Second Opinion Time

So, before I commit myself to being hacked open and forced into a brace, I'm getting a second opinion. My blind hope is that the 2nd opinion dude will tell me that my knee has magically healed itself and no brace is necessary, however a trip to Napa is. That can totally happen, right?

The more I think about it, the more a brace seems like a better option that scars and surgery. Here's why: I live in a walk up, am clumsy and have cats that like to chase my feet. Sexy, I know. I'm thinking I may delay it a year or two so that I can move to some place without stairs. If I'm still in the same place then I will have redirected the moving energy to teaching my cats how to mix a proper drink, so that will make up for it.

Seems like a good plan, right? I think so.

All Knee, All The Time

So San Francisco was awesome. Seriously. We drank, we ate, we laughed, we did a photoshoot with a horsehead lamp. You really can't beat that. I will in fact write more about it in the next day or so.

However, this morning I got up early and went to the surgeon. Apparently I have two options for my knee. Wear a super sexy leg brace for the rest of my life OR have surgery. And not the surgery they would do on any other person with the same problem that I have. Oh no. You see, I am a freak of nature. I am hyper bendy (and yet I'm single, explain that one to me). Therefore, the surgery which would mostly be on my muscles would require a six month recovery time. Six. Motherfucking. Months. One of which I'll be in a hip to toe leg brace. Then, each week they'll bend the leg brace one more inch. Whee! Then I get to have more super duper awesome physical therapy.

Yay!

And this is why I drink.

So the question becomes this: Do I attempt to just get really, really in shape, wear a knee brace at all times (big one over the jeans when I'm out and about, smaller one under the jeans when I'm just at home with los gatos). OR. Severe ouch but my knee will never pop out again which means I won't fall down and go boom.

Thoughts, internet? I leave most of my important decisions of my life up to strangers. And coin flips. I'm nothing if not logical.

Nerding it Up

So tomorrow I'm getting on a plane to San Francisco with Liz and Ava to go to a TweetUp. In case you are not an internet nerd like me that essentially means a bunch of strangers from Twitter are all meeting up in a bar and then ignoring each other while we post mildly witty (me) or hilariously amazing (all others) 140 character comments via our smart phones.

Liz is very in to Twitter and she's quite good at it. How she talked me into it went like this: get up on Christmas morning, open presents, drink too much champagne, ask if I want to go to San Francisco. I'm a hard sell, internet.

When telling Ava of our upcoming trip she reminded me that this weekend is the one year anniversary of the passing of our dear, dear friend Adam. Obviously we need to be together for this. Ergo, she's now coming with. We will drink, we will meet strangers from the internet in a non dating capacity and we will toast Adam again and again. We will also cry, but it's ok, it's raining in San Francisco so no one will notice. I miss Adam every damn day and I feel he would approve of this plan and somewhere he's laughing at the absurdity that is my life.

(I will inevitably be tweeting from SF so if you are bored and on the internet, this is me: www.twitter.com/ODDTwitter )

Hodgepodge

- I met someone on New Years Eve. To quote Liz he had more red flags than the Beijing Olympics, and truthfully he did. However, he was also very, very cute. As such we spent a few days holed up in my apartment, you know, discussing literature. The whole thing went on a few weeks but on Saturday night I pulled the plug. Sunday I moped and that was that. He still remains very, very cute, but China ran out of flags and thus I ran for the hills.

- Ava and I have discovered a wonderful tapas place that we go to on Monday nights post tango. The waitress there is adorable and we made friends with her. When driving there yesterday (having skipped tango as well, we wanted extra time with sangria) I asked Ava the waitresses name. Ava shrugged and said 'I'm horrible with names, I get so excited about saying 'Hi! I'm Ava!' that I don't really pay attention to what they're saying.' And this is why I love her.

- I may have proposed to a restaurant last night. That's how good these tapas are. Seriously, they are the only things that get me through Mondays. Also, we relearned the waitresses name and thanks to her I have discovered that I like sherry, and am now officially one step closer to being an old man. I think it's time to get a smoking jacket and just call it a day. Also, because of this I have 'Oh Sherry' by Journey stuck in my head. I've decided that if someone asks me a question I'll just start singing that until they leave.

- Last night I slept in 15 minute intervals. Today I'm super pleasant to be around and wide awake. OR trying to figure out how to shoot lasers out of my eyes and wearing slippers in the office. You choose which one is true. It's like those Choose Your Own Adventure books except significantly more boring.

- I think all weekends should be 3 days long. Someone should get on this, post haste. I nominate Chuck.

Wicked Smart

So sometimes I'm an idiot. Like a big, raving idiot who does stupid things and then posts about them on the internet so I can be all 'see, I'm lucky I don't have to wear a helmet'. Last night I proved this yet again.

Yesterday I had a crappy day. It started with my physical therapist gnawing off my leg and leaving bruises on me and ended with a waiter dumping a bowl of gravy in my lap. I was due to go to improv class but I was A) limping and B) smelled like Thanksgiving so I decided to pass. Ava was also having The Day From Hell so we decided that she would come over and I would make us some dinner. Part of said dinner would the inaugural run of my fancy new ice cream maker, a Christmas gift from Liz.

I stopped at the store and bought all of the ingredients for Bailey's ice cream, easily the best sounding frozen treat in the history of man kind. I went home, mixed up a batch, threw the machine together and hit start. It's one of these fancy no need for ice or salt machines. I figured it made the ice cream by magic or like really small frozen elves that live inside the machine. After 30 minutes I checked, expecting to see the finished product. What I found instead was well stirred Bailey's milk. It was then that I decided to read the directions for the machine.

Yeah.

Apparently there are no such things as tiny frozen elves. Instead you need to freeze the bowl for like 22 hours. That's what makes the cream all frozen and whatnot. Logical, right? And thus for dinner last night I served Hershey's kisses and Bailey's cream in glasses. I'm an awesome hostess.

The Dance of Love

So, I started tango lessons last night. Apparently I thought it would be a super wise idea to do these lessons when I'm in a leg brace. You know, to add that extra element of sex appeal. I know what makes men hot under the collar. (hint: braces, talk of babies, pictures of my cats)

Anyway, I signed up for the class with my friends and for some reason in my head I would be dancing alone. I even said that to my friends when they asked if we would end up dancing with others. No, I insisted, we would be dancing alone just learning the steps. Cut to an hour into class and there is Ava, nestled in my chest as we tango across the floor. Apparently I am the dude in this relationship and also, I'm a very strong leader. Per her, I was the most masculine dancer in the class. What can I say? I lead my bitches with a firm hand.

Yeah. I think it's time to find a boyfriend. Or have prop 8 voted out so I can marry Ava.

Guns and Ammo

On Saturday I took Ava shooting for her belated Christmas present. She'd never shot a gun before so was a wee bit nervous (read: shaking). That lasted for about oh, 3 bullets. Then she was jumping up and down like a kid cracked out on cake. It was then that she decided that we should befriend the marines with assault rifles next to us.

Yep. The main one of which was clad in Ed Hardy, chewing tobacco and named Flod. Internet, you can not make this shit up.

Flod jumped at the chance to let two blonde girls with cameras shoot his crazy large and crazy expensive guns. And shoot we did. Dudes, if you get a chance to A) meet someone named Flod and B) shoot an assault rifle DO IT. It makes you feel like Rambo. I was seriously about a minute away from attempting to kick down doors and/or headbutting someone. Then I remembered that I bruise when someone looks at me too hard and so I put the gun down and went out for mimosas. However, that happened after I had this conversation:

Me: (shooting gun, bullet casing flies off and hits me in the cheek,leaving a streak)

Ava: Oh no! Here! Let me help. (she then spits on her finger and before I can stop her, wipes off the residue.

Me: Did you just mom spit bullet residue off my face?

Ava: I did. I also think that's probably the first time that sentence has ever been spoken.

Me: It's official, we're too close.

And then I cut my finger and left blood on the gun. BECAUSE I'M A BADASS. Or clumsy, whichever.

I Have Logical and Reasonable Goals

Yesterday I was IM'ing with Sera. I was in a mood because I had to again get up and put on pants. It's a wonder I have friends. This was our conversation:

Me: I want to move to France.

Her: It's very pretty there.

Me: Yes, and they have all of the bread and cheese.

Her: They also have great health care and 7 to 8 weeks of vacation a year.

Me: Yeah.... mostly going for the bread and cheese.

Her: What would you do there?

Me: Queen of France.

Her: You could probably find a job in your current field very easily.

Me: Or be Queen of France.

Her: You don't speak French.

Me: I do too! I can order a Diet Coke, ask where the bathroom is and say "I'm a lawyer".

Her: You're not a lawyer.

Me: Maybe I will be when I'm Queen of France.

Shockingly it was then that she needed to take a cigarette break.

Reality

Dudes, real life sucks. For the last 2.5 weeks I've been on vacation. I have slept in, then napped, and then made out with boys. AND IT WAS AWESOME.

Yesterday I had to wake up to an alarm and put on pants. Oh the horrors of having to put on pants. I then had to go fight traffic, go to an office, and pretend to be an adult. Being an adult sucks. For the last 16 days I was an awesome adult, however. I mixed my orange juice with champagne and had fudge for breakfast. I stayed out until 6AM and danced barefoot in bars. I also accidentally broke a sink off of a bathroom wall while doing a photoshoot. YEP. That totally actually happened.

But now I have to be responsible and all professional. I am however trying to ease back into that though. Because yesterday even though I had put on pants and was sitting upright at a desk I made my assistant come in to photograph my hickies.

I like 2010.