
    That hospital fucking hated me.

    Oh, but my point is that I have a really ugly scar on my knee. Man, does it ever make me feel bad ass when I get to tell this story.


  15. cinemasugar

    If you hang out with people who either decorate with or otherwise have swords in or around their homes for any reason, you deserve to be injured by one. Offended sword collectors? Bite me.


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