So remember that time I was in Ireland and I barfed on a castle and then my ex-boyfriend dropped me on my face and I looked like Jim Carrey in Dumb and Dumber?
Well, in addition to a fake front tooth, three root canals, a cyst which has to be drained this summer because it makes my sinuses hurt and a teeny weenie scar on my pinkie, I have this knot of scar tissue on the inside of my upper lip. The details of how I got it are gross, but it’s there and it annoys me and I will never be able to play the harmonica properly. Ireland. The herpes of my memories.
Anyway sometimes I have this nervous tick where I bite it (or maybe I’m trying to get rid of it by doing whatever dogs do that earns them a cone, except that doesn’t work when the offending area is directly in front of your teeth). I was biting it all day because of this:
See that? I was in the shit. The best part was when the top of the storm swirled counter clockwise and almost hit us again. Combined with spiky baseball-sized hail and Joplin and Tornadostock 2011, and yeah. I chomped.
Then I ran six miles, because Justin had my computer on a film shoot so what the hell else would I do? And then I came home and snuggled with Chauncey.
And THEN the day of nervous biting combined with a Chauncey-induced hive to create what Dave Murray would call a “tornadic super cell” of ugly.
I am. So sad.
However, dogs and cones reminded me of this: