Alright, so, where did I leave off? With the creepy assistant at the doctor's office iodine-ing my butt in order to prep me for a shot of novocaine to the rump to numb everything up to see if I had any ability to move my leg after the pain subsided? And I still couldn't do it? Yeah, that sounds about right. So, I went back to the doctor the following day to have him let me know the results of my MRI. It was just as he suspected. I've managed to tear my three hamstrings tendons (the semitendinosus, the semimembranosus and the biceps femoris) off of my pelvic bone where they come together and are anchored right under my butt. Diagram below:



So, basically, I don't have any working muscle on the back of my left leg. I went to an orthopaedic surgeon yesterday and he confirmed what the 1985 National Spelling Bee Champion saw on the MRI: a big mass of fluid and detached muscle (ughhh), which obviously isn't just going to reconnect itself. I could let it scar over and then have physical therapy to regain some range of motion or I could have surgery to reconnect the tendons to my pelvis, which is what I'm opting for. I'm not entirely sure how this happens, something with roughening up the bone (UGHHH) and sutures and dissolvable screws. And a 3-4 inch scar from my butt down. And then 4-6 weeks of crutching around and then a buttload (get it?! BUTTload?!) of physical therapy. All in all, incredibly sexy. This should all be going down a week from today if they can secure an operating room. I don't think it's really set in that I'm going to be heavily drugged and cut into and am having a fairly major operation of a "pretty rare" injury. I just want it to be fixed. Seriously, I just want to be able to move normally and not have to put my underwear on like an old person and dance to bad remixes at over-crowded bars and be able to dodge speeding cabs while crossing the street. Anyway, send me some good thoughts (and puppies and candy) because I'm going to be really loopy and out of it and probably crying because of both the general anesthesia (it makes me emo) and the fact that I quite literally have a pain in the ass.

In other news, I'm dating a cool dude and we eat Cheerios in bed at two in the morning and I'm happy. Let's see if he can survive post-surgery Anna. Fingers crossed.

Things I've done today: gotten a shot of novocaine in my butt, had a mri, eaten a canister of pringles.

I went to the doctor this morning. You know, to see the 1985 National Spelling Bee Champion. He's a really cool dude and I like him a lot (well, until he tells me they need to amputate), so I'm glad my google searching led me to him. He has this like, assistant person? I thought he was a nurse, but now I think he might be a medical student or an intern or something because the doctor would ask him things like "So what do you think we should do next?", quizzing him and stuff. Anyway, he (assistant person) was really friendly with me, flirty-ish friendly, which was nice (though sort of uncomfortable because I was so not attracted to him) because it made me not so nervous about the fact that my ass muscles might be completely detached from the bone, but also weird because then they had to give me a shot of novocaine in the ass (to numb me up to see if the reason I can't move my leg is because I'm in too much pain, which would be rectified by the novocaine) and he had to like, prep my butt with iodine. So he like, moves my underwear to my crack (ughhh) and then starts like, cleaning my butt cheek with iodine. As Stacie said, "Only you, Anna, only you." So then they gave me about 5 giant shots and HOLY SHIT I had no idea shots in your butt hurt so much!! Anyway, I still couldn't move my leg in the way they wanted me to, which is a bad sign. Then I had a MRI. Longest 20 minutes of my life. It's like, here, lie in this tube and we're going to have a bunch of loud magnets that sound like a bad techno remix bang around your body. I mean, that's annoying in itself, but whatever. I've had an MRI before, but that was when I was a poor college student and let people look at my brain and shit for money and free food. This time was awful because I had to lie perfectly still on my broken butt muscles while they're twitching and aching and throbbing. Hot, I know.

Anyway, I go back to El Doctor tomorrow afternoon and they'll tell me how bad it is. He says it's rare that I'll need surgery, but I'm already thinking the worst. I was supposed to go back on Tuesday and they just called me to tell me to come in tomorrow instead, so I'm automatically assuming it's because my butt is being held together by Pringles fat and iodine stained granny panties alone and they need to get me on an operating table STAT. Oh, and I start physical therapy tomorrow.

Long story short: I'm an idiot.

Ugh, so, Jenny's bachelorette party was on Saturday and it was surprisingly fun! The scrapbooking portion of the night was kept to a minimum and the fun was at a maximum. I busted out some Whitney Houston at the Karaoke Kid and came in second place in a fishbowl race (not my proudest moment). But then we went back to the house we were all staying at and we started having a dance party and I decided it was time to do a kick line. So I'm doing my high kicks and decided it would be really great to go into the splits from a high kick like I used to do. You know, like I used to do OVER A DECADE AGO. Jesus Christ. Anyway, I did some serious damage to... something. Upper hamstring? Gluteus maximus? Minimus? Medius? Everyone has a different opinion. All I know is that I can't walk. I just drag my leg behind me like something out of a horror movie. This dragging gimpish motion, in turn, has screwed up my back and my other leg by trying to compensate. Basically, I'm a giant mess. Oh, and I dread peeing because the toilet seat is really hard (the ONLY time I would ever be an advocate of those gross squishy toilet seats is if you broke your butt like me) and I need to lower myself like an old woman, wincing the entire time. I can't get into see a doctor until Thursday morning so until then I'm coming dangerously close to overdosing on ibuprofen and giving my ass frostbite. But, in really exciting news, the sports medicine doctor I'm seeing is the 1985 National Spelling Bee champion. So even if he can't fix my butt he'll be able to spell my diagnosis and the muscles involved correctly and enthusiastically. I just hope he doesn't ask me the origin of the word or air-spell it on his palm.

I went to Kuma's Corner for the first time yesterday with Brian, in town from DC. He's a big metalhead and a big carnivore so I decided it would be the perfect place to go. I had the Judas Priest burger (bacon, bleu cheese dressing with apples, walnuts and dried cranberries = seriously delicious) and Brian had the Iron Maiden (avocado, cherry peppers, pepper jack, chipotle mayo), half of which is in my fridge and I get to eat it for dinner. Definitely going back there. It was also nice that we got there right after it opened and we didn't have to wait for two hours in the sweltering heat.

My butt hurts. Bad.

Brian: how's yer back?
me: better
me: i worked out last night and stretched it really well and went to bed earlyish
Brian: sounds like a wild night
Brian: you should really take it easy
me: it seems mostly better. i think the exercise helped.
Brian: sweet
Brian: i won't jinx you, but i hope you don't have crystals accumulating in your urinary tract
me: thanks for your concern over my urogenital health.
Brian: it's a constant

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So, there's that. I can move again without feeling like I'm going to throw up all over the floor, so that's a definite improvement.

Unrelated, this has been an evolving source of entertainment today:

My back is killing me. Not just a typical backache but fucking KILLLLLLING me. It's to the point that I might go home because it's making me nauseous. I'm crossing my fingers that it's from lack of sleep/sleeping funny and not another onset of my beloved kidney stones. When did I become a middle aged man? SERIOUSLY, WHEN?

Ugh. Someone send me a case of Tiger Balm, STAT.

In other news, I brought this dress for Jenny's upcoming wedding. It's cotton so I think I can get away with wearing it to Heidi's outdoor wedding in August, too. Stop getting married, y'all, this is getting expensive.



Jenny's bachelorette party is next weekend in Madison. There are matching t-shirts and scrapbooking and Truth or Dare involved. Ugh. Scrapbooking better be code word for male strippers. Seriously, whatever happened to nudity? I don't want to play Truth or Dare with a bunch of people I don't know in an apartment with a cat. I'm going to die of respiratory failure holding a pair of pinking shears.

Heidi's bachelorette party was supposed to be some beach/boat affair here in Chicago in August, but it's the same weekend as the Air and Water Show (aka the let's stand in a crowd of a million-ish with our heads looking at the sky until we get heat stroke festival) so that's not happening anymore. So now we might be going to Nashville? Or something? Who knows, just as long as there isn't scrapbooking.

I need a nap. And a morphine drip for this back. And maybe some french fries.

I like this picture:



I took it when Stacie Monster was in town. Someone else come visit me, I like playing hooky.

Was I the only person who upon reading this headline on CNN thought they meant that the number of burns on topless people working at a coffee shop were down and not that the actual building burned down? I thought they were just finally getting a hang of how to work the espresso machine.

Edited to add this, because he's funnier than me:

Brian: wow you ARE retarded
Brian: NUDE BARISTA SAFETY AT AN ALL TIME HIGH
Anna: EXACTLY

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I was so busy rehashing my excellent weekend that I forgot to rehash my not-so-excellent morning yesterday. So, it was raining fairly hard and I was running late for work, which seems to be a daily occurrence. I keep pushing back what I consider to be the Absolute Latest Time I can leave my apartment in order to stroll into work at 9:01am. It used to be 8:15am, and that soon turned into 8:20am... 8:25am... 8:30am... 8:35am, which is what I've determined to be the absolute latest I can even consider leaving, and even then I'm usually running in around 9:15am. Anyway, the point is, it was raining, it was later than it was supposed to be, and I needed to catch (and ride, I always seem to forget that buses don't travel at warp speed) two buses in order to go from sitting on my couch in my bathrobe eating Oreos and reading blogs to sitting at my desk at work drinking a Diet Coke and reading blogs. Probably wasn't going to happen, but I was going to sure as hell try. So, I'm speed walking to the bus stop with my umbrella, when I see the bus pull up to the stop. I break into a full sprint through the rain in my moccasins, purse swinging from one arm, gym bag swinging from the other, umbrella waving in one hand, other hand desperately flagging down the bus. And it stops! Hallelujah. But as I'm dodging west bound traffic and running in front of the east bound bus and jumping onto the curb over a puddle, something goes horribly wrong and I'm falling, for what seems like hours but is really like, nanoseconds, into the gutter of Division Street. I drop everything and am half laying, half sitting on the curb in the rain soaking wet and the bus driver is looking at me through the open bus door like I'm the hugest retard in the world when I look up at tell her I'm going to go back home and change. And then the doors close and the bus pulls away, and I go home to change.

Today wasn't nearly as eventful, though I was running late again today because my jeans weren't dry from the laundry I did last night so I was running around in my underwear, shoes and jacket as my pants tumbled around in the dryer. But then I realized this was all in vain because I left my umbrella at work yesterday, and it was pouring again this morning, destining me to another wet morning commute. I've been sitting here at work in a wet baseball hat and feeling like I've peed my pants. Oh, and my left butt cheek is going to be bruised like whoa from yesterday's tumble. I'm a serious winner.

Fantastic weekend! Let's start at the very beginning, a very good place to start.

On Friday I didn't do anything after the gym because I was tired. Lame. On Saturday morning Katie and I woke up early and went downtown to go to the Art Institute (for FREE, instead of eighteen bones because a mom of one of Katie's students gave her passes. Fantastic.) we wandered around aimlessly for a bit, looking at art (at the Art Institute, crazy, right?) and people watching. Then we walked down Michigan Avenue for a bit, which was amusing because the bridge was up to let sailboats through. BFD, right? Well, I don't think the drawbridge operator had any idea what they were doing or something was broken (?) because they'd lower it, and then raise it again, and then lower it, and then raise it again, causing a seriously massive traffic problem with all the buses and taxis. I wanted to shoot the taxi drivers in the eye because, DUDE, honking your stupid horn is not going to make things any better. Everyone is stuck and you being an annoying asshole isn't going to solve any problems. Anyway, Katie decided to leave the throngs of people waiting to cross and walked a block down to take another bridge over the river (rocket science!) and went to Rock Bottom to sit on their rooftop and eat. Holy cow, I had an amazing burger. A burger with some bourbon glaze with gorgonzola and onion straws (read: little onion rings). Mouth explosion, seriously.

Saturday evening Steve and I went bowling and I think I had him shaking in his bowling shoes for a few minutes because I had two strikes in my first two frames, which is totally hilarious because I had spent the past couple days telling him what an awful bowler I am. Which is true. First game I had a 95, second game was a 68. I've missed my calling as a professional bowler, I know. Then we went to dinner at Adobo, where we feasted on guacamole and I had a really fabulous margarita. And then I went home and laid on my couch with my pants unbuttoned. Sexy, sexy lady.

On Sunday (Sunday! Sunday!) I woke up early and brought a beach towel and a book to Wicker Park in an attempt to get a mini-tan. Um, I think the Swedish ancestry part of my muttness overtook my olive skinned Eastern European part of my muttness overnight because HOLY SHIT did I get sunburned. My arms and shoulders are radiating heat and I'm rubbing aloe all over myself like it's going out of style (because lubing up with green goo was ever in style?). GOOD MOVE, ANNA. I've never had a sunburn in my life and now I get one after reading outside for an hour and a half? Neat. Anyway, after I potentially gave myself cancer, I went up to Mayfest (actually, Maifest. Thank you for educating me, take-home beer stein!) in Lincoln Square for some beerz and sausage with Emily. Only I made the biggest mistake of my life and ordered the bratwurst instead of the thueringer. Ugh, that bratwurst was super nasty (think of a giant tube of grey mushy meat with the approximate circumference of your fist) and might have turned me off of brats for a while. Gross.

On my way home, Emily called me and asked if I wanted to go to the Cubs game, so we did that. Last minute Cubs games are fantastic, especially when you get $50 bleacher seats for $35 bucks. Too bad they totally sucked it up SO BAD last night and were down by 6 runs from the top of the FIRST INNING on. Bummer. The dudes sitting behind us had super strong Southern accents like whoa, so I assumed they were from Tennessee or Arkansas or something. Apparently Emily is a better discerner (not a word) of accents though, because she totally called it and they were totally from Lafeyette, Indiana. One of them (he was cute!) bought me a Mai Tai so we were in love for half an inning, until I found out he was 22 and then I felt a little bit like a cougar. Okay, slight exaggeration but not really. Whatever, free Mai Tai.

And then, to celebrate the Cubs 8-2 loss to the Dodgers, Emily and I went to Wendy's on the way home and I got a frosty, which I later ate in bed.

The end.

My friend Kevin got married on Saturday. The wedding was 45367 times more fun than my cousin's wedding in the Dells two weekends ago for the following reasons:
A. I actually like my friend Kevin, unlike my cousin.
B. It wasn't in the white trash capital of the world.
C. Two words: Open. Bar.
D. There wasn't karaoke at the reception.
E. They didn't play the chicken dance.
F. They had cheese balls during cocktail hour.

Derek came with me and we had a super fun time, as always. It's our third wedding together and we always have a fabulous time. We've decided that we're going to take ballroom dancing lessons together so that we can steal the show at the next wedding we go to together. Get excited.

Here are a few photos (that I stole from Derek because, again, I'm too lazy to upload my own pictures.):

Derek and I drinking water aka MGD 64 in the hotel room before the ceremony. You know, because free booze for 6 hours later on wasn't enough...?



And, because it's sorta related, here is my own rendition I did of myself for GPOYW (gratuitous picture of yourself Wednesday) over on my tumblr. For the record, I hate tumblr. Anyway. Here is my addition to the GPOYW- Draw Yourself Edition. Except mine is more like draw a creepy version of yourself on photoshop edition. Seriously, let's look at this awful drawing in more detail. Look at my tiny arm. And my weird eyes. And poo hair. And Mr. Dink (from the cartoon Doug) teeth. Ugh. Gross.



Anyway, so then the ceremony happened. The reverend dude was kinda weird and SUPER long winded and it was just like oh my goddddd just marry them alreadyyyyyyy. BUT THEN I found out afterwards that they found him on RentaRev.com or something? And he's the dude who married Christopher Knight (aka Peter Brady) and Andrianne Curry (aka one of America's Next Top Models) on A Very Brady Wedding and suddenly it was hilarious and awesome that this weird super theatrical dude married my friend.

Derek and I did our signature wedding pose:


(why do my eyelashes look white?)

The original wedding pose:



I want to be tan.

As usual, we found the drunkest person at the wedding (in this case, the bride's brother) and went out to the bar after the reception. How did we get there? Oh, we bribed our hotel shuttle driver, no big deal. And then we went back to the hotel, I drunkenly bought a Sierra Mist and a pack of Starburst from the front desk, ate all the red and pink ones, and went to sleep. The End.

Presenting.... a post in which I steal some of Stacie's pictures off of Facebook and put them here instead of typing out an actual entry.

Stacie came to visit last week. We went to Millennium Park and took touristy pictures in the bean.



I took off my shoes and played with the little kids at the Crown Fountain.



We met up with Heidi for happy hour, then we all met Kay dinner. Stacie and Kay kissed a donkey.



Then we went to Will's Northwoods Inn and drank more.



Heidi and I started acting like pirates.



Basically, Stacie needs to move here so I can "get sick" every Tuesday. And I need to upload my own pictures. I'm only a month behind on flickr, no big deal.