So, like, anyway.
Wait. Has it really been 2 years since I've been here in this little bacisphere, you guys? Yikes. I guess it has. Holy smokes. How's that for consistency, friends?! I feel so lucky that at least a couple of times a week a few of you rascals demand an installation (DIRTY!) here at good old bacibug headquarters. You're sweet! And maybe mildly obsessed with me, which I kind of like. We're all in this together!
Honestly, I had such good intentions. I always do. I had a whole dramatic tome written* about my super sad departure from my sweet little Belmont Shore Spanish-style duplex treehouse. The unceremonious and completely soul-
sucking move out of the place I called home for 12 (T-W-E-L-V-E, you guys.) years after my (new-ish) landlords got all greedy and bad-businessy with the best tenant anyone could ever have ever** and decided to just, you know, jack that rent right up 67592% like crazed lunatics. Why the hell not, right? If you weren't supposed to gauge good people then I guess Long Beach would have rent control! Har har har! Those were dark days, my friends. And while it's been a year and I still can't shake it...I miss the light and the pretty ceilings and the built-ins and MY PERFECT FOR DINNER PARTIES DINING ROOM and my huge, gloriously bright kitchen and sleeping with my French windows open and the hallway alcove in my bedroom and spying on people from the French doors in my living room...I have a little redemption in knowing that they rented my (sweet little) place to a couple who lasted only a year and were even crazier than they are. As my friend Amy's mom says: "You're gonna get it. You're gonna get what you're asking for." And it sounds like they are. Thanks Universe! And also, I know: GET OVER IT ALREADY.
|See? Perfect for spyin'!|
So I moved. And then I moved again. And at the same exact time I accepted a consulting project that was crazy busy. Like nonstop no-time-to-breathe days. Like my early days in the biz when I was a clickety clacker with the power ladysuits and the pretty work bags and the sweater sets and the demure earrings and those gross, long-ass days. Except for I was at home in my toasty warms wearing my Invisilign and deep conditioning my hair while I was negotiating, which is, as you know, how I have always done my best work! Win-win, you guys! And it was fun for awhile to be that crazy busy on a new project, but then I got sucked right back in to a life with no balance. And this project that was supposed to last a month ended up lasting 10 months, which was way more ok than not ok. And they were some long mo-fo days, I'll tell you what. But the good news is that about 6 months in I decided to take a little mini-break! I sure did! I took me a Friday off and planned a fun wine country jamboree to visit my wine country from bourbon country gal pal with my other gal pal! And we had PLANS, y'all. I mean it. Little pocket winery wine tastings and vine cavorting and dinner dining with some of my favorite people and whatnot. So fun, right?
So that Friday in June I sashayed in to my spin class all "Let's get this over with! I have a plane to catch to grape juice nirvana, fools!" and then sashayed home and then sashayed*** to the airport with my gal pal Chris all "We're on VACATION, nerds!" and then we sashayed via the wild blue yonder to Vicki's and then we drank some extra pretty bubbles and talked about the weekend scheme and hugged**** and then sashayed to sip our happy faces off in vats of pretty pinot in Healdsburg all "It is Friday afternoon and we are FUN, America!" and then sashayed to dinner at BarnDiva and then sashayed home to look at the stars and yammer about the world's problems and then, at around midnight as we were fixin' to sashay to bed? I MISSED AN EM EFFING STEP AND BROKE MY EM EFFING HOOF. Have you ever heard of such a thing, you guys? I HAD NOT.
So anyway, I was all "You know what? I'm sure it's fine, you guys. Just leave me here in the living room since, you know, I can't get up or down any steps to get to a bedroom, and I'll ice it! And elevate it! And it will be good as new tomorrow and we sure will make that first tasting at 10am and have the best day OF OUR LIVES!" And of course they thought I was crazy but I can be really persuasive and I waggled my maimed foot at them and said "See you in the morning! HAHA ISN'T THIS SO FUNNY?!" and then I laid there like an idiot with my mangled cankle practically elevated to a straight-up right angle and iced to high heaven, convinced that it was just a bad sprain, hysterically texting my poor orthopedisty cousins, Googling***** "ankle sprains" and "wine tasting with crutches", and praying that I didn't just ruin the whole geedee weekend.****** I'll spare you the goriest of details. Like how I decided all of a sudden that I was a bone doctor and that maybe I could just pop it back in to place. Which, PS: you cannot! Because guess what? Your ankle is not a a socket joint thing like your knee or your shoulder, you idiot! But whatever.
Anyway, I ended up in the hospital at 5am feeling like a total tool when the x-ray lady was all "Um, you're not going wine tasting today...you're not leaving this hospital, hon." with some trimalleolar fracture of the tibia, fibula and talus broken ankle ballyhoo. I spent about 20 minutes trying to convince them to just, you know, wrap it up or something, and let me go home to LA where my brilliant doctor cousin could totally fix it. But they knew I was a CRAZYPERSON and made me
text him a picture of my x-ray where he took one look at that mess and then he lost his shit all "SHUT UP AND DON'T MOVE AND LET THE PEOPLE FIX IT BECAUSE THAT IS BAD BAD BAD AND YOU ARE INSANE." So I was all, "Oh." and then I had emergency surgery and now I'm bionic with 2 titanium plates and 20 screws holding my body together. Because I missed a step*******. And that's how I ruined our mini ladyvacation in wine country. The end. [Curtsies.] Kind of.
I have no idea about these things, so was shocked to learn that I was on straight bed rest...as in ZERO weight bearing...for 16 weeks. That's 4 months of laying. As in taking a shower is impossible without a team of people looking at you naked. As in "can someone fill up my water glasses?". As in who's turn is it to just bring me a burrito because beans are bone healing foods and I need to eat a lot of them to heal these sad bones. Apparently it happens in an instant but the recovery for this takes approximately 357 million years. And when you ask your fancy doctor how long before you'll be 100% weight bearing, he just laughs because he thinks you're kidding. HAHAHAHA. And also: WAAAHHHH.
So, here I am rounding the corner to 40. Out of shape because my poor body was like a sponge all "Hey fat cells! We're just going to be laying around! Come on over!" and I'll be honest: I AM NOT HANDLING ALMOST 40 WELL. Like at all. I'm super bratty, totally petulant and barking at everyone who even brings up my birthday. Line up, fellas! I am your dream come true! With a limp!
There's lots more to say. Mostly about my village. My people. My village people! These blessings who have gone above and beyond the call of friendship and duty. Maybe my Gimpsummer™ wasn't ideal, but I'll tell you what: it was a gracious blessing to me. I learned a whole lot and have so much to say about these people who have rallied around me and supported me and rose higher than the occasion. I have been doted on, pampered, and cared for well beyond any reasonable expectation. The most unexpected and divine doors******** have opened for me in so many ways while I've laid here these past months. I am loved and am lucky to be surrounded by the most fierce and glorious souls who raise me up and fill me up and hold me up and encourage me every single day. My people who continue to nurture my healing, my spirit, my mind and my soul. Maybe I'm a little crabby, but I am still more light and enlightened. And despite the long road ahead to get back to being healthy, I'm grateful*********.
Everyday so, so grateful.
*in my head.
***ok, well, her husband Tony drove us.
****you know how I do.
*****don't ever do that.
*******I have learned from my exhaustive research that my injury is consistent with: motorcycle accidents, roller derby accidents, and falling off of steps/curbs. Annoying!
********dream job a-knockin'!
*********but 40 still sounds like a huge asshole.