Tuesday, November 29, 2011

DJ broken finger

I met this guy at another showroom party, one that for some reason had hooked a few engineers and skewed the average amount of men at one of those types of parties.  Straight men at that!  To make matters even more interesting, the furniture showroom invited a DJ to man the mac and play some tunes to get people to dance.  We all love to dance.
In fact, those engineers turned out to be 1 in 3 single and not dancers.  However, the DJ was into me.  He was bad news, Andres was there to meet him and determined this.  But I agreed to go out on a date with him and we had some major chemistry, even if it bothered him that I was 6 years younger.
He was from DC originally, and had a gig there for a long weekend.  I had a feeling I would never see him again after that, mainly because although we were having a great time, riding bikes around and going to beginning-of-summer bbq's... something felt like my time was up.
"I'm back!" he exclaimed.  I was running out to get some beers around the corner from Brynne's and had missed his call on the bike ride to her apartment.  He'd texted me once or twice, both seeming like mass-texts to everyone back in NY, and only the first one did I respond to.
"I can't wait for those elbows," he said.  Yes, my incredible massage trick was to dig my pointy, bony elbows into the back and shoulders of anyone.  My hands weren't nearly strong enough, but those elbows...  So he did want to see me again.
"And the sex, wow!  Let's get together," he said.  "Tomorrow?  I'll get us on the list to a show at Union Pool. In the back room."
"I thought you didn't like it when I bit you," I said.  He had been covering my mouth, evidently I was being too loud.
Union Pool, the back room.  I hadn't been there as much as ever before since I met him and his apartment was within walking distance.  I can't say it was my favorite place to go, way too hipster for me.  But I agreed, and when I got back to Brynne's it was shocking to have such news.
"He's bad news!" was all Andres could say.
I showed up at the DJ's place after work on Friday, with an extra bag full of random stuff, not necessarily to stay over at his place but more because I'm a packrat and needed some stuff for the weekend that had been stashed at the office. Naturally, the party doesn't start until at least 9 or 10, so we hang out for awhile, drink a little, smoke a little.  Catch up on his crazy weekend.
We go to the bar, meet up with some of his friends, get wristbands into the back room.  We get some tacos from the taco truck in the courtyard.  The night is turning into a pretty typical night for us, where we drink too much and he gets outrageous with his friends and I just hang around looking pretty.
However, at Union Pool's back room, there is no shortage of guys, and everyone's dancing and I love to dance.  Before I know it, one of his (female) "best friends" showed up, all distraught and slightly drunk because she'd just broken up with her boyfriend of so so many years.  At this point, it's pretty clear that I'm on my own, even if I have been seeing this guy for 2 months.
So I dance with other guys.  There's one in particular who's rather aggressive.  He's strong and it's difficult to dance with him because I have to just let go and be tossed around.  Until I realize that I'm hurting, that my finger feels funny.  I stop, escape him to find the DJ and his friend.  I look at my hand, make a fist. The ring finger of my right hand unnaturally crosses over my middle finger, over my pointer.  It's not normal.  It's got to be broken.
"Stop doing that," said the DJ.  I passed out. Twice.  I'm not ok, I can tell that this is going to be a problem.  My finger is obviously broken, and although it isn't hurting too much and there's no blood or anything, I have to get out of here.  I'm drunk, but I leave the bar and go around the corner to the first bodega I find, the one on Metropolitan right outside of the train station.  It's raining now.
"Do you have any medical tape?" I ask.  There is a guy in the store, fascinated by me.  I seem pretty ok except for when I show him my fist, with my finger in the wrong place.  He attempts to "set it" and twist it back into place.  Nothing's working. I had tried that.
"How about some advil?" I said, assuming that if anything, the swelling would start soon, and pain.  The bodega guy gave me a couple packets, and a length of clear tape.  You know, the tape they use at the end of wrapping up a sandwich.  This stranger tapes my finger to my other finger.
I left the bodega (after getting that guy's card) and head back to the bar.  The bar is closing, and they won't let me in.  The DJ is not answering his phone.  I can only imagine that he's gone back to his apartment.  Presumably with his friend, to hook up? I wouldn't put it past him.  I walk under the BQE to his apartment and buzz and buzz until he responds via text.
"You can get whatever you left tomorrow."
I buzz and buzz until he finally lets me in.  I go upstairs, they are both trashed, I grab my things, exchange a few choice words and leave.
I hail a cab and get home.
"You think your night was bad? My finger's broken," I texted a good friend who I'd been text-commiserating with all evening.  He'd been on a bad date.  He called me the next morning and showed up in his roommie's car to take me to the ER at Methodist in Park Slope.  We were laughing the whole time, even if at first his face went white when he saw the swollen finger, it's dislocation, and the greenish bruise to my palm and wrist.
X-rays proved that it was a complex fracture with rotational complication.  Or something.  Basically, someone had taken my finger and twisted, then when it broke they'd kept twisting.  Then the tendons in my finger wouldn't let it go back.  I'd be having 3 pins surgically inserted to put it back on Thursday.  Happy mother's day weekend!

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