My foot hurts. A lot. Perhaps I shouldn't have danced for two straight hours last night. Hmm...
Hindsight's a bitch.
I'll stop babbling and get on with the third part of my Chicago story.
Tuesday, I was reunited with Joe. It was tearful, it was happy, it was joyous.
I also bid adieu to Brett for the night because he hopped a train to Notre Dame to visit a friend that's there for the summer. This left me and Joe to tear up the city.
Around 6 pm we headed to Navy Pier. I was completely excited because I'd only been there during the winter--it sucks during the winter. I'd heard it's absolutely enchanting during the summer.
I'd heard right. The ferris wheel clawed it's way to the clouds, kids clambered to the merry-go-round and everyone looked happy. It was a little surreal because it was so perfect.
My group (me, Joe, Ed--Joe's friend--and Jason--a friend of Eds) decided to ride the Ferris Wheel. By the time we got our tickets it was dusk. It was gorgeous. The sky was purple and pink storm clouds streaked the sky (they'd missed us--yay!). The city lights were lit up.
It was absolutely amazing.
The ferris wheel ride was really slow, so the people riding it could get a great view of the city. And it went up so high that I could almost see the entire city.
The ride was about ten minutes long. It was a happy ten minutes. We joked and laughed and snapped pictures the entire time.
I was beyond enchanted: I was in Chicago with one of my best friends, I had an amazing view of the city and I was on the verge of seeing one of idols in about twenty-four hours.
Life was (is) good.
Since the wheel went so slowly, it didn't stop to let the people out of the carts. (There were carts, so four people could ride together instead of the traditional two.) As it was nearing my cart's turn to depart, I panicked. I am ungraceful. I am accident-prone. I was certain that no good could come from this.
Then I saw the cart before us get off. There were little kids practically vaulting out of the cart, no sweat. If little seven-year-olds could do it, I certainly could.
I was the last one to get off from my cart. As I was stepping off, I made a joke about how ungraceful I was and how surprised I was that I hadn't injured myself.
I spoke too soon.
About a nanosecond after I closed my mouth, my left foot caught the two inch ledge and my ankle twisted. My right knee banged the cement next to the ferris wheel, followed closely by the rest of my body.
My first instinct was to laugh because this was so typical of me.
Except I couldn't laugh because my left ankle hurt too damn bad. And my knee was throbbing.
Joe turned around and immediately turned on the drama queen routine. "Krissy! Krissyyy! OHMYGAAAWD AREYOUOK?!? Oh gaaawd." He made it sound like my intestines were spilled on the ground instead of my body.
I was immediately flanked by three gay men and four Navy Pier workers. The workers obviously had no clue what to do besides ask me if I was ok. They all had panicked looks on their faces that said "oh shit, we should have paid attention during emergency procedure day in orientation."
The gay men were freaking out. The workers were no help. I was the only one that was calm, even though I was in more pain than I'd been in in my entire life. This fact amused me and I started laughing. It's all I could do. Besides, if I didn't laugh I'd bawl.
I ended up sitting on the sidewalk beside the wheel for about twenty minutes. I was the sideshow, where people either secretly laughed at my klutziness or shot me looks of sympathy that really said "thank god it didn't happen to me."
After I managed to get over to a bench, a kick ass paramedic looked over my ankle to make sure I wouldn't die. The guy was the coolest guy I'd ever met: mid-60s, hilarious, down-to-earth, easy demeanor. It was awesome. He made me laugh as I was about to start crying.
The diagnosis was a mild sprain. He told me to ice it and stay off it as much as possible.
When I realized that I'd really hurt myself, I was shaken. I was a vulnerable mess for the rest of the night. I had to hobble around the city to the trolley, to the restaurant, down the subway tunnels--it sucked. And nobody had aspirin or any other type of drugs to make me happy. My ankle swelled to the size of a small cantolope. And my emotions--oh. My. God.
I'd burst into tears if someone looked at me weird (which many people were since I had a charming gimp-limp). I cried when the 'medic told me that I had a good friend in Joe. (Major props to him--he is an amazing friend. He was never more than six inches from my side that entire night.) And I howled when I saw a couple kissing on a park bench by the lake. ("I waaa-aant someone to maaaa-aaake ou-oouuut wii-iiith!!!)
I was so pathetic.
And needless to say, I didn't get to go bar-hopping in Boystown. That fact totally pissed me off because that was one of the things I'd been looking forward to. Instead I shacked up in Joe's hotel bed, iced my ankle and zonked out during Seinfeld.
Only I, Krissy P., could turn a ferris wheel ride into a near emergency room experience. I am so good.
Nearly a week after this charming experience, my knee hurts worse than my ankle. The ankle's still a bit soar--actually really soar today due to dancing--and a little swollen. (I can't wear any shoes besides flip flops because of the stupid swelling.) My knee. Wow. It's about nine different colors and has two nasty scabs. It's a motherbitch. As Katie Geiter said last night: it's hot--I should show it off because it looks so nasty.
At least it's a unique souvenier, right?
Ciao dahling!
~*Krissy*~
Livin' Out My RockStar Fantasy To: Disney Channel
Crush du Jour:
Happy Thought of the Moment: still the entire of the Chicago vacay.