1-800-222-2222

Accidentes!

That's the number you call when you are involved in an accident, speak Spanish, and need an attorney...in Southern California. Easy to remember, no?

So, I didn't call that number after we flippity flopped down a canyon in Utah last Wednesday, no, because I didn't have my phone for a whopping 24 hours. (That's a really long time when your life consists of your phone, i.e. texting and playing virtual Texas Hold 'Em)

I know this: the road went one way, the van went several ways, avoided certain death over the edge, then launched into the v-shaped ditch median, then shot out into on-coming traffic, then tipped over onto the driver's side perpendicular to traffic, shattering glass and dragging along for a solid twenty or so feet. Not too long, but long enough. No one was hurt, aside from a couple gashes in my elbow, which really was nothing. For five out of six people not wearing seatbelts, I'd say we should be punched in the face for that good fortune.

I have run out of Percoset. Sadness. Sutures out this Friday hopefully. Woo! I can get back to waving my arms about maniacally.

At least Isaac The Paramedic was sexy-towne to the max. I was afraid I'd lost you, Molly, for a split second I really didn't know which way it was gonna go. So I say, I love you, and I'm glad I'm not dead.