Make 'em an offer he cant refuse...

Monday, January 28, 2008

Wow, long time no write. As a I apologized for earlier, there was no writing yesterday, and for one good reason. 1st of all, Sunday I read the entire Sunday paper, so that took a while (yes! I read!). Then Donia and I embarked on a journey back to 1946 with none other than Marlon Brando as...The Godfather! Ive never seen it, but what a fucking cool movie! We watched 1 (the best) and are now on 2. Hope to stay up late and see 3 also tonight. (Partly cuz its great; partly cuz its 4 days late to be back to the library). Never before have I wanted to be Italian and kill people for a living so badly...
Today was day 1 of my new job and let me just tell you...GREAT! So laid back, such nice (all 2) people. Some crazy homeless bums hang out outside the office and smoke, but hey, I got a job! A soon as the funds start rolling in, we'll have a celebration (you can join us via internet if youd like. Oh, wait. Not you. Nope, you either. Just you guys. Yeah, and I guess you).
Speaking of celebrations (great segway between paragraphs today, huh? Oh yeah, can someone see how to spell segway for me...), this Saturday night was once a month club night here in Seattle (for us anyway) and boy was it a hoot! *note: no one says hoot anymore. Please do not mimic my use of it. You will be laughed at* We walked to this club 4 blocks away and played some pool to start off the night. We were doing okay at first (which means I beat Donia), but then we got some tough opponents. "Inez" (I may or may not have changed the name to protect the innocent. And by innocent I mean me. "Inez" was a large woman, and should she ever come upon this blog, she may want to hurt me) was a fantastic player. That means, The Bitch Beat Me. 2 out of 3. Shit! Its the only talent I have, besides spinning a basketball on my finger for 30 seconds straight. (well, I want to do that. I have never actually done it. So its not a talent, technically. I guess. Moving on...). Donia did the old too-drunk-too-quick thing that all Junior High status drinkers go thru, so she sat for a while and watched. Or napped, Im not sure, I wasnt keeping an eye on her. When Id noticed her slumped over, I just propped her back up. Anyway, I was into it, dancin around by myself, feelin the rhythm, when what is this? Shes semi-conscious for a sec! In my excitement, I decided to be silly and dance an old 80's number I know called "The running man", and could you guess what happened next...
Ill give you a moment...
Got it yet?
I ROLLED MY ANKLE!
Just a slight roll this time, no big deal now, but boy was it a big deal then. I stopped dancing, limped over to the bench, and joined drunken Donia. It hurt. I was scared. There was no dramatic "fall and swoop recovery" this time, thank God, but i thought id done damage. I walked it off, and we left soon after. Well, that walk home was no picnic. Uphill. Tipsy. 4 blocks. All the while making sure the drunk monkey with me didnt fall into the street. Yikes. I iced her up (the ankle, not Donia) and elevated for a while when we finally got home. The next day I was fine. Thank you Lord. If it happens again, Im just requesting a damn amputation.
This leads to a flashback Id like to post of the original ankle injury. Oh how easily I forget that dancing in bars, even on flat shes and by myself, can lead to such harm. Enjoy (again)...
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What I Did On My Summer Vacation... Current mood: indescribable
So, you know how I'm into go-go dancing, right?
Picture it: Saturday night, the outfits are hot, the drinks are flowing, the shoes are cute and so are the boys...
Wait, no no no, thats not it at all...
So we are going out for my friend Jara's birthday, good times with friends. Of course theres the art of pregaming, so we end up at Dirty Drunk Diehl's Dirty Drinking Palace and start the night off right. (Actually, he's wasted and none of us catch a buzz between his obnoxious antics and the lack of good liquor (tattoo = no good)). We finally decide where to go, get into the cars and buckle in for safety (of course) when taco bell arrives. As Diehl is smashing a surprise burrito into his jib (thats for you), we are calling 411 and trying to get directions to the lezzy bar the birthday girl has chosen (not that theres anything wrong with that). We arrive after a lovely conversation with the bouncer over the phone, pay the cheap ass cover and are all excited for a good night. Beverages are a-flowin and the music is a-pumpin. Lets see, from there there were a couple bathroom breaks, a couple shots, a couple drinks, and a couple smoke sessions out on the lenai (and yes, it was a lenai, as in GG, spitting image, uncanny). And then it goes to, well, shit. The convo was light, the ladies were wild, and the boys were prettier than Hef's 8 girlfriends. Im struttin my stuff, very Im-here-to-have-fun but not too Im-here-for-some-lady-lovin, when I start feelin the music. There I am, mindin my own business, bringing Sexyback, when low and behold, I find a stage. I must be up there, my little mind thinks, and there I go, in all my straight-girl-in-a-lesbian-bar-glory, dancin the night away.
Flash forward 18 seconds. Im on the floor. In the middle of the dance floor. In the middle of the bar. In the middles of the lezzies. Whats a self-respecting girl to do? I proceed to laugh, cutely giggling, attempting to crawl back onstage and continue my run, when, whats this? I have lost all use of my right ankle? In my scared and buzzed state I panic, and I break down. Thats right, I wanted to stay tough for my girl-loving girls, but I broke...I cried. All of a sudden a flock of lesbians come running and whisk me off the floor. It was like a scene from a B movie starring Jennifer Tilly and a no name girl trying to "find herself" through cunnilingus. Anyway, Im thrown into the getaway car weeping like a child fresh from the womb. I insist I am fine and well enought to move on to the next hot spot, but I am coerced by my friend Jess to visit the local hospital. I agree, and by agree I mean I cannot stop crying.
We are at the hospitral for 4 and a half hours. During this time we run into some lovely characters, like the nurses that steered us in the wrong direction and got us lost, followed by the spunky yet smart ass male nurse. Yes, I said male nurse, who thought his quick wit and mildly disrespectful remarks about how wasted I was might get him a date, if not with the pretty friend, then with the passed out, swollen, snot-covered, hysterically injured one. Once it was determined that I was not a shitty drunk mess, I was fed and Vicodin (fuck diamonds being a girls best friend) and was sent off to a farawawy land I call LaLa...
Before I know Im cracking back at the asshole whos putting on my aircast (for injuries that arent really injuries) and being wheeled to my brothers car (he'd been hanging with Toby Keith when I called him, what a guy). I arrived at home after some hot flashes and antics in the car (the pill was on an empty stomach, mind you), but not before almost being rushed back to the hospital with some close calls on the stairs.
I woke up in pain, puking, hungry, and feeling defeated. Who knew an innocent night on the lesbain town with my best friends would turn into me being laid up on my first vacation week in a year. Sad story. I am now reduced to laying on the couch, taking in too much TV even for me, only eating when someone decides to drop by and feed me, hopping like a bunny from room to room, suffering from sore pits from my crutches, riding in Mart Carts through Target like a woman in her 80s with osteoperosis, and showering while sitting on a plastic Ikea end table from my bedroom.
Stop by if you want this week, you know where Ill be...

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It snowed. Im sorry, no, it dusted. Barely, if thats possible. It barely dusted and people were all up in arms here. They were afraid to drive. Afraid to walk. There were accidents galore. They asked me if I was scared. I replied with a sly smirk (as if to say wuss) "No, Im from New England". They got it.
You know youre in Seattle when: Youre forced into coffee with your new coworkers cuz you dont want to look like the new weird girl bitch, so you go and they say is starbucks ok and you say yes and you go and you dont know what to order or how to order and you feel dumb and youd do anyhting at that moment for a Tank from Tim Hortons with milk, no sugar, and its so easy to order and drink and enjoy but instead you are forced to get a double triple nonfat nonwhip noncalorie nongood cup of coffe that costs almost 4 dollars and is smaller than the shots you did on saturday night. All for a little comeraderie. I miss Rhody :(
Ok thats that. My godfather is calling me, and Ive seen what he does to people who dont obey him!!!!!!
*Disclaimer: Donia is not a drunk. Do not let this blog make you think she is a functioning alcoholic who cant have fun sober. We all have our nights*