Goodbye Fruit Salad

by Alison Rosen

I’ve never been a particularly coordinated person. I frequently find myself banging my arm or shoulder on door frames. I’ve passed through hundreds of times, tripping over familiar coffee tables, dribbling soda down my shirt, trying to close the trunk of my car and walking away only to hear it pop open “” but usually I manage to get through my day without significant incident.

Then yesterday happened. I was in Las Vegas to perform a show at Treasure Island. Adam Carolla and I flew in with just enough time for him to go to his signing and for me to go to my room, put on makeup and change clothes before the show. On a day when I’m performing, I’ll drink coffee up until the time I go on. Except for a recent show in Chicago “” I had to leave the stage to pee, an ordeal that still haunts me because the feeling I experienced before exiting the stage was one of such extreme discomfort I couldn’t focus on anything else “” it always works out fine. That is except for the part where I can’t get to sleep that night and chalk it up to not sleeping well in hotels as opposed to the 14 cups of coffee I drank earlier. But a ritual is a ritual.

So after arriving in Vegas, checking in and doing this thing I do when I first get to a hotel room where I pace around in tight circles trying to figure out what to do first (Unzip my suitcase? Hang up my coat? Check my email? Charge my phone? Turn on the TV? Open the curtain? Close the curtain?) I began to get ready. This involves a lot of walking back and forth between the bathroom where I’m putting on makeup and the bedroom where my suitcase is. At one point, when my makeup was on enough for me to begin drinking coffee I waltzed out of the bathroom, tripped over the carpet, ricocheted off the dresser, bounced off the bed and landed, dazed, near the desk.

Next, I tried to pour some milk from a glass into the coffee. Why is it impossible to do this move without spilling everywhere? You never appreciate the pour spout until you’re trying to pour milk into your coffee from a glass and it goes everywhere. It would have been easier if I’d poured the milk directly into my fist and then threw it in the direction of the cup.

Then I distractedly took a bite of fruit salad “” not a regular part of the ritual, I should add “” and all hell broke loose. As I chomped down, I somehow managed to snag a bit of cheek between a molar and a grape, my lower lip between another grape and a tooth, and I drew blood in multiple spots. It was like someone else’s teeth were inside my mouth, attacking me from the inside. How does this happen? It’s not as if this is the first bite of food I’ve had since I got my adult teeth. Presumably, I’ve been doing this thing, where I put food in my mouth via spoon or fork, chew it up, and then swallow it thousands of times. Why did this one time cause such wanton destruction? Why the multiple grape-cheektooth pileup? I want to blame the grapes.

Had they not been there, I don’t think this would have happened. But had I not been overly ambitious thinking I could handle a bite involving more than one grape, plus cantaloupe, I probably would have been fine. But does everyone else know that more than one grape equals danger? It’s like being trapped in a small closet stuffed with a bunch of balloons and a knife. Sounds like a scene from an awful horror movie that I would never watch.

In sum, my mouth hurts still hurts, I can’t sleep, and I’ll never attempt to eat fruit salad again.

Hear more from Alison Rosen on her podcast, “Alison Rosen Is Your New Best Friend” or on the immensely popular “Adam Carolla Show” podcast. Follow her on Twitter @alisonrosen or visit her website at !