Lord of the Ring Cutters

The weather was so balmy yesterday I nearly considered going on my roof deck and sunbathing... not really, but you get my point. Instead, I slept in (at Triathlete's place) and managed to drag myself over to G2O Spa and Salon for a nice massage and facial. I popped over to Madewell for a new shirt, and I was ready to go for my date with Triathlete later that night. He asked me what kind of Thai food I wanted, and after consulting with S and C, the obvious choice was pad thai. Apparently, duck pad thai wasn't on the menu, but he managed to get them to make it anyway. Such a gent!

Triathlete and I met randomly from a guy friend of mine a few weeks ago. Once we started hanging out, it was obvious that we meshed really well together. There were about four days where we didn't spend a whole lot of time apart, or out of bed for that matter. Getting pad thai last night was the first time where we had successfully managed to eat together, aside from BBQ chicken pizza after hours from down the street, or when he made me breakfast in bed the first time I slept over. After dinner, we skipped down to the local liquor store, grabbed a bottle of Pinotage and rounded out the evening how we typically do, if you catch my drift.

The real adventure started the next morning.

I woke up and my left hand was throbbing. Low and behold, the ring that I had shoved onto my middle finger last night just before heading over to Triathlete's place was jammed and my finger was a deep purple. I glanced over at the clock and it was only 7:00AM. Quickly, I ducked into the bathroom and tried the old soap and water trick. No luck. Next, I tried some Windex. No bueno. Well, I thought, maybe if I ice it and keep it elevated for half an hour, that'll put the swelling down.

As I'm lying on the couch praying for my finger to become half the size that it was (and stop looking like one of Barney's private parts), Triathlete's roommate comes waltzing in. We'll call his roommate MJ. MJ is a San Diego transplant who has an affinity for sneakers, pants that are just a little too tight, perfectly coiffed hair, and getting stoned (hence the nickname). One of my more recent memories with him was one night when Triathlete and I were going at it, and at some point he left the room only to realize MJ was Skyping the whole encounter with one of their good friends in China, obviously stoned. We both found the whole thing hilarious, and even asked him how the "show" was the next morning. While MJ is pretty easygoing, I can't help feel bad for the guy. Triathlete and I have been monopolizing the apartment at all hours of the day because we can't seem to keep our hands off of each other. So seeing me on the couch at 7:45 in the morning with frozen brussel sprouts wrapped around my finger, probably wasn't what he was hoping for.

8:15 rolled around and I was making little to no progress on the situation. I crawled back into bed, snuggled up to Triathlete and then broke the news, "Hey, so, I think I might need to call the fire department to get this ring off of my finger..." (Having worked in Public Service for sometime, I know that EMS and BFD have ring cutters with them, so no need to make a trip to MGH.) "What?" he mumbled. How silly of me to expect he would be coherent enough to grasp the concept of some guy in a firefighter uniform sawing a hunk of metal (very stylish, might I add), off of my hand. After clarifying and a few visual aids, he got the idea.

EMS showed up about 10 minutes later, prepared to cut the ring off. Only, my finger was too swollen. Perfect. An hour and a half later, I had three supervising doctors at MGH using three different ring cutters to get the damn thing off. Luckily, one of the doctors was cool enough to slip me some pain medication, which made the situation a little more bearable. Once it was off and the discharge papers were signed, I was in Triathlete's bed within 15 minutes. Now that I was back in commission, and MJ was at the gym, we were back to our normal string of events. Sleep, morning sex, breakfast. Not a bad routine, if I do say so myself.

Ring Carnage

Moral of the story: You actually can get a lot done before noon on a Saturday morning. Who knew? Just look at me, I acknowledged an injury, heard about MJ's romp with Tyler Seguin's ex-girlfriend, met two EMS employees, had a casual trip down to MGH, fooled around, and managed to house a plate of huevos rancheros from Paramount all before the clock switched to PM. Can't promise I will productive like this every Saturday morning, but I can't help bragging just a little.