I Am Hot Enough With Beer and Crutches

Last night, I decided to wear a pair of high, platform heels. Bad idea considering you have a swelling bunion and no food in your stomach except half a glass of beer. Not tipsiness, just deliriousness, let's say. I was at this cool comedy club in Chelsea and I really had to pee. The bathroom at the club was practically in a cave downstairs. The stairs leading down to the bathroom were red, plush furry velvet and impossibly steep. Must I really continue with this story? If I must...

As my friend and I approached the last stair on the seemingly endless staircase, my foot slipped, I heard a snapping sound and I fell straight, yet, in a twisted motion onto my face. It was one of those surreal moments in life where you can't believe something like this is really happening, could be happening...it happened.

So embarassed, yet relieved that no one was behind me to witness this gruesome, hideous slip, I crouched up slowly with the help of my friend. I was so flustered, frustrated, angry at myself for wearing 4 inch wobbly shoes and having some beer with no food. I forced myself to endure the numb, throbbing pain shooting from the inside of my ankle (is their really an inside?) until late into the night, hobbling home like a retarded person (no offense to retarded people) from the subway.

At two in the morning I abruptly woke up to a jolting pain radiating from my ankle, and realized I had to pee again. But, I quickly realized I couldn't stand up. I couldn't... mother...fucking...stand...up.

"How can I not stand-up?" How come I can't stand-up? WHY can't I stand up? Why THE FUCKITY FUCK FUCK can I NOT stand up?" I kept yelling at myself, willing the mind boggling pain electrocuting my ankle to go away. I fell to the floor and crouched on my knees, crawled myself to the bathroom like a baby, sobbing stinging, salty tears. I was afraid the pee would begin to trickle down my leg because I had to go sooo bad. I managed to prop myself up on the toilet.

I started to hyperventilate, my head started to swim and I felt like I was going to pass out. I felt so helpless and completely, utterly alone. How the fuck was I supposed to operate if I couldn't walk? A lot of things entail walking. For example, FUCKING life.

I called my Mom. She started Googling every possible remedy for the excruciating pain. Elevate it, ice it. Elevate it, ice it. Elevate it, ice it. A big task considering I had to get ice from the kitchen which was all the way down my infinite hallway. And, did I even have any ice? And, how the hell was I going to reach the freezer?

By the time I dragged myself on my knees to the kitchen, (mind you, I'm still on the phone with my mom so I had to hold the cell phone in one hand and use my other hand to sort of "hop" my way down the hall like one of those malformed gimps) I was so exhausted that I just buried my head through my shoulders and began to weep uncontrollably.

I've only had two or three other moments like this in my so-called short lifetime. You know, those moments where you are literally forced to examine your life and question who you are and why you are here and why the fuck are you killing yourself trying to make it in New York and who the hell gives a shit anyway and just call in sick to work don't tell them you fell down a goddamn flight of stairs because you were too stupid and "maybe" drunk and couldn't see the last step and and and and... I was shaking uncontrollably.

My Mom, who can read people's auras and who really, truly has unexplained incredible psychic abilities, told me to take a deep breath. I listened. It was the first time I really felt what she was saying.

She's always had unbelievable Shaman healer instincts, like a wise sage, telling me what it's really all about.

"You know, you're ankle represents your ability to RECEIVE pleasure. Do you think you deserve to RECEIVE pleasure in your life? Are you trying to punish yourself for something? All of life should be a pleasure." At that moment, I realized that the whole time I've been in New York, I haven't allowed myself to receive pleasure. It's always been a fight, a struggle, a daily 9 to 5 grind thinking I had to PUSH my way through to make it.

I then held my hand straight up and grabbed on to the handle of the freezer from the floor. I pulled as hard as I could and thrusted myself onto my feet. The pain was so blinding. My Mom kept telling me "You're not a body. You're not a body. You're more than that. You're more than that."

I found a package of moldy frozen beef patties and put it under my armpit. I fell back down to the floor on my knees and crawled back into my bedroom and pushed myself onto the bed as the moldy beef patties fell onto the floor. I curved my body and reached for them, barely grasping the corner edge of the package...

I pressed the patties firmly onto my ankle and realized they were beginning to smell really bad.

And...I realized I had to pee again.

I think I'm slowly learning here in the city that high heels and staircases and beers with no food don't mesh so well. So,
I took the day off because I still can't walk. I was forced to. No work is definitely a real pleasure. I am RECEIVING it now.

But, If my ankle doesn't get any better by tomorrow, I'm heading to the doctor. Well, maybe after I check my inbox on HotEnough.org. Surprisingly, I was accepted onto their site last night, and well, what can I say...

Pour me a beer!

I'll run on my crutches to meet a hot guy.