Oh! I broke two toes... did I forget to mention?To say I'm clumsy is like saying Texas has inconsistent weather. Does tornado warnings, a snow that no meteorologist projected, and then an 80 degree day classify as inconsistent or is it a bit more than that?! This series of events all happened in the span of five days... I might add. Well, on a beautiful October night in Fort Worth, I made the first bone break/fracture/sprain of my entire existence on this planet. My best guy friend in Texas... [Side note: I have 3 best guy friends that are differentiated by location. They have earned their title in this chronological order:
Achem. Now back to the story! **There will probably be several more side bars. I regret nothing** So, he was laying on my bedroom floor while I was accessorizing for our highly anticipated night out (because I have no furniture-- I'm a gypsy, remember? If it didn't fit in my Honda Civic, creatively named Horcholo, it didn't come with me). I stepped over his foot to get something and came down on my left foot, striking the two toes next to my big toe. After screaming profanities, my guy friend offered nothing but shrill laughter and "rub some dirt in it" mentality. Laughing it off, I walked to the door and into the car for the 28 minute drive to one of the most popular stretch of bars in downtown Fort Worth. Meeting up with his crew (consisting of all couples this time), we began our own bar crawl and hit the high points of West 7th Street. "Dude, my toes are killing me," I blurted to "Kitty." "Steph, stop being a little BITCH!" he laughed, ordering two of his go-to vodka and Redbulls. Passing one over to me, we exchanged a smile and I swallowed the pain and the blueberry flavored energy drink with bottom-shelf vodka. In between engaging in conversation with his friends and scurrying over to the dance floor that was illuminated with spinning lights and 10-year-old hip hop, I developed a new dance move: By the time we made it to the last bar, my head was spinning with agony and not enough cheap vodka to numb the pain. "Gosh [Kitty], I'm in a 9 out of 10 in pain and I don't have insurance. What the fuck am I gonna do?" "Shit dude, I don't know," he slurred. "I'm gonna get another drink." "Ayeee!" He cheered. While waiting at the bar, I watched the male bartender on the north side flirt with a pair of blondes while popping open two slim, silver cans. Once setting them on the bar, they were revealed to be nothing other than White Claws. I chuckled at the stereotype and an array of endless memes crossed my mind. He caught me in the middle of a cackle and stared. Phased not in the slightest, I beckoned across the bar, "how are ya?" Smiling, he fired some flirty compliment across the bar I didn't commit to memory. "A vodka soda would be delightful if you don't mind." "Certainly, babe." Rolling my eyes, I grabbed my card as I looked over my shoulder. The two blondes with White Claws were watching. Awk-ward, I thought. Sliding my card on the only part of the bar that was dry, I thanked the flirtatious bartender. Thinking to myself, I swear, if this fool winks at me.... and he did. Good grief, Charlie Brown. I retrieved my card and passed the White Claw representatives. After returning to the table, one of the girls in the group rocking a pair of Vans informed me we were going to stay at her place. "Oh, are you sure?" "Steph, look at him. You really think [Kitty] can drive? And you can't drive a stick." Not in any state to argue with her facts (Lysol kills 99.9% of germs), I nodded and offered a "thanks, girl." We made it back to her and Kitty's best friend in the group's apartment, revealing a sofa-bed for the two visitors, Kitty and I. Needing some air, I walked onto the patio with the girl rocking the Vans. Both feeling our drinks a little, it turned into a confession session. She asked why I was so adamant about me and kitty being friends and colored us as 'a cute couple.' I brought up the past and his reputation in high school, in which he dated 3 of my friends... some, concurrently. Then, called me "Sarah" when he saw me at a bar 7 years after high school. Wait. Hold up. Carry the one.... yup, the math computes: I'm old. She told me what I should've seen then, "But, that was the past...." The stylish girl with the Vans had many other insightful things to say that night, but I am still transfixed on those 5 words. Gah, how many times have I let it rule me, stop me.... and even change me? I always gloat that I wouldn't change my past because... you guessed it-- It made me who I am. But the Stephanie today has to beg the question, why do I let it define a person and actions moving forward? Fear of repeating history. That's why it's a tested subject in school, isn't it? To prevent a revolving hamster wheel reality. This revelation did not hit the drunk, blue-streaked brunette with two broken toes... no, no. Instead, this clumsy creature was hit with the spins, nausea, and a hell of a hangover the Sunday to follow. I stayed balled up on my side of the spring-supported bed until it was time to recover in my own bed. I limped out of Kitty's car and phoned guy friend number 3 to seek medical advice. After free consult from the highly-acclaimed medical trainer, "The Desk" deemed they were broken. Even if I had the concept, an American over 26 with a job that doesn't offer benefits doesn't have the luxury of, the doc couldn't do anything but put it in a boot and collect his/her copay. So, I polled the audience and found a boot I could borrow ;) Shout out to Elle. It's actually quite helpful to have friends as clumsy as you. Like I say in work almost daily, "Empathy only goes so far." My friend laughed with me and wasn't ashamed to walk me while I hobbled. It was quite the fashion statement. Don't believe me? This was actual footage of me before speaking at our Jubilee for work. Oh, I am a community outreach and grief specialist for a sweet adoption agency.... for now ;) Like a stereotypical millennial, sometimes I follow the wind for the next population to serve. GASP! Did she just admit... You bet your friendship I did! Oh, speaking of friendship-- today's blog post is brought to you by a foundation for a delightful loaf bread called Friendship Bread. You can't make the bread without this labor-intensive "starter." "Kitty" could not have been more apologetic when I informed him of the breakage. "Shit, Steph! You were for serious!" "I know you can feel my eye roll through this phone line," I spat. Laughter was exchanged on both lines of the phone and we made plans for his birthday bash. This story became the staple when people asked what happened when they saw my boot.... Feeling a sequel coming on..... hold the drum roll and my earrings! To Start the Recovery of Brokenness, Amish Friendship Bread Starter
Instructions
0 Comments
In the brink of cuffing season, it seems many of the failed connections I thought I friend-zoned found their match. So there is a happy ending.... right?Here's certainly one way I've seen guys trying to combat the friend-zone:It didn't work for either of us because he stopped being the sweet guy I knew and started treating me like an object.... so, like 96% of the other ones currently swiping through tinder. Knowledge of each other's existence ceased as we know it.
|
AuthorChef Steph cooking up trouble. If she can't find anything real, she bakes real good sweets. Chocolate really may mend a broken heart... Archives
April 2022
Categories
All
|