to live by yourself is swell. now be a dear and bring me a tourniquet.

this post will be without capitalization to accomodate my gimpiness.

here is a not-so-typical but also not-so-un-typical day in the life of cupcake. i worked late, came home to brooklyn and went food shopping for more party ingredients. I walked in the door of my apartment and the first thing i did was preheat the oven. i started dinner on top of the stove, put some mini brownies in the oven and started to clean up. I reached into my dish rack not noticing that my knife was sharp side up, and cut my fingertip on the caphlon knife my dad gave me for christmas. shit. i started running my finger under cold water from the kitchen tap but the bleeding would not stop. suddenly, my smoke detector starts going off. I turn on the fan and go back to my finger. But the smoke detector keeps going off. I open the oven and smoke comes out. something on the bottom is smoking. noticing that i'm leaking blood everywhere i drag over my step ladder and open the kitchen window. I go to the bathroom to try to put on a band aid. blood is spilling over the sink and all my band aids. i manage to barely get one on and immediately bleed through it. shit shit. my oven timer starts going off. i wrap a wash cloth around my finger and i go back to the kitchen, turn off the buzzer, pull out the brownies and turn off the oven. i'm bleeding through the wash cloth so i keep moving it around.

i'm supposed to call my dad tonight because he called me at work. the washcloth is nappy with blood and sticking to my finger. my pasta is done cooking on the stove, i drain it and my finger is bleeding again. do not bleed on the ravioli. do not bleed on the goddamn ravioli! i dress my pasta and sit with it on my bed, the only place I get cell reception. I call my dad.

'dad, i'm bleeding. i cut my finger on a knife and my smoke dector is going off and ....'
'the knife i gave you for christmas?'
'yes'
'what did i tell you when i gave you that knife?'
'i know its sharp.'
'i said, be very very careful.'
'i know, look my finger is really bleeding. what do i do?'

so then a conversation ensures over whether or not i need stitches. i tell my dad and his girlfriend i do not. they tell me to get some gauze or clean cotton and neosporin and peroxide and bandages.... hmm. i have band aids. crappy band aids. this does not impress my father. 'i don't know how you live alone,' he says. 'is the smoke detector still going off?' he is also yelling at me, 'you're breaking up! you're breaking up!' then he yells about my cell phone and how much money does he have to spend so that he can talk to me without aggravation. i'm about done with this conversation now. they ask what i am eating and i say 'pumpkin ravioli'. sweetie asks how i can eat with so much blood around and my dad says 'when nancy is hungry...'

my dad puts sweetie on the phone. she says, 'if you don't have gauze, you can use a kotex. your father was too embarassed to say it. don't use a tampon, but you know, if you if you have one of those cottony pads'. i say i will go ask my neighbor for help to see if he has gauze and such. i finish my ravioli. i am damn hungry.

i knock on the goodneighbor's door, the one patriotdave was inquiring about earlier today. 'who is it?' he asks. 'it's nancy.' he opens the door. 'hey, how are you doing oh!' he sees my blood spotted washcloth.

'i cut my finger,' i say. 'do you have any gauze?' goodneighbor takes me in, washes my finger, put some ointment on it and wraps it in sterile pads and scotch tape. he asks me when my last tetnus shot was and i say,'are you kidding?' then, 'i'm sorry, i don't know what i'm doing.' he keeps asking me if I am okay. 'my father,' i say. 'i called him for a little support and he gives me the, well, if you lived in rhode island, this wouldn't have happened line.'

'of course it still would have happened.'
'i know! i'm not moving home! it's been two years, pop!'

the goodneighbor is a saint and treats me with compassion. he gives me sterile pads to take home. i thank him profusly. i go home and call my dad. i tell him the goodneighbor took care of me and gave me ointment and gauze. 'now there is a man who knows how to live by himself.'

'can you just spare me, okay?'
'okay, the next time you call i'll give you the sermon.'
'give me a break. the point has been made, believe me. ' knives are sharp. be careful. keep first aid supplies on hand. don't try to do ten things at once.

my bandaged finger is all gimpy. there is no way i can finish baking the rest of the brownies. i'm so mad! I can't afford to go off my baking schedule! everything is so tight! will the batter keep in the fridge until tomorrow night?

i can't do anything else, so i wrote this blog post.

why don't i have booze in the house?