![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shesgottareadOn Friday afternoon, I was going to my car to go get lunch when I tripped and fell. Now normally when I fall (which I don't do often) it's just a quick "okay, get back up" event. This time, the pain in my ankle let me know I needed to proceed carefully.
Well, besides a skinned knee and sore wrist, my right ankle was hurting bad. I called the office and asked if we had any ace bandages, since I didn't feel like walking into a store to buy one. The drive-through for lunch was do-able, despite the nausea. Once I got back to the office, my coworkers were great, bringing me ice and a wrap and even lending me a cane. Thanks MB for that cane!
After spending most of the weekend with it wrapped, iced and up, it's feeling much better.
So what does one do about an ex who is a) your neighbor, b) a friend, c) an habitué of the same local gay bar and sometimes, d) a bit of an asshat?
Here's what happened: Due to the sprain, I couldn't really drive any more so had canceled my plans to go to Drag Bingo on Sat. night. Then I got a call from the ex offering to pick me up and take me to bingo. Also, a loan of crutches was on offer. Okay, that sounds fine. We get there and since my other friends weren't going, and I didn't really know any one else, I got to sit with the ex and the other trans-men. (Can I just say some of these guys were hot as women, and while I salute their acknowledgment of their inner truths, I mourn the loss of hot lesbians? Okay, some of them used to be straight women, but still...)
The evening progresses and the games go on when I get a bingo! (That was pretty amazing with my luck.) The ex took that opportunity to choose asshattery with a snarky comment about my sexuality. Sure, I don't know many of the people there, but hey, I don't need "she wishes" yelled to the entire bar. And now that I think on it, I'm pretty sure drunkenness must have been a contributing factor to this behavior, and I--having had a couple cocktails myself--rode home with the ex behind the wheel. That really pisses me off even more. There's a reason that I enjoy going to NYC, and that's the quick and easy availability of taxis when I want to have more than one cocktail. Otherwise, I'm usually the designated driver, and rarely have even the one cocktail.
Oh well, that's my rant for the quarter.
Well, besides a skinned knee and sore wrist, my right ankle was hurting bad. I called the office and asked if we had any ace bandages, since I didn't feel like walking into a store to buy one. The drive-through for lunch was do-able, despite the nausea. Once I got back to the office, my coworkers were great, bringing me ice and a wrap and even lending me a cane. Thanks MB for that cane!
After spending most of the weekend with it wrapped, iced and up, it's feeling much better.
So what does one do about an ex who is a) your neighbor, b) a friend, c) an habitué of the same local gay bar and sometimes, d) a bit of an asshat?
Here's what happened: Due to the sprain, I couldn't really drive any more so had canceled my plans to go to Drag Bingo on Sat. night. Then I got a call from the ex offering to pick me up and take me to bingo. Also, a loan of crutches was on offer. Okay, that sounds fine. We get there and since my other friends weren't going, and I didn't really know any one else, I got to sit with the ex and the other trans-men. (Can I just say some of these guys were hot as women, and while I salute their acknowledgment of their inner truths, I mourn the loss of hot lesbians? Okay, some of them used to be straight women, but still...)
The evening progresses and the games go on when I get a bingo! (That was pretty amazing with my luck.) The ex took that opportunity to choose asshattery with a snarky comment about my sexuality. Sure, I don't know many of the people there, but hey, I don't need "she wishes" yelled to the entire bar. And now that I think on it, I'm pretty sure drunkenness must have been a contributing factor to this behavior, and I--having had a couple cocktails myself--rode home with the ex behind the wheel. That really pisses me off even more. There's a reason that I enjoy going to NYC, and that's the quick and easy availability of taxis when I want to have more than one cocktail. Otherwise, I'm usually the designated driver, and rarely have even the one cocktail.
Oh well, that's my rant for the quarter.
