(this is annie)

Tonight I crutched my way down to the Latin American Club, where the ceilings are high and the drinks are stronger than you'd expect for $5.50. (Since I drink rarely, I enjoy good value for my dollar.) Dorothy was in town for Jauntsetter, and she and Eric had been out together already. They were there when I arrived, but I got held up at the door by the ID checker. He was very chatty — "Oh, how'd you hurt your leg?" and so forth — to the extent that I was about to ask him if he needed to see my driver's license. But as it turns out, dude wasn't checking IDs at all! Sneaky. "Well, I don't know you and you don't know me, but that cast is really cute," he said before leaving the bar. Immediately, unfairly, I thought, "Oh no, you're part of that online community of cast fetishists!" Then, to make matters worse, Eric called me out by my full name, which means that Fake ID Checker knows who I am. Latin American Club guy, if you are reading this, I am sorry if I was weirded out, but I thought you were looking at my cast in that way. I thought you might be a crutch-loving man who furtively snaps photos for online forums. (Fora? Enh.)

When I asked JC how he thinks I should handle my stress in a healthy way, he laughed and said, "I don't know how to do it in a healthy way, but my advice is to get rip-roaring drunk and spend the next day on the couch with pizza and movies." I try to not be self-destructive, and I generally succeed, but I'll be damned if a drink didn't take the edge off. If anybody has suggestions that are better than his, I'm all ears. And if not, at least it's almost time to dream. Happy birthday, Dad. I miss you.

Labels: dad, i can't walk