vaya con pance

warning: profanity ahead November 22, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — gogopance @ 1:11 pm

I’m told that babies are born perfect. Sure they come out covered in goo, screaming their heads off and with fingernails that can etch glass… but more/less perfect, right? I think when the doctor suctioned said goo out of my nose he sucked all of my natural-born perfection and patience with it.

Life with a broken foot requires a surplus of patience one can draw from when the congenital amount runs dry. And seein’ that I had very little to begin with, life with me ain’t so much fun lately.

I can’t drive. I can’t bike. I can’t hike. I can’t spin. I can’t walk long distances without my toes going numb. And last week the doctor told me *at least* four more weeks in the boot and then an indefinite amount of time in “stiff-soled” shoes. Whatever those are they sound sexy for sure. If I didn’t think it would’ve damaged my foot worse I would’ve kicked him. I settled for a good ol’ fashioned grown-up cry instead. I hope he felt uncomfortable.

Alas. Positive thinking, people!!

Things I’ve learned I CAN do well with a broken foot:

~ negatively judge able-bodied people for every moment they aren’t driving, biking, hiking, spinning or otherwise moving

~ irrationally go from zero to FRUSTRATED in 3.25 seconds flat

~ drink (OK. OK. This one’s the same when I have two working feet.)

~ come up with a different, embellished explanation each time someone asks me how it happened

~ panic and cry when thinking too much about “What if I’m never the same again!?!?”

~ feel guilty about every morsel that goes into my mouth (except alcohol, since it’s in this positive-things list) because I can’t burn it off

Hmm, come to think of it, all of the above is not unlike what I imagine the teetering emotional state of a pregnant woman might be. Minus the drinking bit of course. And those respected┬áladies are growing perfection inside of them. I sense a lesson here. Too bad I don’t quite have the patience to figure out what it is.


let’s go hoovering November 2, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — gogopance @ 4:18 pm

I sublet my apartment for the month of September and half of October while I was bobbing around in life outside of New York City (it does exist).

Tenant = a swell, young 21-year-old Frenchman who decided to take a year off of real life to globe trot. His first stop was my fine neighborhood of Greenpoint, Brooklyn. We exchanged a few friendly emails to set up the logistics of money exchange and when/how/where to relinquish the keys to the kingdom, but other than that I knew very little about him.

He texted me once while I was somewhere in the middle of Colorado:

“Is it okay if I hoover in your apartment in the middle of the day? I don’t want to bother your neighbors.”

Hmmm. Hoover. Hoover? No, please don’t hoover in my apartment. Uh, why would you even ask that!?! EW. Oh wait. HOOVER. Ahhhh, those Europeans. They don’t vacuum, they hoover.

“Yes, thank you for asking. Hoover away.”

When I returned my apartment was cleaner than *I* have ever kept it so I guess he hoovered thoroughly and often. I also had a lovely hand-written letter on my counter thanking me profusely for being so “kind with him.” He joined a softball league while he was here (how very when-in-Rome of him) and noted how much he LOVES Americans, that we’re so much friendlier than his “nasty French compatriots.” He proclaimed, “I am considering leaving Paris and moving to the States.”

Fresh from the mouth of babes. Success.

He also left me a kitchen full of food. When I was a Wee Pance my parents yelled at me every night to clean my plate which was naturally piled high with detestable green things. My argument against eating them – so wise beyond my years – was “Everybody has their OWN FOOD!” You can tell a lot about a person by their food. Nothing too outrageous in Julien’s stockpile, but I now picture him wanting to matter-of-factly answer back to me, “Yeah. Well. Everybody has their OWN HOOVER!”