I need a helmet for my whole self.

In the last week I have accumulated more random injuries than I did in all of 2010. And not for any really good reason.
Firstly - I got in an altercation with our printer and walked away with a chunk out of my hand after a disagreement over what "Calibrating" should entail.

I think you'll agree that when a device displays "Calibrating" on its nearly unintelligible display, that at some point it finishes "Calibrating" and then does what ever the fuck it was told to do.

Well, my printer disagreed, and for that I had to beat it into submission. It thought, before I laid down the smack of a lifetime, that "Calibrating" was an everlasting status and its soul purpose on this spinning green and blue planet and so therefore was going to continue on in this manner until it ceased to exist.

And cease to exist it nearly did, because I was so sick of seeing "Calibrating" on its display that I lost nearly all of my shit and actually punched the machine. Repeatedly. Seriously - I gave that thing a round the horn beating of a lifetime. Then, I turned it off, turned it back on and HELLO success.

And they say hitting doesn't solve problems. BEG TO DIFFER, people. Beg to differ.

So, that accounts for injury #1: Cut on palm of hand. Blood on walls of server closet.

Injury #2 is a bit less, let's say - infantile in origin - abrasions on right knee, right wrist, right hip, right shoulder

See - I finally pulled my act together, made some poorly conceived promises out loud to myself and Bubba and began riding my bike to work a few weeks ago. You know, couple days a week, pedal the old roadbike to the office and back because of The Biggest Loss of My Adult Life also known as the expiration of the Hybrid HOV stickers on 7/1/11.

Well, that's all fine and dandy until sand happens. Yeah - some people use the old cliched phrase, "Shit Happens" and I am now petitioning to have it changed to "Sand Happens". Because it does. On the sides of speed bumps which I'm trying to avoid while riding the 20 miles home on my very light road bike with very narrow tires.

These tires, they do not handle road debris well. If the debris is too large or pointy, they blow. If the debris is too small and numerous, they slide. If the roads are wet, they slip. It's a bit dangerous I suppose, but the fucking thing is fast as hell, so I am coping with it.

Except for last Friday when I went to avoid the mild jarring sensation of going over a speed bump by stupidly going to the side of it and then scritchhhhhhhhhVOOPCRASH I was laying on the sidewalk staring at the world sideways with my bike still clipped to both shoes.

Hello, glamorous.

I walked away with a gash on my leg, scrapes and bruises on my wrist, hip and shoulder. Good times. I'm just glad the bike was in one piece. Which it confirmed it was after I got up, dusted myself off, ignored the blood leaking out of my knee and asked the bike in my most concerned voice, "Are we OK, bike? Ready to go?"

Yeah - I'm mostly retarded. But if someone had questioned me, I'd have just said that I hit my head rather hard and to leave me the fuck alone. Good thing I was in the middle of nowhere so no one felt compelled to check on my well-being.

Injury #3 -  I tripped over a shitty pointy shrub in the dark while taking the dog to pee at a gas station in Idontknowwhere.

Yeah - not even sure how this happened, but I am now more than ever in love with the fancy gas station on I80 that has a dog park attached because I've never once opened up my entire toe on a poorly pruned and nearly invisible shrub there.

My big toe had a chunk taken out of it that's about the size of a tic-tac. Seriously. Blood everywhere. Bubba thought I was being a weirdo wuss emerging from the darkness with the dog and a limp until he saw my toe and the blood trail leading to the parking strip with the Evil Shrub. I should go back and make a chalk outline of my toe, but I won't.

Injury #4 - I'm not sure if these are considered actual injuries, in fact I'm sure they're not, but they're so fucking annoying, I am lumping them in with the shit I mentioned above. Plus, they've helped me develop a new theory about why it's dangerous to be a klutz in the summer months.

See, I have some injuries, as you might have heard, and they have not yet begun to fully heal. So, you know, I'm a bit scabby on my arms and legs. Which - whatever - it happens when you're a grown-up but act like a 9 year old. The thing that blows is that these scabby exposed wounds apparently attract mosquitoes.

Why would I make that connection? I'll tell you - people who are probably closer to being scientists than I am - this is the first time I've ever had a mosquito bite ON MY TOE.

What kind of fucking mosquito bites someone on the damn toe? COWARDS, these mosquitoes.

Also, I have four bites on my right leg, all around the lovely knee gash from the aforementioned biking incident.

So, the fact that I have 5 mosquito bites all localized around open wounds and Bubba, formerly known as Senor Mosquito Bait, has ZERO, leads me to believe that not only can mosquitoes smell blood, they fucking flock toward it, and if you have any open wounds, you better cover that shit up otherwise consider yourself an all points bulletin to the hungry blood suckers whizzing about the summer air.

So yeah - that's about it. I have a bunch of cuts, gouges, scrapes and bruises and mosquito bites all in various stages of healing, bleeding, itching and turning glorious shades of blue, so there may not be any skirts in my immediate future unless I want to defend Bubba and my relationship to any onlookers.

Seriously - it looks like he spent the weekend beating me and then leaving out for the animals to pick apart.