"Hand of Doom"

The results are in: my right hand and/or wrist are not broken, just seriously sprained and reeeeeeeeeallllllly sore and swollen.

After thwaking my right limb pretty good on the concrete at a local skatepark on Sunday, my wrist slowly inflated throughout the day, until it was almost jiggling by bedtime. Unable to move it on Monday morning, I visited the doctor to have it X-rayed.

For the next three weeks, I have to wear a soft cast. Since I manage to earn a couple of bucks a month as a writer, this is seriously impeding my progress. (This entry took nine hours to compose, by the way, typing with just my tongue.)

But there is some good news in all this: since we have good insurance this year, I spent a grand total of $15 on this little malady.

"The Lost Art of Keeping a Secret"

Oh, the shame, it engulfs me. Where, you might be asking yourself, have I been? I'm asking myself the same question.

After the events of last week, I think I've thrown in the towel. I'm a parent now... might as well accept my fate. Instead of joining my friends in going to see Converge—a band that has long been a favorite of mine—I went to see, gulp, The Wiggles. I traded in loud guitars for kiddie stars, and the sad thing is that I didn't really mind. I've just been delaying writing about it.

Instead of this:

I was hangin' with these dudes:

Should I mention that I spent my entire Saturday at a five-hour financial lecture across town? Need to borrow some self-loathing? I've got plenty to spare right about now.

"My Stupid Mouth"

Overheard whilst taking Connor trick-or-treating last Tuesday on Halloween.

Man: Wow. Superman! Would you like some candy?
Connor: -says nothing-
Man: Well... Happy Halloween.
Connor: -says nothing, and walks away, grabbing his mom's hand, looking nervously at the stranger who just gave him free candy despite our warnings to the contrary the other 364 days of the year-

As Connor is walking away, three pre-teen girls hustle to the still-open door to take advantage of the still-open door and previously mentioned candy supply.

Man: Happy Halloween. You girls look great. Come on in... (insert uncomfortable pause) uh, well you'd better not... (yet another awkward hesitation) my wife probably wouldn't appreciate that... (more silence) I'll just shut up now.

I think we'll be skipping this house next year.