Near-death Experiences

This weekend, I had two near death experiences, one of which scared me the other didn’t really. Funny part is the day started off uneventful (as always I suspect).

The day started late, it was a Saturday, and the wife and I slept in. I woke around 9:30 or so and she around 11. We then had to decide what it was we were going to do that day. Go to the Mall, Museum, Zoo, Movies? The decision was tough, but we decided to head for the Galleria Mall in Houston to use up some coupons and gift cards we had lying around.

The drive into Houston was your average stop and go on I-45, and once we made it to the 610 loop, everything was opened up, ready to do 2.5 MPH over the speed limit (I’m a speed demon, I know). Right before the Scott Street exit, though, something happened. It didn’t register with me at first, I just checked my mirrors and slammed on my breaks. as I look to my right I see a small flatbed trailer being pulled by a Ford F-350 King Ranch that has blown one of its tires. I stopped just in time for it not to swerve into my lane taking out the front quarter-panel in the process (and possibly more). Everything ended just fine, he made it to the shoulder, and we made it to the mall (after getting lost a couple of times — I wasn’t using my GPS).

The second incident wouldn’t happen until much later that night. I was hanging around the house, watching TV, emailing back and forth with the boss doing some late night stuff with him and getting ready for bed. Told the boss that I didn’t mind sneaking a few minutes here and there to do work, because family was over and work is a fun distraction from drama. He asked me if I wanted to go grab a beer, but I said no because I was about to hit the sack anyway. Little did I know, I wouldn’t be going to sleep any time soon.

I got off the couch because I wanted a bed-time snack. Grabbed a pickle from the jar, and our brand new Mandolin slicer from the cabinet. I started slicing me some pickle slices for a snack. The a searing pain. I looked down, and I was missing part of my thumb. I hadn’t started bleeding, but I was swearing like I had been shot. I ran to the bathroom and started washing it off, and then the blood came. It was about three of the vials the doctors use to grab blood for testing. I applied pressure, and kept my hand above my head for about 30 minutes before dressing the wound, and being pissed that my pickles were ruined now (my chunk of skin had fallen into the pile of slices). I would bleed through the bandage that night.

One and a half days later (Monday morning), and the bleeding is under control, but still bleeds a little. I can see new skin growth already, and I am ready to be able to use my thumb again. You never realize how much you use your thumb until it hurts to do so.

Moral of the story: stay inside forever and never slice shit… eat it whole (but don’t choke).