Vintage LRC

I have sort of a habit. A quirk, if you will.

When sitting at my desk, driving my car, or doing virtually anything that requires me to sit in an upright position, I kick off my left shoe and tuck my foot under my right leg. It’s completely inadvertent.

This habit of mine has yielded many instances in which I have walked around my office with one shoe on and one shoe off, resulting in a comical scene in which I look like one of those carousel horses, albeit much less graceful.

UP. down. UP. down. UP. down.

Et cetera.

My coworkers have laughed at me for it (and oddly enough, I can’t believe my boss has never reprimanded me for this, as she probably deems it “unprofessional”), and it’s just kind of accepted that the one shoe on, one shoe off thing is something I am prone to.

I guess I started noticing this quirk when I started driving, nearly ten years ago. As far as I knew, that was when it began.

But then, a few weeks ago, looking through some old photographs at my parents’ house, I found this. Check this shiz out:

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SOMETHING MISSING, YOUNG LRC?

WHY YES, I BELIEVE IT’S YOUR LEFT SHOE!

(Please ignore the drunken look in my eyes. I promise I normally didn’t like I’d had one too many Rum and Diets. My parents did not condone alcoholism in our household. )

(Not until age eight.)

That is crazified. Even at a young age, I was rockin’ the one shoe look.

Something that makes this photo even more perfect? There appears to be a Band-Aid on my left foot. Even at age 25, I am constantly injuring myself.

What’s a strange habit or quirk you have?

Constantly injuring myself

So this weekend was pretty painful. PHYSICALLY PAINFUL. First of all, as I was leaving the house on Friday night with Claire to see Scott’s band play at an out-of-town bar (incidentally, Cindy ended up meeting us there, but we’ll get to that later), I realized I had left my cigarettes (shutup) inside. I ran back inside to grab them, underestimating the slipperiness of my rain-soaked flip flops. My left foot promptly slid out from under me, and I slammed my left hand into the wall upon my descent.

It. Hurt.

A lot.

I was on the verge of tears but I held it together and ignored the pain. My left ring finger swelled up like a balloon for a couple of days and turned a disgusting shade of green, but it looks a lot better today. Thank God I wasn’t wearing an engagement ring or anything (one would actually have to have, you know, a MAN to have one of those, but I digress . . .) because that would have SUPER hurt.

Anyhoodle.

So Claire and I probably drank a little too much before we got to the bar. When CiCi met us up there, we were already pretty well lit. Then when CiCi got there, we promptly took 385275283 shots. And I died. No, not really. But I DID wake up the next morning in my bed, wondering how the HELL I got home.

(BTW CiCi is the shit and she sent me a really awesome CD which is now in my car on repeat. THANK YOU!!! And McD is really nice, and they are both even cuter in person!!)

So anyway. Where was I? Oh yeah. I woke up confused. I wanted answers. I texted CiCi and called Claire. Got no answer, so I went back to sleep for a couple hours. When I woke up again, I noticed a NASTY bruise on my thigh. I still am not sure if I actually fell in the bar (HOW EMBARRASSING WOULD THAT BE???) or if I just fell out of my bed in the middle of the night.

Wanna see the bruise?

Sure you do!

Yeah.

So there’s that.

There are also bruises on my knees, but I’ll spare you photographs of those.

So needless to say I was in rare form Friday night. I’m quite embarrassed that I can’t remember a good portion of my night. Claire told me that I went to sleep in the back seat of my car and Scott drove us home. If the bruise is not from falling down in the bar (WHICH IT VERY WOULD COULD BE), then it is from my jacked up self crawling out of bed in the middle of the night to put on a T-shirt. Because I woke up in a T-shirt, and Scott did NOT undress me. But he did carry me inside like a baby and put me to bed.

Another thing about my crazy Friday night? When I was doing laundry yesterday I picked up the shirt I wore on that fateful night. Something pricked my finger.

One of these was attached to my shirt.

Because I am a Classy Lady who carries fishing poles in the back of her SUV.