aprilstarchild | Don't drink and bike? Pfft.

So don't drink and bike alone? I dunno.

Went to see a movie at Steph's house. We were, for most of it, the only people there--sitting in her backyard, smoking, drinking, watching the fourth Harry Potter movie.

I was a tad tipsy when I left but not, y'know, drunk or anything.

On the way home I think to myself, OMG, a Voodoo donut is an awesome idea. So I turn left after the freeway and take 16th. I get to Sandy and can't remember if Voodoo is east or west. I turn east.

Aaaand then I realize, half a second too late, that the curb doesn't have a curb cut there, and therefore bike straight into the fucking curb. Which means I fall off the bike. My fancy Keen flip-flops come off, the chain comes off the front chainrings, and my left leg meets pavement. It's a wee bit scraped up, including my pinky toe. Nothing that drips or anything, just OW FUCKING OW. I call Shawn (who is, by now, asleep, like a sane human) and leave a cranky voicemail that basically says "WOW I JUST HURT MYSELF AND IT'S MY FAULT, AND BOY DO I FEEL DUMB." I put the chain back on the front chainring.

At this point, I'll be DAMNED if I'm not getting a fucking donut out of this. I bike the other way, lock up, and buy a vegan maple bar from a woman who insists on giving me some damp paper towels to wipe the blood off my leg.

Got home (mostly) without incident. I did bike straight across Burnside without looking. Thank god no one was coming. GOD FUCKING DAMMIT. I could have easily become, y'know, dead. WTF. I was so distracted being mad at myself for fucking up, that of course I did it again in a way that could have killed me. I'm a fucking GENIUS.

Okay. I'm going to put some neosporin-type-stuff on my leg and toe. And then I'm going to bed.