Last night, I fell down some stairs. Long-time readers and friends & family are probably thinking to yourselves, “Gosh, that’s a big surprise” or “Hey, it’s been a while!”

Falling down stairs–hell, falling UP stairs–is not unusual for me. It’s a way of life, actually. I fall a lot. I am the antithesis of grace.

Last night’s fall was probably the second worst of my life. The first being on the concrete stairs at an apartment in Atlanta. That one was so bad I sprained BOTH ankles at the same time and actually had to call a neighbor to come help me out of the stairwell. Nice.

This time, however, I landed (somewhat strategically) on my ass. And people, I landed HARD on my ass.

I was walking into the entryway of my apartment building from my front door, taking the three, count them–three! steps down to the landing where the mailboxes are. Somehow, my foot slipped forward and, like a cartoon character, I was up in the air and down on my ass in a matter of seconds. It was pretty horrible. I knocked the wind out of myself, feared broken bones and was essentially shit-scared by the whole thing.

Nobody heard me go down. If ever there was a time for a Medic-Alert bracelet, this was the time. I managed to get myself back in the door and onto my side on the couch. I came very close to being sick, was crying and shaking and generally fighting off shock for a few scary minutes.

The good news is, I was pretty lucky. As I said, I landed on my ass–not my back, not my tailbone–but soundly on the right side of my posterior.

The resulting hematoma (which is about the only way to describe the mamoth bruising going on there) will ruin my career as an underwear model.

HA! Gotcha. Right.

I am lucky I did not land on something sensitive or crippling. I am lucky I can still sit–albeit on the edges of things with cushions. I am lucky I was able to get myself up and into my apartment because nobody enters my building from the front door. We all use our back entrances because they face the parking lot. I could have been there for hours.

And really, I’m not exagerating here. I’d post a picture but I have very strict Web policies. Under no circumstances will there ever be skin revealing, much less butt revealing, photos of me on the Internet. Period. Nobody needs that.

All I can say is that this is far worse than the time I fell on my magic eight ball keyring.

And for those who aren’t well versed in my legacy of ridiculous injuries–that key ring f-ing hurt.