Keep It Down, You Punks!

It's only a matter of time before I start wearing really unflattering housedresses and get even more cats... A couple of weeks ago, I gave a stern late-night talking-to to some college kids sitting on the front wall and gossiping late at night. And then a day or two later, I shouted at noisy middle-schoolers.

Just now, I got up from my comfy chair, where I was ensconced with my laptop and a bridal magazine (I'm getting addicted to these things - so fun to cut up for my "ideas" scrapbook!), put on my Birkenstocks, and trudged across the street to what has lately become the neighborhood party house. I let myself into the yard, walked up to the screened porch, and summoned the attention of one of the many very loud, very drunk young men playing ping-pong therein.

"I want to talk to someone who lives here," I declared, authoritatively.

I think they're probably good boys, at heart. They were all very polite - if smashed - and apologized for being so noisy, promised they'd go in the backyard, and said they hoped they wouldn't bother me again. I said I hoped so too. And then they all wanted to shake my hand and tell me their names (which I promptly forgot), and get my name again (I had introduced myself at the start of the conversation, as one does).

I dunno if their beer goggles were working overtime, and they've decided to shut up in order to impress the Neighbor-Who-Appears-Hot-Late-on-Fridays, or if they're worried I'll call the police, or if they genuinely don't mean to be such a nuisance and only need to have their obnoxity pointed out to them. Whichever it is, they're being reasonably quiet now.

We'll see how long that lasts.

Another in The Long List of Really Stupid Accidents

So, to recap - when I was fifteen, I got hit in the face with a piece of a board that I was holding for Master Martin (who wasn't a Master then) to break. The board broke into three parts, two of which stayed in my hands. The third struck just above my right eye, splitting the skin to the skull. I bled a lot, and had a little bit of plastic surgery, and everything's good now, but I think it goes down in history as one of the most freakish, stupid martial arts-related accidents evar.

I had a far more common, but still quite stupid, accident about a year ago, when I sprained my toes during a sparring round with Sam. I kicked, he blocked, and my toes bent all the way back with a loud tearing sound. We were sparring in the middle of a circle of onlookers, most of whom gasped in horror. I, idiot that I am, wiggled my toes, announced that I was fine, and went back to the match. I didn't even ice it. It took a couple of weeks before I could walk comfortably again.

I may have outdone myself in the realm of stupid, silly accidents again, today. I took a kicking pad in the throat. One of those great big ones, that are about a foot across the top, maybe three feet long, and six inches deep, with straps on. I was holding it for Jaron, he kicked, and it went straight up and thumped me in the throat.

I can feel that it's swelling a little. Guess I'll drink lots of cold fluids tonight, and make sure I'm never alone until I'm quite confident that it's not going to impair breathing.

But really! A pad in the neck? I swear, there's some sort of mischief-causing gremlin out there who has made it his life's purpose to find new and stupider ways to give me injuries...