I badly sprained my ankle last night wearing 6” heels. Shoeicide! That’s two falls in two weeks. My coccyx still hurts a ton. My new plan is to only wear heels in bed. I ate sidewalk walking to long lost red panties guy (Uber didn’t exactly drop me off in front of his place). He’d come outside to greet me, ran down the block and scooped me up, which was very nice.
This morning I went to see my doctor. She thought it could be fractured and sent me to get an X-ray. The hospital is a two-minute walk from my doctor’s office. I dragged my swollen purple foot behind me as it started to rain. Berkeley passersby took pity on me. I guy who said he drove for Uber stopped and offered me a free ride. I declined. Then a woman came up and grabbed my arm and helped me hobble.
The woman’s name is Denah Bookstein. She was on her way to teach a memoir class to Holocaust survivors. She entertained me with her stories about her younger self, navigating the subway in heels She said that heels were much shorter back then. When we got close to the entrance she got a wheelchair and wiped off the rainwater pooled on the seat with her hand. She wheeled me all the way down to the X-ray department in the basement and gave me her contact info so I could contact her and let her know I was OK. What an amazingly nice woman. I’m so lucky to live in Berkeley with amazingly nice people!
Extremely painful ankle sprain silver lining story brought to you by Berkeley, California. You should move here.
I get rejected all the time. AAALLL the time! If you put yourself out there, you’re going to eat dirt again and again. I was recently told that I was too old to date. Hahaha, at least he was honest, at least he said something. Weeks ago I was ghosted. I dated someone who stopped communicating with me permanently, shortly after he came in my mouth. No, it wasn’t a one-night stand. I’m still struggling with processing what happened. The experience really hurt me.
I’ve tried to talk about it with friends but it’s never happened to any of them. I’ll hear sympathetic stories in which the guy fades out but eventually texts something about not wanting a relationship. This is not the same. Being ghosted is a whole other level of gut wrenching.
I texted him, I emailed, I called. I left him alone for a week. I got really drunk and texted him, emailed, and called again thus humiliating myself. I left him alone for another week. I emailed one more time with well wishes and asked him very nicely to mail the earrings (they were a gift); I’d taken off in order to better suck his dick and accidentally left behind. Now I’m writing about it.
I already feel easy to abandon. It’s a childhood thing. I feel confused. I feel like he came on pretty strong and then I came on pretty strong and then instead of talking about it, he just bailed because it was easier. I feel like he thinks I’m the belly button muck from the vilest swamp thing or that he hates me more than mayonnaise. No matter what I do, I can’t feel angry with him. He’s an attractive smart talented normal person so I must deserve it?
All the advice on the Internet is bullshit. I don’t sit home and wallow. I exercise. I have a very full and happy life. I’m a positive person. I even like someone else. Much like my busted coccyx (don’t dance in 4 inch heels if you’re as clumsy as me), this pain is lingering. Some days are much worse than others. Someday I’ll heal.
I haven’t been dancing IN YEARS. My friend L told me at WeWork’s new member brunch yesterday (hey croissant breakfast sandwiches) that she wanted to go. I was intrigued. Nobody seemed to know where to go dancing outside of San Francisco. I remembered that my friend N likes to go dancing and gave her a call. She was in.
She chose Era Art Bar and Lounge in Oakland’s Uptown. I decided that dancing was an occasion for kohl eye makeup (fail) and my highest heels. I love being 5’11”(success, then later fail). N responsibly drove us there in the rain. We picked up her fucking amazing sister T and got a spot right in front of the club! I believe that good parking comes from returning your shopping cart at the grocery store to the corral in front of the store (not the lot corral and definitely not wedged between spots or worse).
We first went for drinks at a new place called Small Wonder, formerly the Loring Cafe. T said it looked like different people had decorated different parts of the bar. We were in a quiet corner on vintage couches kind of crammed in next to a big round vintage wood table with mismatched everything (chairs, plates, napkin rings etc.). The bartender was very talented. N and T had sidecars (he gave us the extra in a couple of small glasses) and L and I had the signature cocktail. My friend S (the hottest person in the Coast Guard), L’s new dude person, and his random (at first I thought he had just come over to hit on S) friend joined us.
Era was super cozy and the DJ was great. I woohooed when he played Rihanna’s Work. I danced. I thought I couldn’t dance. There wasn’t much room to move so I swayed about sexily. It was very ambitious of me to try this in very high heels. At one point I fell on my ass. My friends know that despite growing up a jock, I’m terribly uncoordinated. T took me upstairs and convinced me that everyone could care less that I fell. Then we got back to it and danced until the lights came on.
I had a lot of fun. Nobody touched me inappropriately. Nobody kept trying to hit on me after I ignored him the first time. I met a lot of N and T’s amazing friends. I saw my friend K and her boyfriend briefly on the dance floor. Someone bought me a glass of champagne. My friend’s shared their water with me. I used to be too something for dancing. Judgmental? Grumpy? Fucking afraid? In fact, if I guy mentions dancing on their Bumble profile I usually swipe left. Other than my sore tailbone today, it was great! It feels so good to be a positive fearless yes sayer. Always swipe right on dancing.