While my comrades were marching at the RNC in NYC on Sunday, I stayed home and enjoyed democracy in action, on C-Span, from the comforts of my air-conditioned house. Evan called and talked me into going to play kickball in the city with a group of people who were getting up a game.

I really liked kickball as a kid and decided, why not go and hang out, meet some new people. I put on my Jane’s Addiction concert tee-shirt, sweat pants, my shades and off we went. I think the last time I played kickball was 7th grade or was it 3rd?

When we arrived at the field, every part of me said I should grab my book from the car and relax safely on the bleachers while everyone re-lived there own kickball nostalgia. I debated with myself about sitting out but as they read off the rules, I decided to live a little. Big mistake. When I finally got up to "bat", I kicked the ball all right and ran for first. Suddenly, I felt like I was on a treadmill that ran out from under me. I couldn't stop myself and fell, splat! Face down in the dirt. I actually have an extensive history of falling. I have tripped, slipped and fell everywhere from London to Miami. I’m notorious amongst my friends for landing horizontal on just about any type of sidewalk. Now it was a dirt field.

Someone was yelling to me to get up, so I did. As I stood on first the blood poured down my face. The scarf I was wearing on my head flew off when I landed on the ground and I felt my hair sticking to my bloody face. I asked the first base man if my nose was bleeding and he said yes. Funny I really didn't feel any pain, but the blood scared me. I headed to the bleachers and some concerned teammates came over to check me out. Kym shoved an aspirin at me as Evan took out a wipe and started cleaning blood off my hands and face. Evan dressed the wound, as people asked if I felt dizzy or was seeing double.

As if all of this wasn’t embarrassing enough, a Philadelphia Inquirer photographer, who was covering the game for the paper (Adults play kickball: Re-live childhood fun- angle) jumps in my face for a picture. Hair hanging, blood dripping, stunned look on my face. Now I know how front page Enquirer celebrity paparazzi victims feel. I don’t think he will use the picture and I did ask him for it, but he ignored me.

Once I was able to ice my face and look in a mirror, I saw that I didn’t break my nose, but simply my sunglasses smashed into my forehead on the fall. I don’t have a picture of the initial gore, but I will post a picture of the mending gash. Thanks to some anti-bacterial ointment and everyone that so kindly assisted me, I won’t be disfigured for life. (Thank goodness, what a dumb story this is to tell over and over)

Anyone up for a stimulating game of oh say checkers?

Once, my eyes had a sparkle

A mere shell of my former self
Click below to see some gash art