As many of you know, I spent my 30th birthday in New York City. In theory it was the absolutely most perfectest place to spend a milestone birthday.
That theory was bullshit.
Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely LOVE New York and for the most part I had fantastic time. It’s just that I don’t get along with birthdays all that great to begin with.
My actual birthday was spent moving in slow motion due to pre-birthday celebrations. And I mean SLOW MOTION.
I don’t think we left the hotel once that day.
It took a great deal of effort, but we did make it to two of the three conference sessions (no one can say we didn’t make it to any of the actual conferences). Afterward we got dolled up for dinner and a night on the town to celebrate my “real” birthday.
Cat, Susan and I went to a fancy-schmancy New York style dinner, then back to the hotel for the estrogen filled party known as Sparklecorn 2010.
Since it was my birthday, and the birthday girl gets to call all the shots, I decided that I wanted to change from my short, sassy, pink dress into jeans and a black top that always makes me feel like a million bucks.
Now, here comes the embarrassing part.
I’m not even going to pretend like alcohol was not involved…
We headed up to the room where I asked my birthday bitches, Susan and Cat, which panties I should wear… don’t ask me why. I ended up deciding to try on both pairs so they could appropriately asses the extent of panty lines that may or may not be showing through my super tight pants.
So I jumped, and I shimmied, into the worlds most non-stretchy jeans.
Then, as I was pulling out the last acrobatic movement to slipping them over my ass, there was an earth-shatteringly loud POP. And then I dropped to the floor. And then I died.
When the girls finally got me to stop screaming, they lifted me onto the bed to examine the source of the pop, the source being my ankle, which now looked like there was a baseball attached to it.
I fucking kid you not.
From this pint on our plans were drastically changed. No more hitting the town, going form bar to bar. Instead Susan and Cat ran to the local convenience store to get bandages and ice while I laid in the hotel room drinking like the lush-birthday-princess-gimp I was.
After wrapping up my ankle, they located a double-wide wheelchair from the hotel lobby and wheeled me downstairs to the hotel bar.
No sense in letting the birthday celebrations end because of a possible broken bone, right?
After a sleepless night the adventure of getting me from the hotel, to the airport and through airport security began. Again, no easy feat and quite possibly the most humbling, humiliating experience I have ever had to go through.
I waited until I got home to go to the doctor. Guess what? My drunken skinny jeans adventure has landed me with a broken 5th meditarcel. I don’t know what that means, but I find out tomorrow if I need to have surgery.
I guess now that I’m thirty I need to start wearing “mom jeans” and taking calcium pills.
Seriously, what’s next? Memory loss? Hot flashes? Depends? Reading glasses? Dentures?
Hell, I may as well take up mall-walking now… that is, of course, after my foot is healed.
PS – More pictures can be seen HERE
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