Thursday, April 7, 2011

Zuz Love Hurts

Ok, so that whole putting Yinzer on the sidebar instantly thing was a slight exaggeration. It took his super sexy reply to my unabashed 'Yinzer Love' post of a few days ago to remind me. But for reals, this time. For really, reals, it's totally going to be there.

I'm just going to say one more thing and then I'll stop the gushing, because this blog love could go on forever and ever. Seriously, he's got to be my much more ambitious brother from another mother.

Of course it's highly probable that we're not the only people who check our fridge (like a thousand times) for our lost gym tracking device, keys, laptop, but who else is comfortable enough with their coolness to admit it?

(I'm also comfortable enough with my sanity to have long, profanity riddled conversations with myself throughout the day, sometimes in an English accent, but that's another story which I'm sure has absolutely nothing to do with my Teen's immediate and absolute "No!" when I offered to be a chaperone on her recent school excursion to an art museum.)

In other less awesome news, this morning my relationship with my beloved Zuz once again turned violent. We're passionate people, so of course it's only natural that one of us would occasionally turn complete dumbass and try to do a 'get up' with their home made, extremely unruly and heavy 'sand' bag! (Mine is actually filled with wood pellets, thank you very much).

It was during my second attempt, while flailing wildly to right myself with a thirty pound lump of wood pellets on my shoulder that I felt a sharp pain in my quad. Luckily, I've learned a few things in my long years (other than not lifting awkward, heavy objects while completely forgetting to keep good form).

One of them is that ignoring an injury will only make it worse. So I had the good sense to stop my workout immediately. As an aside, my 'sand' bag swings with but-clenching hip thrusts were glorious and your life is less complete because you didn't get to see them.

Dr. Google and I agree that it's probably a grade two 'Thigh Strain'. I would get a second opinion from my medically trained, physiologically and sports injury fluent little sister, but she would probably tell me I shouldn't go to my weight lifting class today and who needs that? Not me and certainly not my strained thigh. (Wait, what did I say about learning a few things in that last paragraph?)

Instead I went to Costco, where I actually waited outside with a giant Costco-rabid mob for the store to open. I kinda felt like a dweeb. But I had an injury to attend to! Dweeby feelings would have to be put on hold for the greater good!

The minute the door opened, I shoved my way to the front of the line, masquerading as the extremely tall, but equally brown relative of a group of Latinos that went in first. So what if I was two feet taller than the rest of them? It was a very believable performance.

Once inside I went straight to the freezer section and bought two giant bags of multi-purpose frozen peas. I'll put them on my leg now and eat them later! Huzzah!

I went to the check out, paid, and went to my car. It was only then that I realized that I wasn't going back home for seven hours and that by then these peas would be a melted green puddle. Money. Well. Spent.

I put one of the bags on my leg and sat in the parking lot, watching some serious drama unfold between two Costco shoppers in front of me. They were hugging, kissing and crying. Don't worry, it didn't seem to bother them in the least that I was staring at them with a bag of multi-purpose peas on my thigh.

After they managed to separate from each other and drive away in separate cars, I decided it was time for me to leave too since it seemed extremely unlikely that I would have the good fortune of another love-torn couple parking directly across from me and putting on an emotional show for my viewing pleasure.

So now I'm at the library, where once again the cool people gather around the door, frothing at the mouth, hardly able to wait to go inside and use free internet.

Yeah. That's what the cool people do.

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