Spring Sprain

I never get a vacation. So, when I have four days off from work, I take advantage. But, in my world, even when I'm on vacation dumb luck follows me like dark cloud.

For my vacation I set my sights on beautiful San Francisco, my high school hometown. With the extended weekend, I would be able to take my Southern husband on a tour of nostalgia lane. We ate at Goat Hill Pizza, strolled in Union Square, had a beer at Lefty O'Douls, and saw a drag show with my gay bestie (the one who I gave my burn cream to). When I was making plans to come to The Bay Area I hadn't even realized I was going to be there on Easter until I actually looked on a calender. When my gay bestie and I realized that we would be spending Easter together we immediately tried to come up with an amazing Easter adventure. I told him I wanted to do an Easter egg hunt/picnic in Delores Park, a park set atop a hill overlooking the San Francisco skyline. We were unaware that San Franciscans have flocked to the park since 1979 to judge the "Hunky Jesus" contest for Easter. So, obviously, nothing was going to deter me from seeing all the amazing Jesus' lined up for my amusement.


(It seems that this blasphemous act was the culprit of my demise and that God was soon going to punish me for my mockery of his beloved son, Jesus.)

Usually I spend all of my San Francisco excursions with my gay bestie. But this time my Southern husband convinced me to spend one day with my parents. This is because he loves drinking and gossiping with them (a family practice that I am accustomed to, but he has just started to enjoy). I decided to meet them at my grandmother's house for a pre-Easter celebration.

A couple drinks in at Grandma's, I had a need to breathe in some fresh Bay Area air. I live in Los Angeles; a place where breathing in and out deeply is not common. So, I suggested that my family and Southern husband all go to the local elementary school and shoot some hoops. I kind of wanted to prove to my mother that I was more active and more health conscious now that I am in my thirties and aware that my youth has slipped away. Boy I'm stupid. We played 'horse'. I won. We played 'pig'. I lost. And because I lost at pig I decided that it was a good idea to play two on two; even though I was wearing shoes that were one size too big. I bought them at Ross for $10 (originally $80) because they were so cute and they had Edie Sedgewick on them. I didn't think that my need to be thrifty would cause me to be crippled.

My mother suggest it be girls against boys, which is silly because the boys were gonna win.  But quite honestly we are all terrible ball players; by the fourth point we were out of breath. To liven up the game I became aggressive and did my famous swing monkey arms move to block my step father from a shot. I am not as coordinated as I was in my younger basketball playing years and this imbalance caused me to lose my footing in mid-jump, twist my ankle, and fall to ruin.

As I was falling I thought a number of things 1) Oh no! Gay Jesus Easter! and 2) Well, at least I have more material for my blog. I heard my mother cry out, "Oh no!" and I knew that now I had really done it. As my parents and Southern husband lifted me to my feet, I felt sharp pains radiate throughout my foot. And, like the pro klutz that I am, I brushed off their, "Are you okay?" comments. But, as they propped me on my grandmothers saggy pink couch and took off my Royal Elastic Edie Sedgewick limited addition shoe, the horror that was my foot, was revealed to me.

Notice my mother calmly reading as I gaze upon this horror.

Yes, I have hairy toes too. Well, sometimes.

So, yes. I sprained my ankle. I mean...I really sprained my ankle. My families answer was the right one: elevate, ice, compress, painkillers, and whiskey. God I love my boozer family. My Southern husband is paranoid about mixing pills and alcohol so he monitored my whiskey intake by drinking everything my step-father handed me.

My dismay

My foot on ice

I texted my gay bestie instantly because the Gay Easter Jesus celebration was the only thing on my mind. Was I going to be able to go? Would this foot weather San Francisco's hilly terrain?  Would I be able to see the Jesus'? Surely my vacation was ruined. God was having his revenge. My gay friend texted back; he did have crutches and that no matter what, Gay Easter Jesus would not be ruined. As I drifted unconscious due to the pain medication and Grandma's whiskey my faith in Easter had been restored.

Gimp Lesbian

The next morning I could not walk on my foot. Despite my mother's pleas and her need for a family Easter, I hobbled my way to Oakland to meet my gay bestie. We dyed eggs, had celebratory Easter drinks, and made our way to Delores Park to see the Jesus Competition. San Francisco and its hilly terrain did not bode well for me. Unbelievably I have never used crutches before. It was alarming to most people I passed. They stared at me questioning my decision making and laughed because I had rabbit ears on and was hopping up and down when the crutches became cumbersome. A gay couple passed by me and declared, "Look! It's a gimp lesbian!" I guess they thought it was a costume, because most people were wearing some sort of disguise. "Gimp Lesbian"? I'll take it.

So, despite my foot, I was able to have a fabulous time, although I wasn't able to get any pictures with the Jesus', I was able to store pictures in my memory that will last a lifetime. My gay bestie was supportive at first, but when he saw the impact my foot had on his fun, he immediately declared that I would do whatever he said. Not only would we go to the Jesus contest, but we would use my borrowed crutches to go out on the Castro. I could elaborate more about what it's like going to gay bars as a cripple, but I think this picture will suffice, and I am certain my mother is reading this and shaking her head for my blasphemous ways.

More on this foot tragedy later...stay tuned.