I've known Megan (aka Megin) since high school and I am so glad I did meet her. We have been in each other's lives during so, so, SO many things, both good and bad. It shouldn't have been such a surprise that she won my quiz. Her prize was a chance to write the very first guest blog spot on my blog. It is such an honor, I'm sure. Anyhoo, enough of my rambling on with the post!
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About 2.5 years ago, I broke my left foot in a freak-accident! Well, not really, I tripped over my own two feet and ended up with a compound fracture. The result of my skills was “emergency” surgery and 1.5 years of recovery time (joy). During this time, my family and I found new, dark sides to my personality. Apparently, I cannot hold a high very well, and I quickly become delusional.
The first night home from surgery, I was on my first dose of (very strong) Percocet. All was quiet, and the family was asleep. However, a faint noise awoke me from my slumber...and *ting *ting *ting. I could not figure out the source of the noise, and I had soon convinced myself that someone was in the house. Soon, I received a text message (signaled by my phone's buzz), and I was certain that something professional was “going down.” Yes, dear readers, I was certain that terrorists had invaded the house, and they wanted me to check my text message, because the light from my phone would signal my exact location. Furthermore, they were playing my little sister's resonator bars to taunt me...and also to let me know that they had already obtained her.
Now, to rationalize this entire conspiracy, I relied on the fact that my dad is an air traffic controller. You see, my dad worked on 9/11, and I was certain that his identity had been compromised...and now the terrorists were going to “get us” to persuade him to give them secure information.
I was literally sweating, and my heart was pounding...which made me tired...which helped me (eventually) fall back to sleep. In the morning, I discovered (now sober) that the source of the “ting-ing” was a small wind-chime that my sister had hung on my fan. No terrorists, no evil plot, and even the text turned out to be spam.... we were lucky to survive.
Could it possibly get worse? YES! At the time, we had a group of telemarketers calling out house constantly. (My dead grandfather once owned a time-share that they wanted to purchase.) The problem was that they would hang up the phone when they heard a female voice...and then call back in an hour. This constant barrage of phone calls inspired me to create the ultimate “Do Not Call” policy: show tune singalongs!
I saved the phone number from which the calls came, and then I called it back....over and over... until I got an answering machine or a person. Each time I successfully got through, I sang show tunes until the machine cut me off- or they hung-up the phone! Wicked, West Side Store, Seussical the Musical, Urinetown, Les Miserables, Aida, Music Man, South Pacific...you name it, and I sang it loudly (and slurred) I was too high to care, and my family thought it was downright hilarious! I think I sang 'Popular' three times to those people- and I hope they loved it. Apparently, they put me on their own “do not call” list, because the calls stopped after one day of constant show tune glory! (Perhaps I should write a musical about a person on pain-killers singing show tunes to telemarketers!)
Finally, I hit an all-time low...the pinnacle of paranoia, confusion, and plain idiocy! On one particular evening, my little sister decided to sleep with me in my bed. Don't be fooled by the adoration of the 10-year old...she found my antics to be gut-busting funny, and wanted a live show (which she got). Apparently, in the middle of the night, I woke up, sat up, and then woke her:
Littler sister: What is it?
Me: *grumble grumble* mmm...close the window...mmmm
Little sister: Sissy, it's already closed...
Me: Nooo...the shades....close...
Sarah: Oooookay.... (closes the shades on the window)
Me: (sigh of relief) good...I don't want the dinosaurs looking in at me...hrmph...
Yes, we've passed terrorists, telemarketers, and show tunes...I now believed that I was living in the movie 'Jurassic Park.' I thought the T-Rex was outside of the window, and I figured he wouldn't see me if the blinds were shut. You know...stupid dinosaurs...
While there were plenty of other “incidents” during my first few weeks of recovery, those remain the closest to my heart. I suppose that if I begin speaking of huge conspiracies or governmental plots, Beth will need to demand a drug test for me. Hopefully this goody-basket of humor brightens your day, and I hope that Beth will remain friends with her eccentric friend that cannot manage herself when she is high! Thank goodness THAT part of my recovery was short-lived!
* No dinosaurs were harmed in the making of this guest post*
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I still demand a drug test, Meg! You seriously think THIS would keep me from being your friend? Please. If anything, it makes me want to be your friend even more!
Loyal readers, Megin does not have a blog and I think she has too many hilarious stories to share. Maybe if we all join together we could convince her. Let her know how much you enjoyed this story in the comments section!
