OK, so Female Companion and I were supposed to get together and go out this past Saturday night. No big plans or anything, just an evening out, but for some unknown reason, she decided to cancel on me at (sort of) the last minute. And while I was a little pissed off about such a last minute cancellation, I went pretty easy on her. I mean, I'm as flexible and "spontaneous" as the next guy (girls always seem to want a guy who's "spontaneous"), but calling to cancel plans without reasonable cause is, well, a little unreasonable. Well, since it's still fairly early on in the whole "relationship" thing, and since I'm trying to be a good boy and not "sweat the small stuff", I let it slide without making a big stink. What the hell, this could serve as a "Get Out of Jail Free" card for me sometime in the future, right?
Yeah, right...
So, I want to go out. I had stayed in with FC the previous night and had laid pretty low during the week preceding, so it was time to get a little of the old "groove" on. But my original plans with FC had been tossed by the wayside with a singal phone call. No biggie, I'm "flexible" and "spontaneous", right? Fortunately, my pal,
The Enabler called to tell me about not one, but TWO parties transpiring that very evening. The first was being hosted by some associates of ours in the Entertainment industry and would likely be full of such industry types; a few of who I knew I would know. (How do you like that one?) Unfortunately, the host and hostess lived so far north, it may as well have been in the Yukon Territory. And I had just sold my dogsled to my black neighbor downstairs. What she wanted with it, I'll never know. I mean, are there ANY black folk who live north of DETROIT?? I didn't think so.
The invitation to the second fete came from a friend of Enabler's. Well, since I had recently lost some of my hard earned ducats to Enabler's friend, I guess I could call him a friend of mine, as well. Anyway, this guy is also in the Entertainment biz, and so this party would most likely be populated more of the same ilk. This party, however, was located in a much more condusive locale, even if it was nearby the
Den of Ill Repute.
So, after rendezvousing with The Enabler and his friend, and our friend's darling girlfriend, we headed over to the party on Q.A. Drinks were slurrped, snacks were gnoshed, chit-chat was converesed, carols were sung and a good time was generally had by all. Even though I was still a bit miffed, distracted and confused by FC's abrupt change in plans, I did my best to quell my concerns and focus on the immediate. I chose not to discuss these troubles with my comrades or other party-goers, because it's none of their business, and I didn't want to impart any negativity upon anybody's festivites. And while I was a bit hesitant about going to either party (for whatever reason) I plunged forward, knowing that "laughter is the best medicine" and all that. And when I beheld all of the glorious and radiant beauties in attendance at this little suarez, I was distracted enough to have a pleasant and enjoyable time for myself. In fact, it took a certain amount of restraint not to busy myself chatting up one or two of these beautiful babies in an attempt to get them alone and seperated from their apparel so as to indulge in a little pleasure that the flesh doth surely hold. No, friends and neighbors, I took the high road, because I didn't want to jeopardize things with FC.
So I mingled, circulated, drank and engaged in meaningless small talk and tried very hard not to spill anything or otherwise make a social pariah out of myself. And after having consumed enough malted and distilled beverages to provide me with a decent enough intoxicant factor, I decided that I had had enough banality. I said my goodbyes and made my way to the door.
Out into the cool, wet darkness of the pre-Midnight evening I ventured. My buggy was parked about a block away, around the corner. And while I made my way to the corner, I can't even recall what I was pondering. But it must have been something good, because I clearly wasn't paying attention to where attention should have been paid. Because at one moment, I was striding effortlessly toward the corner of the block, and the next I was falling gracelessly backward as my left foot jumped out ahead of me, seemingly on its own accord.
And as my two hands involuntarily reached out behind me to catch falling body, I thought to myself "oh, shh......". For that was as far as my addled brain got. Because in the space of one second, I heard the un-opened bottle of beer I had stashed in my coat pocket for the drive home slap the concrete of the sidewalk I was plummeting towards, AND I felt/heard the snap of a tendon in my right ankle, with the immediate clarion call of my nervous system hastily advising me that something was most definitely WRONG with what I had just asked my body to do.
Apparently, my ankle doesn't like to "bend over backwards" for me. And really, I should have known this already. This insubordinate joint structure had previously let me down in a most egregious manner almost 20 years ago when I snuck out of my parents' house to go meet a girl. (Ohh, Angela. The magic we could have made that night had my ankle held up to that 1 1/2 story jump.)
I guess the friction coefficient between my boot and the wet pavement was not sufficient enough to maintain the appropriate amount of "grip", and I went ass-over-teakettle. While the pain in my seditious ankle was significant, I retained enough composure to ascertain the integrity of the bottled beverage in my jacket pocket. I mean, if I'm going to have to crawl back to the party or drive myself either home or to the hospital, I don't want to have a pocket full of shattered glass and beer running down the side of my pants while I do it.
Luckily, the beer bottle was intact. I wish I could have said the same for my lower appendage articulator.
So, I pulled myself back up to my feet and determined quickly that I was still mobile, in a manner of speaking. With the sound of amused laughter sounding a block away (in the opposite direction of the party, so I know they were laughing at me!), I hobbled my way to my auto. Surprisiningly, my injury did not impair my ability to operate the Go Juice pedal, so I started up the jalopy, cracked open the barley pop and nosed my way back home.
I arrived home, safe and sound. Except for the ankle, of course. I lurched my way into the domicile, stripped off the footware, with now exquisite pain, grabbed a bag of frozen vegetables (California Mix, whatever that means) and made my way to the couch. I placed my now throbbing ankle in an evelvated position, gently laid the bag o' veggies on the offending joint, and medicated myself with some of British Columbia's finest export, besides the girls, that is.
The following day I awoke, and noting the continued presence of redness and swelling, I called upon another comrade to deliver me to the nearest emergent care facility in the City. Now I could go on and on about the great fun Fuzzybutt and I had, hanging out with the junkies, drunks and indigent folks at the County ER, I don't have time for that right now. Becuase I work for a living.
($500 phone calls) Suffice to say, my worst fears were assuaged, I did not break my ankle again, and I was discharged without further incident.
Unfortunately, this was not the end of my woes. You see, when I had last spoken with FC, I figured we would be discussing whatever the "issue" was which prompted her to cancel our rendezvous of the previous evening sometime on Sunday. When I returned home after the three-and-a-half hour foray into Insane-Sick Land, nary a meesage was found on either the portable or fixed telecommunication devices. OK, fine, she wants to take this at her own speed, I can relate and groove with that. Remember, I'm not going to sweat the small stuff?
It wasn't until the following day (yesterday) that I did actually speak with FC, who did a failry ham-handed job of avoiding the topic, stating that she didn't want to discuss it over the phone. OK, cool. I don't like discussing important personal stuff by phone either.
- So come on over to my place, I'm handicapped and not going anywhere.
- OK (she says), I'll give you a call later this afternoon, when I'm on my way over.
- Sounds good. See you then.
That was yesterday at 12:40 PM. Haven't heard from her since.
Now I don't want to be Mr. McNegativity because I really like this woman, but it looks like this affair is about to join all of the (too numerous) other failed relationships on the "Scrap Heap of Love..."
Ah well. I'll take consolation in the fact that I really did try with this one.
