The Final Cut.

8 Feb

Buckle your seatbelts and catch your breath, ladies and gentlemen. I live! You may or may not have noticed that I all but vanished from the face of the earth since approximately May 27, 2008. I apologize. My life has taken a wild and drastic turn, and I’ve been busier than a queen bee. In short, I began selling knives and making bank. College took a back seat and I am pursuing my career as a business owner. I am very excited. Also, I am moving to Kansas City, MO in mid-November, so feel free to come visit and purchase me many gifts from The Plaza. Go ahead.

I’ll give you a few short stories and tidbits that I haven’t shared since May, beginning with my first body severance experience.

It’s mid-June, and I am on an appointment in Eagle Ridge with a woman named Monica. I’m chatting away and explaining some products to her when I get out the french chef, a tool for chopping, mincing, and dicing vegetables.

And apparently fingers.

I say, “Would you grab a carrot or a stalk of celery from your fridge so I can show you how to use it?” She scoots away to the kitchen and comes back with a baby carrot. No big deal, I mean I usually use larger vegetables, but this will do. I’m holding the carrot with my left thumb and forefinger and chopping away with my right hand, babbling on about its uses, when CHOP! I chop off the tip of my left finger. I gasp sharply, freeze, and stare wide-eyed down at my bleeding finger. I stare at my fingertip, which is completely separated from my finger and laying on the cutting board, part of my fingernail and everything still attached to it. My wound is bleeding profusely. After staring speechless for a good ten seconds, I finally stutter out, “—-well that’s never happened before.”

Monica jumps up and squeals, “Oh my god, let me get you a bandaid!”

“—Ook…” I whimper.

She scurries off to get me first aid, and I am left to look, shocked, down at my tipless pointer finger. I reach out and timidly pick up my fingertip and look at it. It’s gross. Weak from the sight of the blood and the shock, I clumsily drop the piece of finger on the floor. Then the woman’s white Alaskan Eskimo dog came over and ate it. Now I was fingertipless, and had nothing to reattach.

My customer returns with many paper towels and tape. I wrap it, quickly finish my appointment, make the sale, got in my car, drove home, walked in through the front door to my mom and bawled like a baby with colic. It grew back though.

Brandon and I were watching a movie the other night that kept skipping and pausing, when it hit me. A dirty dvd is like a bad relationship. You wait and wait and wait for it to get better, but it never does.

That’s all.

I will make an effort to make more notes to feed your intellectual appetites, but I am a busy bitch. I need to go bathe.

“Yeah I’d probably be a rapper, but I’m too much of a douchebag.”

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