tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-678729671137555951.post9103756724781589182..comments2023-10-31T10:46:22.131-04:00Comments on View from the Passenger's Seat: Big Girls Don't CryAmyBowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18122407880753045921noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-678729671137555951.post-43535248750615551732008-04-30T20:14:00.000-04:002008-04-30T20:14:00.000-04:00As the friend who hit her head, I feel compelled t...As the friend who hit her head, I feel compelled to say that there was no crying. There was, however, a great deal of "OW FU&*, OW FU&*, OW FU&*" screamed at top volume. I think that is my adult crying. A lot of loud swearing.Wenderinahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07340237940859669413noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-678729671137555951.post-38385694108148490262008-04-30T03:04:00.000-04:002008-04-30T03:04:00.000-04:00As I left my parent's apartment complex one winter...As I left my parent's apartment complex one winter morning, it was snowing - we'd accumulated lots of inches, and it was quite slippery. As I headed for my car, what happened next was a blur. Just one moment I was treading carefully down the driveway (inclined) and the next I was on my back looking at the sky. After groaning for several minutes, i was finally able to struggle to my feet and limp to my car (my back really hurt). But my pride hurt more when I got to work and I had a voice message from mom: "Mrs. VeryElderly NoseyNeighbor called and said you fell on your butt and rolled down the hill onto your back. She was laughing really hard, but I don't think it's funny. Call me and let me know you're okay."KiKihttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07935706632626613446noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-678729671137555951.post-7899175262121191092008-04-29T23:30:00.000-04:002008-04-29T23:30:00.000-04:00A few months after I moved to LA, I cut my finger ...A few months after I moved to LA, I cut my finger on a broken wine glass while I was washing the dishes. It was a really deep cut and wouldn't stop bleeding. I only had about 4 friends in the city at that point, and none of them were in spitting distance. I also had no idea where the closest hospital was, even if I was in any shape to drive myself to the emergency room, which I wasn't. My neighbor ended up coming home and drove me to the ER, but since I didn't know her very well, I too embarrassed to ask her to stay with me. So, as soon as she left, I started crying. I had never had stitches before, and I had never been alone in a hospital, let alone an emergency room. I started crying because I was afraid, and I was alone, and after having to put up a brave front while I tried to figure out what to do from home, it was the only emotion left I could muster.Lorihttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06062405126799081902noreply@blogger.com