Sep 27

The Infamous Rollerblading Boob Plant Incident

Print Friendly

Man, what a week…


In addition to my own employment related existential crisis, our lead maintenance tech quit today. I completely understand where he’s coming from, but he’s still a rat bastard for beating me to the punch. the husband and I were planning on going to participate in our first ever authentic Wisconsin Oktoberfest this weekend, but given the hell of this past week, I think I’m going to bow out gracefully in favor of spending the weekend hiding from the world. Needless to say, this is the perfect juncture at which to inject some levity into our lives since I know that some of you are also in the throes of various degrees of crisis management.


And so I feel compelled to relate to you all, a story to which I have previously made only vague references. A story which is embarrassing under the best of circumstance, but downright “crawl under a rock and die” mortifying given my circumstances. I would probably have sat on this story for another year or ten, but Queen Inappropriate posted a status update on Facebook last night that left me with a new found confidence. I sincerely hope she posts it because I laughed so hard that I quit breathing for a 3-5 minute stretch. Apparently, she was inspired to take up rollerskating again, only it hasn’t been all “Whip It” and “Kansas City Bombers”. Apparently, she wiped out so hard that there was a legitimate concern for a massive mammary rupture. Fortunately, all the girls are okay, if not a little worse for the wear, and not without a small amount of bruised dignity, I’m sure. Her tale of woe is forever memorialized here.

Wear those razzberries proudly, baby.


And the comments! Oh, the comments are just the gooey buttercream icing on the decadent cake. My favorite two thus far:

” ‘Alas, my boob is intact’ might be one of the most offensive sentences I’ve ever seen on the internets.”

“You named your boob Larry?

Now, before you accuse me of being a callous harridan, let me say that I told you that story in order to tell you this one:

More than a handful of years ago, before I met my husband, I was a few dates into a guy who thought that I might enjoy rollerblading along the sunny Balboa Peninsula. I had just purchased a brand new set of rollerblades and it was a lovely day, so I agreed. I strapped on my pretty blue and silver K-2s and off we went down the boardwalk. I was a teenager the last time I had done any serious rollerblading, but I managed to find my stride easy enough and we had a good time.

The only thing about the state of California itself that I genuinely miss.


And then, disaster.

As we were heading back to the car, we had to cut through a very busy stretch of parking lot, and going slowly and carefully was one of those prudent moves that would get you killed by the throng of carcissists fighting over the limited parking. Nope. Eschew caution, take a deep breath, and go, baby, go!  As I was making my mad dash through the parking lot, we came upon an SUV that was waiting patiently for someone to vacate their parking spot. Their puppy was not so patient however, and contorted himself right out of the open window and headed for the water… by way of my lane of travel.

Ehrmagerd! Seagull Jerky!


My options were limited to using pupsy doodle as a furry little speed bump or making a radical direction change, and I love animals more than I love people. So I did the only reasonable thing and made a hard right turn, narrowly avoiding death by a departing Ford Fuck-You-Mobile before getting caught in a pot hole, losing control and veering into the parking spaces. It was there that I was met with a short stop and a forceful drop as I slammed, cleavage first, into the passenger side of a parked pickup truck before bouncing off and landing on my back in the empty parking space beside it.


This course of events that took an eternity to reach their abrupt conclusion, but in actuality lasted a scant 10 seconds, happened in full view of my date who was vacillating between spastic laughter and half-hearted concern.

I wish I could say that was the worst part, but this story wouldn’t be blog worthy if that were the case.

No, to add insult to boob pancakes, the vehicle that I assaulted with my breasts was occupied by its driver at the time. As I was lying in that empty parking spot wondering where I went so terribly wrong, the passenger window rolled down and a man poked his head out, looked at my mortified recumbent form and said those words that I will never forget as long as I live:

“Was it as good for you as it was for me?”


I’m going to go die now…


Skip to comment form

  1. bluzdude

    I wonder how long he left those dual globe-prints on his side window…
    bluzdude recently posted..Retail Bluz Part 6 – The Staff of Life EditionMy Profile

    1. admin

      There are still boob prints on the giant mirror in my living room from the night I was trying to hang it. It’s a casual, yet persistent reminder of the fact that I am the nutball who does housework in the nude.

  2. NATurally Inappropriate

    Look. Here’s the deal. That shit hurt like a motherfucker. However, my boob isn’t sore anymore.

    Fucking rollerskates…
    NATurally Inappropriate recently posted..‘DAFUQISDIS?’My Profile

    1. admin

      Just think, if that had happened while you were being towed by a dog, Your ass would look like it had been through a cheese grater.

    2. Jana

      Dude – the underside of my boob is still green from my shower boob swirlie!

  3. Andrea

    At least your ribs were protected and cushioned? Ye-ouch!
    Andrea recently posted..RootsMy Profile

    1. admin

      I will say that my chest didn’t bruise as bad as my ass did.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>


CommentLuv badge