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Today I ventured out on an expedition with only the soft lace-up ankle brace. I did not fall down or hurt myself or anything else bad.
WIKTORY!
After stopping by the wake for a friend's father, we went over to Willy Street, where we met an Unexpected! Bonus! Friend!, which was excellent. And then I walked--yes, walked, without lurching like a drunk or falling down or going so slowly that passing tortoises were laughing--to Steve's Tattoo to get my captive bead earrings put back in.
I had to take them out for the surgery on my ankle, and I cannot for the life of me figure out how to get captive beads back in myself, so what with the mobility issues and the not-being-able-to-drive-myself issues--N.b., if you're going to break your ankle, for the love of little red fruitbats, don't break your driving ankle--this was the first chance I'd had. And since for some reason, regular earrings in those holes had been painful to lie on (v. bad when you're spending all day in bed), I'd left the earrings out.
And two of four, both on the left, had closed themselves back up.
Of course, I'd been leaving the earrings out of the other six holes, too, and none of them misbehaved in such a fashion, but go figure.
So I ended up sitting in Steve's for longer than I had anticipated (many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mirrorthaw for, once again, being patient), watching the tattooists go about their business and admiring the art and the bumper stickers on the walls. (My favorite is still MORE FUN THAN A HOT POKER UP THE ASS, because it's an Edward II reference for me, even if it isn't for them, and I have good memories of me and matociquala cracking the piercer up with our geektastic delight.) While sitting there, I figured out my next tattoo: once the swelling finally goes down, I want a dragon on my right ankle. Very possibly Smaug. Or Smaug, because say what you like about the Rankin-Bass Hobbit and I'll agree with you, I had that iron-on decal as a kid, and I wore the shirt until I literally could not cram my rack into it any longer. (I wore out Gollum and Gandalf, too, I think, but iirc did not care for the Rankin-Bass Bilbo.) And it is still a kick-ass dragon.
But that's a matter for when my ankle is functional again, and I have some money in the exchequer for frivolities. Which the way things are going, looks like sometime after they open an ice-rink in Hell.
Also, I don't know the band or the song they were playing, but the refrain, "Dr. Laura, who made you God?" cracked my shit up.
It turned out that I had remembered correctly: that top piercing in my cartilege hurts like a mad bastard. (The piercer was delighted with this phrase and vowed to use it.) And now my left ear is feeling very put upon and sorry for itself, to which I say, too damn bad.
But I do have my earrings back in, which is good because I was going to feel horribly naked at WFC without them.
ETA: Further WIKTORY: I have finished a draft of "Hollywood and Vine" and have printed it out and handed it to my husband. So there, neurotic pink circus poodle!
WIKTORY!
After stopping by the wake for a friend's father, we went over to Willy Street, where we met an Unexpected! Bonus! Friend!, which was excellent. And then I walked--yes, walked, without lurching like a drunk or falling down or going so slowly that passing tortoises were laughing--to Steve's Tattoo to get my captive bead earrings put back in.
I had to take them out for the surgery on my ankle, and I cannot for the life of me figure out how to get captive beads back in myself, so what with the mobility issues and the not-being-able-to-drive-myself issues--N.b., if you're going to break your ankle, for the love of little red fruitbats, don't break your driving ankle--this was the first chance I'd had. And since for some reason, regular earrings in those holes had been painful to lie on (v. bad when you're spending all day in bed), I'd left the earrings out.
And two of four, both on the left, had closed themselves back up.
Of course, I'd been leaving the earrings out of the other six holes, too, and none of them misbehaved in such a fashion, but go figure.
So I ended up sitting in Steve's for longer than I had anticipated (many thanks to
mirrorthaw for, once again, being patient), watching the tattooists go about their business and admiring the art and the bumper stickers on the walls. (My favorite is still MORE FUN THAN A HOT POKER UP THE ASS, because it's an Edward II reference for me, even if it isn't for them, and I have good memories of me and matociquala cracking the piercer up with our geektastic delight.) While sitting there, I figured out my next tattoo: once the swelling finally goes down, I want a dragon on my right ankle. Very possibly Smaug. Or Smaug, because say what you like about the Rankin-Bass Hobbit and I'll agree with you, I had that iron-on decal as a kid, and I wore the shirt until I literally could not cram my rack into it any longer. (I wore out Gollum and Gandalf, too, I think, but iirc did not care for the Rankin-Bass Bilbo.) And it is still a kick-ass dragon.But that's a matter for when my ankle is functional again, and I have some money in the exchequer for frivolities. Which the way things are going, looks like sometime after they open an ice-rink in Hell.
Also, I don't know the band or the song they were playing, but the refrain, "Dr. Laura, who made you God?" cracked my shit up.
It turned out that I had remembered correctly: that top piercing in my cartilege hurts like a mad bastard. (The piercer was delighted with this phrase and vowed to use it.) And now my left ear is feeling very put upon and sorry for itself, to which I say, too damn bad.
But I do have my earrings back in, which is good because I was going to feel horribly naked at WFC without them.
ETA: Further WIKTORY: I have finished a draft of "Hollywood and Vine" and have printed it out and handed it to my husband. So there, neurotic pink circus poodle!
