Birthday part the first: The Narrative

Ok. So as you may or may not have guessed by now, my birthday was on Saturday. I turned thirty, and I’d been kind of dreading it. I mean, 30. That’s OLD. Ha. Not really, but the truth of the matter is that I just didn’t feel like I was in a 30ish sort of place. I have this card that pretty much sums it up: “Everyone my age is an adult, whereas I am merely in disguise.” It’s true. It’s a good disguise though.

Saturday night, I was going out with Kendra, Karen, John, Jeff, Robin, P.I.C and The Bad Cop. We had dinner reservations at 8 and were meeting at P.I.C.’s before walking to the restaurant. We were then heading out to the Celtic Tavern later for further drinking. And thanks to my personal shopper (Kendra) I looked cute and very non-Ann Taylor. So I have on my kicky wedgy sandals and I’m walking across the parking lot to P.I.C.’s building and I step off the side of my shoe. Ever so gracefully, I stumble and hear something crack, but I’ve done that before and been fine, so I ignored it and went inside. It hurt, so I put some ice on it before we left. No biggie.

We had the best dinner. It was delicious and replete with inappropriate conversation. In fact, I’m certain that we didn’t have one remotely appropriate conversation the whole evening. Topics included how to properly eat a crawfish (squeeze the tail and suck the head – dirrrty) and how they resemble lobster and how our waiter mentioned he knew some girls who could suck the meat out of a lobster just as easy as a crawfish. Heh. Also included was a really lengthy debate on the reaction of asparagus to the human body, and, um, various fluids. Seriously. VERY LENGTHY. Thank god we were in a private room away from people who might not have wanted to hear about either of those topics or about who is hooking up with who and how. I’m telling you – not for the faint of heart.

Our dinner was a good three hours – leisurely and hilarious and alcohol-tastic. Which of course meant a trip to the bathroom. Which is downstairs in the restaurant. I got up and wanted to scream from the pain in my foot, but kept on going. Oh. The. Pain. But I wasn’t about to wuss out and call it a night. We headed to the Celtic, and by this time it hurt too much to wear shoes and so I’m walking barefoot downtown. Nice. We hung out there until closing, at which time, The Bad Cop went and got the car to drive us the 4 or 5 blocks back to P.I.C.’s house because I was NOT walking. Not because I didn’t want to, I just couldn’t. OH. THE. PAIN. However, since Kendra was carrying my shoes, I was able to smuggle my vodka & soda out of the restaurant in my purse. I have my priorities you know.

I crashed at P.I.C.’s until I woke up feeling really nauseous from the pain. I got up and hobbled to my car – it was 5:30 a.m., still dark, I didn’t have shoes on and couldn’t run if I wanted to, and my cell was dead. I was thinking “this is a Lifetime movie waiting to happen.” Luckily, I got to the car with no problems except the pain in my foot with every step. You know, the kind of pain that makes you want to pass out so that you can stop the inner screaming. I crawled from my door to the couch and went to sleep.

After breaking down and crying, I had my mom come and take me to the urgent care place, where I got x-rays. Yep. Broken foot. My fifth metatarsal (or outside bone on my right foot) is broken all the way through. And now, Alice? I also have a fashionable boot. Ridiculous. I’m going to look like an idiot in Vegas. I told the intern at the clinic that I was on the lam from the cops and they were shooting at me, so I dove to avoid the bullets and broke my foot. He laughed. At least I can still be HI-larious while also in pain, right?

The good news is, since my job is ending in two weeks, I no longer have to go. They’re bringing me my computer so I can “work” from home. Nice. I have some good painkillers, but they knock me out. P.I.C. is bringing me “The Sopranos” on DVD and The Bad Cop is bringing over movies so that we can drool and zone all day long. The bad news is, I had Peeps for breakfast because they were the only thing I didn’t have to get up to get. Kendra helped me make my bed last night and Dan brought me dinner. I’m not totally helpless, but given the choice between putting any weight on my foot at all or not eating, I choose not eating.

So yes. I can’t believe I broke my foot. I’ve never broken a major bone before. However, the OCD in me is pleased that it was EXACTLY 30 years before I first broke something. So sad.

Happy birthday to me!!! And we did take pictures, so those are forthcoming...