Let me begin with I’m Sorry, because I really am. This blog has devolved into a tale of woe that is much too personal but still not personal enough. Try to bear with me.
I broke my fucking hip. I KNOW it’s not a good time to break my hip. That didn’t stop me. It was dark outside and I tripped and fell on the concrete driveway. I knew something was broken but I waited a few minutes before admitting that I needed an ambulance. In fact, I think I was pretty businesslike, given the pain and horror.
A broken hip hurts so much, you have no idea until you have one. It is agony. For the first couple of hours, I begged everyone not to hurt me. “Please don’t hurt me!” and “Please don’t let anyone hurt me!” over and over. An ER nurse named Debbie and an ex-ray guy did their best to help. Thanks Debbie and ex-ray guy!
The ER doctor told me that I needed surgery. When I pleaded with him, he told me that it was a really “bad” break and that’s why my leg looked “two inches shorter than the other one.” I still don’t know what he was talking about but he gets zero points for bedside manner.
I will try to cut to the chase. It’s five days later and I’m home. The pain is still off the chart but I’m supposed to try to keep moving. I think there are nails and screws in my hip/leg but oh well.
I will let you in on a little secret. All anyone cares about in the hospital are bowel movements. People want you to have one. Patients in other rooms are desperate to have one. I had a little notice board in my room with a list of 3 goals for the day. Bowel Movement was number 3, after Reduce Pain and Try to Move.
I hope that no one reading this ever has to endure a broken hip, even if I hate you. Please be careful! Take calcium, too. Max is doing well and I told him that lots of people were sending prayers and Good Thoughts. I know I can count on you to keep up the good work for him while I recover. xo
One more and you’re for the knackers’ yard!
And furthermore, what about brought and bought? Not even the hallowed ABC newsreaders know the difference any more.
Poop!
dear sister wolf.
A while ago you inspired a penis mania in me (by posting about the VW penis pendant.) The more I thought about and wrote blog entries about penises, the more I couldn’t stop thinking about them. So I finally wrote a poem about it today…and I hope it amuses you for 2 minutes.
Junk (first draft)
I am a woman obsessed by the rod:
Possessed by countless questions
About man’s pervasive penis relationship.
The salty dog is always god,
To me, a most mysterious meaty log.
a highly covetable instrument.
Today I researched names on the net:
The Firm Worm!
The Kerouwacker!
The Meat Maelstrom!
Boobs are just girls.
The Girls
Apples
Lady Pillows
I constantly grapple with the concept
Of having a “skin flute”
Yes. My womb can bare “Fruit”
And I can wear a pantsuit
I can even give my man “the boot”
Happiness is an available pursuit…
But don’t you wonder too?
What would you do with it?
Would you be proud of its size-
Or if it was little, despise it?
I haven’t decided.
…Do hands and feet really compare?
Do the smallest boys ceaselessly despair?
I once read in a title called,
“The Monthly Rag”
that some girls pack.
Pack what?
Heat?
Socks in their crotches?
My mind wandered.
Do they pack ideas and delusions
Or dildos or small potpourri pillows?
Are they proud of their static bulge?
The way a four year old boy is?
Once I was a ten year old girl
And once I grasped a baseball bat
To my pelvis, swiveling my hips
like a prepubescent blonde Elvis.
It was fun!
The attention garnered by the gun
Is not to be outdone.
In Tarot,
The masculine suit is “The Sword”
And the spiritual suit, “The Wand”
Combined, this makes man’s dick the fighting divine.
Mine to manipulate, but never to wield.
The Womyn say this must be appealed!
Let it be understood that
I’ll never (forcibly) kneel.
But I am relieved to be free
From the one eyed eel’s
Unpredictable pressures.
(Though if I weren’t,
Who even listens to a feminist’s lectures?)
oh no no no! that’s horrible! heal at the speed of light, sister wolf!
Sister,
I’m beaming you much strength & healing power. While I cannot be without your column, first & foremost you need to heal (Max too). So be selfish & patient, take good care of yourself & give a hug to your son.
I blame Sarah Palin for all this. I really do.
Bloody hell, Mark, don’t tell me ‘Sis’ was shot from a helicopter!
Ali , I love your “Junk” penis poem. Mark, I agree 100% that it was Palin’s fault. Let’s send her the medical bills!. Sister Wolf and for Cub Wolf too, I’m sending healing thoughts!
Dear Sister Wolf,
So sorry for your troubles, Man that sounds PAINFUL a broken hip Jesus, Mary and Joesph!!
I nearly shit myself when I recently googled my name to see some replies I sent you were gone Global so I must use my brain and my nick name in future . Love and light from Dollybird
I swear I wasn’t so stupid before I had the babies.
(formerly Antoinette )
Ali’s poem is all that a poem should be:
Searching, heartfelt, entertaining, marveling.
I shall treat my “wand” with more respect in in the future and not so readily turn it over to the hands of the more clumsy and less inspired sort of woman.
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