Spasming, Dancing

[Well, things have happened since Thursday morning's nostalgic post. As a certain Bitch says, let's just dive right in, shall we?]

[Every day it's the same. I walk out my door, cross the Panhandle, and walk one block up Cole Street to the 21-Hayes bus stop at Hayes Street. Simple enough, except when fallen eucalyptus branches or wide, muddy meres block my way. Despite threats of rain, no such conditions obtained on Thursday morning, so I crossed said Panhandle without incident. As I walked up Cole, however, I felt a sudden sharp, pressurized pain in my lower back. I stopped short; breathed; assessed; and hobbled slowly to the bus shelter. A few careful stretches and some walking seemed to work out the kink, and I got to work without further furtherness.]

[OK, so it's 11:30, and I'm thinking the turkey sandwich I so frugally brought to work is starting to sound good. I reach up to rearrange a few things on the cork board La Liaison and I share, and BAM! I howl in pain and let loose with a stream of profanity not often heard (at least from me) in Editorial. I step out and try to walk it off, but this time it won't walk off.]

[FuckfuckOW!fuckowowshitFUCK!!!]

[Utterly helpless, I follow directions and lie flat on my back with my legs elevated and resting on my chair. A position rife with possibilities usually, but most emphatically not now. I'm brought Advil and water, and manage to contort just enough to swallow it down. I call Kaiser and manage to get an appointment at noon, since my buddy the V.P. is already pulling around in her trusty (if ashy) Rav4. V.P. distracts me on the drive over with talk about work, and I get up to the fourth floor and pace around the waiting room because I still can't sit down.]

[The ending is anti-climactic. By the time I was weighed (lost a pound since last month's exam), blood-pressured, etc., the spasm had subsided. All that was left was a dull ache very much like the ones I used have in my calves pretty much constantly as the mind-bending cramps that were part of their (the calves') growth to their current Popeye'd proportions faded. Doc said it wasn't a disc, not yet, but that there were some things I could do to avoid even this going forward.]

[OK. Fine. I'll be thirty-nine in less than three months, and if I needed any more proof that my body isn't going to maintain itself anymore, this was it. John's back used to go out on a fairly regular basis, and while I never doubted that he was in extreme pain (and felt the usual frustrating helplessness to do much more than watch), I never knew how it felt before.]

[I spent the rest of the afternoon lying flat on my firm mattress at home, heating pad and DVD player both humming along, and by last night I was on the dance floor in the basement of asiaSF, actually bumping and grinding with girls in their early 20s.]

[I was going to set last night's birthday celebration for Allen off from the Back Spasm with my usual asterisks, but I seem to have segued, so OK: yes, Allen turns forty-one today, and he; his BossLadyWithCats; her niece from Minnesota; the niece's two girlfriends from the Maryland college from which all three are poised to graduate this spring; and I marked the occasion last night at asiaSF, where the waitresses and dancers were born boys and the small plates are numerous and tasty.]

[The joint is a remnant of the dot-com boom, but its formula is so seamless that I don't seem it dot-bombing anytime soon. There are two seatings, 7:30 and 9:00, and most of the tables seemed to be celebrating birthdays. Once you relax and embrace the inherent bridge-and-tunnel-ness, it's not bad at all. The entertainment was surprisingly good, the food was a yummy sort of by-the-numbers, and I was waylaid in the bathroom by a straight Republican dude from San Jose who felt the need to bend my ear earnestly as I about how he could tell that all the girls were really boys as I tried to excrete cucumber-infused ice water and orange Cosmopolitans.]

[We were part of the 7:30 seating, and were invited downstairs to the cellar dance bar so they could turn the tables over with well-practiced efficiency. I'd forgotten about the basement at asiaSF. I'd forgotten that a late-90s coworker dragged me to a gay Latino dance night a few times. I'd certainly forgotten the trouble I'd gotten into once with a diminutive Salvadoran I met there. All that came back to me though as BossLadyWithCats flirted shamelessly with boys almost young enough to be her grandkids.]

[The dancing was good once I got past my snobbish disdain of what certainly felt like a wedding reception. Clearly, "Rehab" is destined to take its place next to "YMCA" and "Love Shack" post-nuptially for at least a generation. At one point, a 20something diva dragged me onto the narrow, mirrored stage and made me do some highly theatrical (and dirty) dancing with her as her girlfriend shot digital evidence. I must've been doing something right, and my back felt just fine.]

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