it's not just about having good hair: Merry Crashmas! The gift that keeps on giving...

so i've discovered that crashing is like an advent calendar. remember those? every day you'd open a little window in the thing and be greeted with a new piece of chocolate or some other lovely treat. one year, my mom even went so far as to send me a mini-tree with 25 wrapped packages on it, one for every day that i'd be away from my blessed family during my first winter in the cackalacky.

ah..memories.

so my crash at somerville has turned me from the mandykitten to oozy smurf. every new day on the oozy smurf advent calendar reveals bruises turning a different color. also, my microbial activities beneath the compeede patches yield new and exciting shades of oozing slime, which threaten the magazine-readiness of my 800-thread count pottery barn sheets. and lastly, my hip and elbow hurt in new and uncharted places. wtf?

the plus side of my crash: vignettes, of course!

vignette 1: when diego, carlos and mary ann (who all happened to be standing right there) rushed over to scrape me off the pavement, all i could do was worry about the lens of my rudy project sunglasses. one had popped off and escaped being run over by 90 women (as did the mandykitten). amazing. they checked my bike, i pointed with my gimpy arm "please pick up my lens". priorities

vignette 2: when i walked over to the paramedic station to get evaluated, i discovered 15 men lounging round under a tent. i grabbed the least macho one (named luigi) and asked that he look me over. luigi and a cohort took me into the paramedic van to have a looksee. then it came time to check out my hip. i pulled down my mangled shorts and tried to pretend (since the mandytee is finally EXTINCT!) that i was really at a sports illustrated swimsuit shoot. suddenly, 5 more paramedics appeared in the van. simultaneously, one of them asked me how old i was. i told him. another said "wow", and i'm hoping it was in reference to my age and not my hips, which were on full display for no less than 7 jersey boys. as soon as luigi had determined that i was not going to need bedrest and 7 seasons of buffy the vampire slayer on dvd for my recovery, i pulled my shorts up.

vignette 3: on my dejected way back toward the targetraining team volvo, i was apprehended by the nicest damn people. they took my bike, handed me a beer (killian's red, no less), shoved me into a lawn chair, fed me meatballs (world's best as far as i can tell!) and put a 3-month old maltese puppy in my lap. they offered to lynch the girl who had taken me out (i assured them that though we were in spitting range of tony soprano's house, that would not be necessary), and peppered me with questions about my beloved sport. i was befriended by two youngsters (ages 8 and 9 i think) who were very curious about bike racing and sports. it was fun to talk to the younger generation. i think that was the first recorded case in mandykitten/oozy smurf history of a pleasant exchange between me and someone under 12.

so, i got nicely tanked and rejoined my team after the race. i maintain that my alcohol consumption was strictly medicinal. the 3 glasses of sangria i had later that night with kathleen a her parents were also, of course, medicinal. needless to say, i did not drive home.