Roller Coasters: Less Dangerous than the Floor

Well, it took almost 300 applications and 3 months, but I got a job! It was the one I mentioned, at USC. It mostly involves taking care of mice; it pays solidly, pushing me up 2 whole tax brackets, and there are benefits: dental, optometry, and of course medical. So I'm pretty excited. I start work on the 11^th. My supervisor Montano is a really cool, suave, personable guy who I actually like talking to, which is a great start, and the scrubs I have to wear make me look thinner than I am, which is also a pretty solid omen. I spent yesterday signing all the new employee paperwork so they're officially stuck with me. Suck it, economy! I have a job again!

Entitling me to once again be an insensitive jerk. Get a job, hippies!

As far as budgeting goes, I will be able to pay back all my loans within a year or so. Even taking out loans for the vet tech program, I'll be debt-free by age 27 or 28, which isn't terrible, considering that some people pay them off well into their thirties.  I wish I could do it faster, though.  I hate being in debt.

Jonathan is still with us and I'm officially starting to look forward to getting my house back. He's a cool guy but socialising in general takes me out of my comfort zone and I'd like to be able to wander around in the kitchen naked whenever my self-esteem gets low, à la Liz Lemon. Jonathan is overall a decent houseguest who cooks, does dishes, and doesn't at all make a nuisance of himself. If we had a proper spare bedroom I wouldn't mind if he stayed indefinitely; part of the problem is that our house is only one bedroom and the “spare bed” happens to be in the living room.
 

He didn't even complain about the raccoon nest.

Jonathan took us to 6 Flags by way of being nice and put me on a roller coaster called “Goliath.” (Go ahead and look it up.  I'll wait.)

This was great because:

1. Everyone got to see me have a panic attack.

2. I learned what fear feels like.

I ended up making an enormous ass of myself. Turns out I really don't like roller coasts. I also got suckered into going on one called Colossus in the hope that my terror on Goliath was just a mistake. Turns out I don't make mistakes and my phobia was 100% legit. Jonathan was pretty cool about it, considering that he'd taken us there to have fun and I spent most of my time weeping inconsolably.

Other than that I suppose I don't have much to report. Oh, one thing. Two days ago, I joined the exclusive club of people who have seen their own skull.

 The club has really strict dress-code rules, which is why Skeletor still hasn't been allowed to join.

It was about midnight, Andrew and I were hanging out, and I fell out of bed.  Fortunately I managed to break the fall with my face. 

I was wearing an outfit similar to this at the time but that's not actually relevant to the story; 

that's just a standard Monday night for us.

 

“Are you okay?” asked Andrew.

“I think so,” I said, because I didn't yet realise my skull was attempting to escape my head, probably because of the massive head injury I'd just gotten. 

He gave me a look of horror, and that's when I noticed blood was dripping from my head and streaming down my face.

Inexplicably, I managed to slice (yes, that is the best possible verb for it, although “lacerate” is a close second) open my face, just above my left eye, on a completely clear, blunt floor. How one gets a cut from blunt trauma is beyond me. The cut looks like a knife wound, and here's the best part: it goes all the way down to the bone. I confirmed this by doing what all doctors say you should do when you receive a deep cut: peel back the two parts of the cut and check that sucker out so that you can brag about seeing your skull later.

We taped it shut because my benefits don't officially activate until May. I'll probably have a wicked cool scar. The weirdest part is that it didn't really particularly hurt. My head has been throbby, but it's not even quite as bad as a migraine. I took one Tylenol yesterday and that was it.  Personally I think evolution must have goofed up if you can crack open your head like an Easter egg and not even notice, but one of my FaceBook friends offered up this explanation:

"If your head is opened up chances are you know (helps when blood is literally flowing into your eyes!), and rather than nagging you with pain, evolution keeps your head clear so you can get away from whatever just ripped your head open."

Speaking of Easter eggs, by the way... for this year's Easter, we built the rabbit a hutch using an old television stand. The cage is on top of the little cabinet, but there's a hole in the bottom and a ramp going down into the cabinet.  It looks like the cage is just resting on top of the stand but it's actually all one piece of furniture now.  Watching the rabbit materialise from seemingly nowhere is fun if you're poor and easily amused (which we are!)

No word from the neighbours, though I'm sure they're pissed about my getting a head injury at midnight. (“She's always BANGING AROUND over there, getting MILD CONCUSSIONS, without even considering that we're trying to SLEEP. So rude.”)

"Now she's screaming in the bathroom!  Now she's growling loudly and there's lots of crunching!  
HEY, KEEP IT DOWN OVER THERE!"

Today is the last day of my house-sitting for our neighbour, Elizabeth. She has a cool house from 1906 and is one of those people who composts and has a subscription to Scientific American. I hope to be like her someday: first of all, cool. Second of all, hot. Third, a home owner with a koi pond. Not to mention how friendly she is. She told me she's scared of roller coasters, too, so maybe there's something (positive) to be said about people who have that particular aversion.