Friday, October 30, 2009
Ever since then, I've loved it. Even at twenty-seven, I still cherish going to the store and buying screaming red lipstick, fake eyelashes that are a mile long, and various other sparkly and glittery trinkets. This year more than any other since I've been back in Chicago, I was looking forward to buying a million pounds of candy and a bitching costume and making this the epic holiday that I adored.
I arrived home with a few (dozen) shopping bags full of all of the things a good Halloween requires, and logged into my computer.
And had the following conversation with a good friend of mine:
TweekerchickQC: I just got home from shopping! I'm so excited!
TweekerchickQC: It's almost Halloween! I'M SO ASITED.
TweekerchickQC: GUESS WHAT I'M GOING TO BE!
GoodFriendOfMine: A cripple?
And that is when it occurred to me.
It is impossible to make a walking cast look cute. Or scary. Or sexy.
What happened to your foot, you ask? (Or not, but yet again I'm the only blogger I see around here so pipe down, asshole.)
Absolutely fucking nothing happened. I've been walking an assload more than I used to because of my Fancy New Job In The City, and the dress code here is a little less casual than my last job (still casual though), so most of that walking has been done in heels.
Very tall heels.
Very sexy heels.
But very tall heels nonetheless.
I assumed that I had twisted my ankle by falling off of a heel or something, but I couldn't remember anything actually happening. I walked around for a few more days1 before winding up in such blinding pain that my own mother, who one time told me I was overreacting about a cold and refused to take me to the hospital (it was pneumonia, by the way), insisted I go to the Emergency Room. After waiting while I watched some woman explain to the doctor that the reason she was holding her child's arm over his head was because he cut himself and may have nicked the artery in his little finger, and she was the single solitary reason he had not bled to death right there in the emergency room, I finally got back to a room.
After being poked, prodded, x-rayed and twisted into various contorted positions, the doctor looked at me and pulled his glasses down on his nose. He puffed his cheeks out, causing him to look like Santa if Santa was the most stereotypical Jew on the planet and put his clip board beside me.
"How you have managed to walk on this for a week is amazing".
Turns out, I have tendonitis and a 3rd degree sprain. (Did you know that sprains have degrees? I did not. Apparently, "3rd degree sprain" is a Latin term for "pump her full of drugs and send her careening through the streets of Chicago in a 10 year old Malibu".) The one thing I told Dr. Santa Weinstein was that I couldn't function in my Fancy New Job In The City on crutches, and I couldn't be on drugs that made me so ridiculous I couldn't function.
He insisted on crutches. I asked if there was an alternative. He said I could use a cane just like "That doctor on TV". After an interesting discussion in which I explained to him in excruciating detail what part of his body I'd cram a cane up if he didn't knock off the shit I left on crutches with a prescription of OxyContin. I was not amused.
A different doctor later gave me a walking cast.
Which has ruined Halloween. Halloween is the night of sluts, skanks, sexy costumes, booze and candy. It's college all over again, and I can't participate because I can't mix booze with any of the pain medications I'm on, and there's only one costume a gimpy leg works with, and I don't have the time to fashion a fake gun so I can go as that chick from Grindhouse. It is impossible to make a walking cast in any way cute or sexy. Trust me, I've tried.
This sucks. Send candy.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
As I have just found a fancy new job in the city, I spend a lot of time on the CTA. This is not because I live in the city a nd find it easier to get around, and it sure as hell isn't because I have finally decided I give a shit about the environment1. It's because I leave for work at the ass crack of dawn and driving in a city full of cab drivers with death wishes and people who have such little regard for thier own safety that they will walk in front of a moving fucking vehicle and take it on faith that the driver will stop instead of running them over just doesn't sound like a whole hell of a lot of fun to me.
That, and the City of Chicago got all sorts of pissy last time I tried it2.
1 Perhaps if it wasn't so fucking trendy I'd have a different assessment. Until then, I offer the following agreement: you stop blathering about it, and I'll stop wishing that your Prius would randomly burst into flames.
2 You drive on one sidewalk, and all the sudden you're worse than Osama Bin Laden.
3 Read: felt guilty
4 Lest I have to choke a bitch.
5 Fine. It was more of a high pitched shriek.
6 I know this beacuse I have yet to see anyone starve to death waiting for the el.
7 Which are ridiculous to wear in the city but look fabulous thank-you-very-much.
8 Techincally anyone who gives me presents that doesn't expect me to sleep with them later works for me, but let's not split hairs.
Friday, October 02, 2009
Thursday morning I got a call offering me a job, and more than twice what I was making. I was unemployed a grand total of 2 hours.
Those two hours sucked though.
However, it is a 3 month contract to hire, so I really have to keep my nose clean until they make me a permanent offer. As Brian so kindly put it, it's kind of like Kindergarten. As long as I don't eat the glue I should be good.
I should be ridiculously happy, and I am. I'll be out of debt by February or so. However, money isn't the only thing in the world.
I find myself in the same bullshit situation. Life is going pretty fabulously right now, and then the one person I always fall for comes back around. I try not to let him get to me, but for some reason I'm incapable of doing so. It just seems like no matter what I do he's always got me wrapped around his little fucking finger.
One of these days I'm going to bite that finger completely off.
Anyway, I feel like a kid in a candy store. Once the debt is all paid off, I'm going shopping. Buying a bunch of things at Victoria's Secret, a PS3, a new car, a gym membership, a new couch, and about $9,000 worth of shoes.
Keep your fingers crossed that I don't accidentally eat the glue.