In the year of 2005, I broke up with my boyfriend for about 3 months in the fall before getting back together with him in January of 2006. While we were still, you know, doin' it, I was still open to meeting someone else. Kind of. (this is a long one)
One night in September, September 10th to be exact (I'm like Rainman when it comes to dates), I met up with my friends Ria and Chris at a bar on the UES after their engagement party for their wedding party. I remember it was the same day Ohio State was playing Texas, so there were a lot of Ohio State fans in the bar I was at. Me being the loyal Hawkeye fan that I was, cheered for Texas to win (
now isn't that ironic). After a few beers, I progressively got louder which is normally the case
when I drink every day of my life.
At one point I noticed two guys standing between me and the tv, one wearing an orange shirt, the other a navy shirt. While I was screaming at the tv, the guy in the orange shirt approached me.
Let me just put this out there that I am horrible with names. I usually have to ask someone about 80 times what their name is before I can remember it.
So the guy in the orange shirt tells me his name. He is quite good looking. I am rather impressed with myself that someone this good looking has approached me. He introduces me to his cousin, who is wearing the navy shirt. However, since I immediately forgot both of their names after they told them to me, I referred to them as "Orange" and "Navy" for the rest of the night.
"Orange" was definitely better looking, but seemed to be hitting on everything with a pulse in the bar. So I began talking to "Navy" who from what I remember was ok, nothing special. As I drank more, he seemed to get really cool....imagine that! "Orange" had the idea to go to another bar, so I yelled to my friends, "Don't worry! I promise I'll try not to get raped!" (yeah, I know). We arrived at another bar with two other chicks who were really really busted. Hmmmm, and I'm with them too. Not a good sign for me.
After a few swing dances with "Navy", and yes, I was that girl, we decided to go to a gay piano bar on the UES. I don't remember too much at this point except that the bar was awesome (if anyone knows what bar I was at, could you let me know? Thanks). Finally at like 3am, we head to another bar on the UES. Me and "Navy" are sitting at the bar enjoying some Guinnesses when all of a sudden I get a text message from "Orange": "where u at?". Now keep in mind I clearly was "Navy's" girl for the night. "Navy" grabs my phone and texts back: "waiting for you, big stud". Fucking great. "Orange" eventually figures out he is speaking to his cousin, but still decides to meet us at the bar anyways.
So the three of us are sitting there, chatting away. "Navy" excuses himself to go to the bathroom. "Orange" then proceeds to try and kiss me while taking my hand and putting it on his crotch. Yeah, seriously. Guys do that. Of course, being the respectable woman that I am, I push him away. "Navy" comes back upstairs and is none the wiser. Finally "Orange" leaves, and I'm sitting with "Navy" alone. All night he has been telling me about how much he loves to play piano. Being that I was still on a Chris Martin high from seeing Coldplay in Berlin the summer before, and the fact that guys who can play piano are hhhoooott, I told him that I wanted to hear him play. Of course, that meant I had to go back to his apartment. I wasn't going to hook up beyond just kissing the guy, but I legitimately wanted to hear him play the piano. So before we went upstairs I had to say, "you know I'm not going to hook up with you, right?". Of course he nodded, but I'll be damned if he wasn't thinking, "I put all this effort into getting this girl drunk, and now I gotta play the piano? I just want her to shutup and put out."
He agreed to be a gentleman, and then I proceeded to run up the stairs of his apartment building. That's when it happened. A moment that has forever changed my life. I tripped running up the stairs.
I was wearing flip flops, so I can't blame it on heels. No, the real reason I tripped is because I was a belligerent, drunk asshole. As I tripped, the outside of my foot slammed into the corner of the stair causing me brief, but still excrutiating pain. "Navy" begins to laugh, "You ok?". Yes of course I am. MAKE ME A BICYCLE, CLOWN!
A couple minutes later, I was sitting in his apartment listening to him drunkenly play piano. He was good! All of a sudden I decided I wanted to pass out in my bed. So I left. On the cab ride home, I get this text message: "Want to go to brunch tomorrow?"
Not from "Navy", from "Orange". Clearly this guy has not heard the term "bros before ho's". But whatever, I'm all about free food. So I agree to go. He calls me in the morning. While on the phone, I attempt to stand up and go to the bathroom.
I feel what is probably the worst pain I have ever felt in my life. I look down at my foot which is swollen to the approximate size of Nicaragua, and is completely bruised.
"Dude," I say, "I gotta go to the hospital"
"I'll take you," he replies.
Now at this point, a smart girl would realize this guy was kind of a slime ball for trying to hit on the same girl his cousin was trying to hit on, but I really needed someone to take me to the hospital since I could not walk (plus I didn't really feel like explaining this entire story at 10am). I had no idea if any friends were available, so I agreed to let him take me. And yes, I did tell him how I broke my foot and who I was with. He sat with me for a couple hours, which was nice. Eventually he got tired of hanging around with the crazies (no, not me). Anyone who has ever been to the emergency in New York knows that it is a virtual clusterfuck of wackjobs and drunken injuries. After about 6 hours, I get the news that my 5th metatarsal is broken, and I get fitted for crutches and a cast.
I only had to use the crutches for about 2 weeks, but let me tell you that those two weeks were the most miserable of my life. The thought of having to use crutches is almost enough for me to quit drinking, stop making out with guys in navy shirts, and stop falling. Almost. And let me tell you, from my short experience as a cripple, the handicapped are not treated well in this city. People would steal cabs from me and not hold doors open after they walk through them for me. No joke!
So I never heard from "Navy" again. And what happened with "Orange"? Well, there were a few things wrong with him that made me never want to speak to him again:
- He wore his cell phone on his hip.
- He was too touchy feely in the hospital. Clearly he didn't comprehend that I was just using him to walk.
- He would talk to me all the time about how hot his ex-girlfriend was and how much he missed her. Then when I was unresponsive, he would send me texts like, "I'm going to throw myself in front of a bus." DELETE! DELETE! DELETE!
So that's the story of how I ended up breaking my foot. It's one to tell the grandkids, I know. But come on, how many people you know kiss two cousins, break their foot, and still keep on drinking all in the same night? Get down girl, go 'head get down!
