The Time I Broke My Toe.

For almost 30 years, I went without breaking a bone. I've been in dance, gymnastics, basketball, volleyball, softball, tennis, golf. I've played with boys, wrestled with my sisters, been in fist fights. I've had dislocated limbs, extra bones, blood clots, seizures, blood infections, skull fractures. All of these things, and nothing broken.

Until now. And bone of all bones...I broke my freakin' toe. I guess I did break my nose in a cab accident two summers ago. But that doesn't count.

Let me rewind. Saturday, we went to Lollapalloza. For those unawares, it's a huge music festival where hundreds of bands take over Grant Park...in turn, hundreds of thousands of people take over Grant Park, and 95% of them are drunk or on drugs, sometimes both. And he or she is probably wearing a crop top and jean shorts. In other words, it's a hippie breeding ground.

So many people.

That has nothing to do with how I broke my toe, just giving you the background. We started the day around 11:30 with mimosas (without orange juice) and Bloody Marys, before taking a limo over to the park. Throughout the day, we saw bands like Eric Church, The National, Lumineers and of course, Mumford & Sons, who were awesome. It was a glorious day—gorgeous weather, beer (and water) were flowing, music, great friends. What's better?!

Traveling to Lolla in style

After about 12 hours of drinking in the sun, we were walking back to our friend's apartment for pizza (did I mention I didn't really eat all day?). One of the guys we were with kicked a water bottle, and in my drunken stupor, I thought it looked like fun. For reasons I will never remember, I kicked that water bottle with all of my might...and whiffed. Instead of connecting with the water bottle, my big toe connected with the concrete. YEP. I'm a drunk asshole. (warning: graphic photos follow).

After the incident. 

It was one of those moments where I realized how much it hurt, but it was all a little numb due to the booze. When I looked down, my toe was gushing—I mean gushing—blood. Another thing about me: I don't do blood. I put my sunglasses on and kept walking until my friend noticed something was up. All I could do was point to my bloody toe. I kept insisting I was fine (I really wanted pizza), but Bryan and our friends said we needed to get a cab. I cried the whole way home, and tried to clean myself up when we got here.

That's bruising...not dirt.

I woke up early yesterday to a throbbing, swollen, purple and still bloody foot. I could barely walk, so I could tell it was going to be a great day. Essentially, I spent all of yesterday elevating and icing. After a bad night's sleep, mainly because I was constantly woken up by shooting pains through my foot, I hobbled into work today before my 2:15 doctor's appointment.

Sunday.

Short story long, I spent 2 minutes with my doctor, who ordered me to go get X-Rays. At the X-Rays, I had to put my toes in uncomfortable positions, while the technician apologized for farting multiple times. (That's a true story.) And then it was home to wait for a phone call. No phone call meant no fracture.

About 30 minutes ago, the phone rang with an unfamiliar 312 number and I knew my fate. Sure enough...it was the doctor confirming my break, in the first joint of my toe. So now, I'm ordered to stay off it as much as possible, until I can in to the orthopedic surgeon. Because it's my big toe, they'll likely put me in walking boot or orthopedic shoe (honestly, I'd rather have the boot than look like I'm 85).

So, basically, this is a long way of saying, this sucks. I'm going to L.A. this weekend, my best friend is getting married next weekend, and Bryan's best friend is getting married the weekend after that. A BOOT IS NOT IN MY SCHEDULE. I need to wear heels, walk down aisles, tear up dance floors.

I'm going to drown my sorrows in wine and the Bachelorette.

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