A Houseful of Dips

No, really. We had a fondue party tonight.
It. Was. Epic.
The occasion was a belated birthday party for our dearest Tonya, who is post-op from her obligatory annual surgery fixing one of the plethora of grab-bag ailments that seem to pop up in her from time to time. Her birthday was actually on New Years, but between the heavy medication for pain that can cause hallucinations and the purple weasel that insisted on wearing her party shoes around the house while the alien barber shop quartet sang in the background, Ton wisely opted for a cozy night in.
So tonight we had a late fondue party.
Allow me to repeat: Epic.
There was normal cheese dip, and a chocolate marshmallow dip. Then Mama Claire, showing her love for all of us in her "Here, eat this." dialect, brought a butterscotch dip and a pepper jack sauce that tasted so good, we almost had to kill ourselves. Papa Lynn showed his affection to all of us by sitting at the table and playing with his Word Find in a pleasant sort of way. Pretzels, animal crackers, cookies, veggies, and marshmallows were all pressed into service as vehicles for the gooey awesome-sauce. Eventually, people began simply ladling the fondue sauce onto their plates.
As we took turns cycling into food comas, Exo Feltinez began working the crowd. A group of girls that included his wifey (my fashion guru) watched with interest, amusement, and mild concern as he worked the crowd. I have never seen a straight man do a better job of holding a party's attention for so long.
I, unfortunately, found myself speechless. Literally. A week-long sickness that I can't seem to recover from has left me with a nasty case of laryngitis. I can talk, but I sound like such a perfect cross between Mickey Mouse and a prepubescent WoW monkey that it's really best for me to just shut up.
And then there was cake. No POC party would be complete without a Jen Cake. This one was a product of a Jen/Jeni collaboration, looked like something from Target's "OMG TOO CUTE TO STAND" collection, and tastes like a back scratch feels. There was this strawberry stuff in the middle....
(EDITOR'S NOTE: The following is an incoherent description of gastronomic rapture. We at Blogspot.com thought it best to abridge the 600-page litany and let the reader infer what they will. Carry on.)
....WITH A GARDEN HOSE! I'm telling you, it was great. And there was a big red "C" on top!!
So now it's 2:30 AM and I'm getting ready to scoot under the covers. But I'm wondering now...how will we top this for Lisa's birthday? Come on, POCettes, time to start planning!

R.I.P. Mortimer

So there's been a small crisis at the POC for the last couple of days....the HEAT. The A/C shut down for the second time this summer. Oddly enough, the problem seemed to be with the downstairs unit. The upstairs stayed reasonably cool, considering the fact that the upstairs unit was working to de-hell two floors. Poor Tonya, whose room is always infernal anyway, was forced to come upstairs and room up with the second-floor chicks.
So the A/C guy showed up today. Same dude that was here before. Looked like of like Gabriel Iglesias after Weight Watchers, very sweet. He announced himself and immediately went outside to look at the units.
It was a surprisingly short space of time before he came inside with a thunderstruck look on his face. "Um....miss, I need you to come see sumting....outside."
I immediately agreed and tried to walk to the front door, but he blocked my path, looking oddly uncomfortable.
"Um...I don' wan' you to freak out or nut'ing."
"O....kay?"
"It's jus' dat I never seen anyting like dis before...Its kinda gross."

I laughed at him. He obviously wasn't used to dealing with POC-grade girls. Outside of our little phobias, we're not fazed by much.

"It's okay. Let's go look at it."
We walked around to the side of the house, and he pointed into the A/C fan. For a moment, I didn't see anything unusual. Then I moved closer, saw what had him so looped, and burst into laughter.

There was a rather large chicken snake wrapped around the central axis of the fan and anchored by the tail to the safety grate, effectively stopping the fan from spinning.

Awesome.

I continued to stare at me as I laughed. Between the dissipating giggles I asked, "So is that what's gumming up the works?"
"Um...yeah, I tink so. I'll check it out. Do you...um..."
"Yeah?" I stopped in my trek to return inside. He had not ceased to look uncomfortable. His hispanic accent got MUCH thicker with his next words.
"Do you have....de rubber gloves? I'll get de sneke out, but...do you have de rubber gloves?"
"Aww! Of course!" I actually said "Aww" aloud, so startled was I that I didn't think about giving this poor fella protection for his hands against the nastiness of a two-days-dead snake.
"I'm surprised you're not frekkin' out!"
"Oh, this is normal for this house."
"Snekes in your a/c???"
"No, weird stuff happening."
"......oh."

So that was it! He unwound the "sneke" and cleaned out the fan axis. The downstairs immediately began to cool. It was like magic. Just before he left, he told me with a big grin on his face,
"I took pitchurs of it, 'cause ain' no one at de office seen anyting like dis before. We try to top each other after de jobs is done for de day. Tonight, I win!"

So glad we could help you, nice A/C man. So very, very glad.

So apparently, it was a poor chicken snake, about an inch in diameter, who decided that there were tasty chickens on the other side of our fan, and was in the process of trying to get him some eats when the fan turned on, sealing his doom. I have decided to name him Mortimer posthumously.
Before people start asking, yes, he was dead, and NO I did not take pictures of the two-day decomposed massive snake to post online and send some poor snake-phobic into a panic attack.
But I feel sorry for the little guy, so here I would like to present:

Mortimer's Lament

Mortimer slid up the A/C
Hoping to nab something tasty
It turned out so sad
His timing was bad
The fan turned on and made his head pasty.

Farewell, Mortimer. You have achieved an honorable place in the POC Annals.

Oh look, a blog!

*shakes the dust out of the POC Blog Editor*

So the Five Love Languages are kind of a big deal around the POC. We all live pretty intense lives, and if we don't love on each other every time we see each other, we get kinda stretched out. They're kind of a big deal in my circle of friends, too.
But we have gone so far as to invent our own love languages. Mine would be sarcasm. If I'm being sarcastic with you, it's just my way of showing love. The others are a little more interesting.

Lisa: Lisa's primary love language is "Coffee". Coffee (or tea) is, for her, the best media for conveying affection, whether it's meeting someone at Starbucks for coffee, making a cup at home, or just sharing a random cup at the end of a long day. Some of my best Lisa moments have involved coffee, especially when one or both of us have had too much of the stuff. She keeps decaf on hand, just in case. It's just as effective for communicating affection.

Tonya: As all of us around the POC know, Tonya's love language is "Here, eat this!"
If Tonya is poking food in your face, you can bet she thinks you're nifty. She's an amazing cook with a great feel for spices, and since she can't eat very much at once, the rest of us are easily pressed into service as Quality Control. Last night, our neighbor happened to knock on the door while Ton was cooking, and got her first taste of salmon as well as a bite of wasabi-encrusted lobster. The first time my dad came to pick me up from the POC, I went upstairs for FIVE LOUSY MINUTES, and when I came back downstairs Tonya was feeding my dad something (and Lisa was offering him coffee). When we got in the car, his first comment was on how nice my roomies were. He felt the love!

Corrie: I call Corrie mom from time to time, and not entirely in an ironic sense. Perhaps having younger sisters has given her a mothering instinct. This being possible, Corrie's love language is "Jewish Mothering," which is closely connected to "Here, Eat This." I went to work sick one night, and happened to mention that I needed to get lunch. Corrie immediately spoke up. "Do you want me to pack you a lunch?"
"Uh...sure?" Having a lunch packed for me was an entirely alien concept, but she crammed my thermos bag full of yummy foodstuffs and tucked a little note inside telling me that I was loved. It gave me warm fuzzies all night long.

Jen Berger: There are words of destruction, then there are words of affirmation. Then there's Jen. Jen's love language is "I'm starting the (insert your name here) fan club!" If Jen loves you, she tells you exactly why in a voice that gives you the impression that she would start a one-woman mosh pit if given half a chance. If it were socially appropriate, she would wear a vest covered with fan club buttons for each of her friends, and some of her family. If you need to feel good about yourself, call Jen and talk to her for a little while. Eventually, you will say SOMETHING that makes confetti and sparkles fly out of her ears and "You're AWESOME!" come out of her mouth.

Dave Berger: Rarely spoken of in this blog, I mention Dave only because he has truly invented a new love language out of an old one. One of the five primary love languages is "Physical Affection." Dave has refined this into the language I like to call *TOUCH*. Watch him around Jen sometime. He *pets* her. When he's talking to someone he's trying to show affection toward, he puts one hand on them. When I've said something that makes him giggle, he puts the tip of one finger on my arm. This is called the *TOUCH* (said in a voice an octave deeper than usual), and its cohesiveness was decided one night when Jen was staying over. She called Dave to let him know. When she got off the phone, the look on her face was slightly bewildered. "He wants me to come home so he can touch me."
"Like....pet you? Like, just put one finger on your arm?"
"Yeah..."

So that's it. As with the canon Five Love Languages, they may be mixed and matched to suit the need of the day, but they are there nonetheless.

Love you guys!

These are the voyages of the starship POC.

I' ve got something to say, boys and girls.
No, you know what? I'm starting with a history lesson.
In the middle ages, there was a sport that is little-known to most people. It was a brutal, horrible sport, and so naturally it was incredibly popular. It went like this: A group of men would chain a bear by a spiked iron shackle either on its neck or on its leg, confining it to a small area. Then they would take their hounds--not the floppy eared Mollie-esque squishy puppies that we see normally, but bloodthirsty dogs that had to hunt to stay alive and used their killer's instinct to please their masters--and set them on the bear. Then the men would sit back and place bets on who would win: the bear or the dogs. It was a horribly dangerous sport, mostly for the fact that whoever was chaining the bear down was putting their lives in mortal danger, but also because the bear could break loose and aim its frustration at the bystanders. This sport was called bear baiting.

Now, that being said, WHAT is the deal with all this blog baiting people have been doing? If you think acting purposely weird in front of me is going to get you blogged, you've got another thing coming! And if you DO make it into the blog, what makes you think you're going to like it? Most of the people I blog about want me to stop!

This is the reason for the rant: A couple of weeks ago, a bunch of us were supposed to get together to watch the extended Lord of the Rings DVDs. Everyone else was apparently lame (MICHAEL, I'm looking at YOU!) and backed out. It wound up just being me, Jen Berger, and Katina. A little while before we were supposed to meet up, Katina called to ask me about something, and mentioned, "Oh, by the way, I'm dressing for the evening."
"O....kay."
"I can't wait for you to see me."
"......?"
No further information given, but really, it wasn't that hard to deduce that she was going to come over in some form of Lord of the Rings costumery. My brain touched on everything from a simple LotR t-shirt to elf ears. But nothing could have prepared me for what I saw when she stepped out of her car.
Little Katina....little bitty tiny short Katina...was wearing a cape. It was black, but it hit her right above the ankles. That, coupled with her curly hair, made her look EXACTLY like one of the hobbits. As if she didn't ALREADY look like a hobbit. It was like a bad fanfiction as she ran up the driveway, mimicking the scene where the hobbits run across the bridge from the Balrog.
Then later, come to find out she had been over at one of the alumni's houses (Kim Davis). Apparently, Kim gave her the cape, and somewhere in conversation someone said the words, "I bet THIS will get you into the blog."
Seriously? This is what we're doing now?
Don't play with fire, people. You'll get a satirical, possibly scathing blog written about you. Katina, the cape was adorable, but you must serve as a warning to others.
Don't bait the blogmistress.

Also, the winner of our first POC blog poll was for me to compare each of the POCettes to a Star Trek character. So here goes:

Tonya is, of course, a borg. Do not fight the POC. You will be assimilated. We will add your distinctiveness to our own.

Lisa is Deanna Troi: Dark-eyed, empathetic, and looks good in anything she puts on.

Corrie is Tasha Yar-an interesting female who does things that defy her body build, like throw grown men over the Enterprise bridge. Corrie's just longer lived than Tasha, probably because she hasn't tangled with some big black puddle. If you don't get the reference, ask a trekkie nerd.

Michael is Chekov. Every two seconds you turn around and he's doing something you had no idea he could do.

Jeni Graves is Lwaxana Troi, flamboyant, histrionic, hilarious, and absolutely endearing.

Jen Berger is Scotty. Practical, fun, always fixing stuff you didn't know needed fixing or that you didn't think could be fixed, and all the time being incredibly cute without meaning to be.

Me? I'm Guinan, Whoopie Goldberg's recurring character on The Next Generation. Witty, sarcastic, always trying to come up with a new angle to help someone with the problems they bring to me. Also, I like bald men.

I also think a new Honorable Mention needs to be added to the POCettes! Introducing now, Shari Walker. Shari is one of Tonya's nearest and dearest, lives only a few minutes away, and has two of the coolest kids I've ever met. But you'd never guess Shari was a mom. It's her super power. She would be Sulu--always at the helm, and never speaks unless something is worth talking about, but you know she could bust some mad fencing moves if given half a chance.

I'm bored with this now. LOOK, SOMETHING SHINY!

Rumors of my death have been highly exaggerated.

So I heard scratching on my door this morning, along with the sound of distant thunder. I love it when it rains outside(as opposed to raining inside--carpets are hard to wet-vac), but I couldn't really translate my joy at the pleasant weather because I was too busy trying to interpret the scratchy-door sounds and the text chime on my suddenly-lit phone. My cats were looking at me as if to say, "You want I should take care of all dis noise, boss?"
The text was from Corrie, something along the lines of "See about bringing Mollie inside. It looks like it might storm." I looked outside. The ground was soaking wet with deep puddles. Oops.
Then I opened the door, and in scrambled Buddy. There was also a puddle on the carpet just outside my room. Did I mention that Buddy is deathly afraid of thunderstorms? If anyone knows where the Resolve is, could you text me the location?
Mollie was indeed in the back yard, feeling incredibly sorry for herself. Never mind that she was probably about to self-immolate for want to get outside when Corrie went to work.
"Come on, Mollie! Come inside---AGH MUD BAD! *toweltoweltowel* NO MOLLIE YOU'RE NOT CLEAN YET COME BACK! Ugh! At least you stayed on the freaking tile. Poor thing, you must have-aaaaaaaand there's the mandatory wet dog shake. All over me. Im going back to bed."
Whereupon Buddie demanded to get in bed with me and proceeded to walk back and forth across my face. I've given up trying to get more than six hours of sleep in a night.

For those of you who were so kind as to notify me of the gap in bloggage, I would like to point out that Scarborough Faire has been going on, and I've been quite busy running around like the little nerd that I am. Hopefully now that it is over I can catch up on little frivolities like showering and laundry.

The teachers are about to be done with class for the summer. I can't picture getting a three month vacation every year. Not that they haven't earned it, but it just blows my mind. I don't know what I would DO with three months off work. Those are the times in life where you start to wonder strange things, like "What would the dog look like shaved?" and "Do I really NEED to wear clothing?"
In case those questions come up during the ensuing summer months, I am going to answer, absoutely, emphatically, YES, clothing is a necessary part of the daily routine. Please.

Also, that of which we do not speak has finally occurred. Laura moved the last of her posessions out of the POC today. I saw her new apartment last night, and met her new roomie. The place is cool, and the roomie is cooler. I warned her about some of Laura's stranger habits, like her shrunken head collection and her penchant for dressing up like a wildebeest and playing beer-pong when no one is around.
We'll miss you, Laura. A bunch. Please come visit us! A bunch!
Soon to come: A POC Rosetta Stone-Crack the code and find out just what the heck we're talking about!
Also coming soon: A POC room catalogue-complete with floor map to guide bewildered guests.

Im gonna go wash my hair now kthxbai.

H1N1---AKA "War of the Worlds."

Amazingly enough, things at the POC seem to be calmer than normal. I've been working all week, Corrie is wiped from being caught in traffic, Laura is staying in Fort Worth for the weekend, and the teachers are teaching. Even the pets are calm. Mollie has gotten exhausted from playing all the time (plus, her shock collar is here and I think the mere sight of it is enough to make her behave), Buddy has gotten bored of escaping under the fence, and the cats remain subdued because they are lazy.
But there has been a new development. Apparently, one of the horsemen of the Apocalypse has visited our corner of Texas, and plague is running rampant in our streets. It's supposed to be called the H1N1 virus, but because that requires using the shift key when I feel it unnecessary, I'm going to continue calling it swine flu.
James Herriot, the Yorkshire vet-turned-writer talked about swine flu in one of his books. He said (paraphrased, because I cannot find the passage to quote) "Modern vets don't understand how lucky they are. They should be getting out of bed every morning shouting 'Hurray! No more swine flu!'" He devoted chapters to the panic, destruction, quarantine, and other delightful endeavours that come from a diagnosis of swine flu.
Let me reiterate something about swine flu: The following categories are at risk from this or any infection:
THE VERY YOUNG
THE VERY OLD
THE IMMUNE COMPROMISED
Are you under five? Are you over seventy? Is your immune system weak? No?
THEN YOU DON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT FREAKIN' SWINE FLU! It's just the same as any other flu. Those of us in the medical community have been watching people sicken and die from regular old run-of-the-mill influenza for years, but do you see us running out to buy surgical masks during flu season? NO! Because common sanitary practices will pretty much keep you away from it.
The widespread "pandemic panic" has brought out an amusing side of humanity, not unlike the witch hunts of England and early America. If something new and seemingly unknown pops up, it immediately becomes the cause of EVERY PROBLEM KNOWN TO MANKIND.
I soon expect to see forwards like this in my inbox:
"PLZ FWD THIS 2 ALL UR FRIENDZ!!!! SWINE FLU, OR H1N1 IS EXTREMELY DEADLY! THE CDC HAS ISSUED A WARNING ABOUT THIS FLU THAT IT IS POTENTIALLY FATAL TO CONTRACT. REALLY, MY UNCLE'S COUSIN'S FATHER IN LAW'S NEICE TWICE REMOVED HAD A FRIEND WHO CONTRACTED SOMETHING THAT WAS PROBABLY SWINE FLU EVEN THOUGH IT HAD NO SIMILAR SYMPTOMS AND ALMOST DIED........"
At least we'll have a handy scapegoat for a while.
Too tired? Must have swine flu.
Headache? Probably the onset of swine flu.
Slight soreness in the legs? Oh garsh, better stay home, or you could be contributing to the wholesale spread of swine flu.
Overdraft at the bank? Swine flu!
Split ends? Danged swine flu!
Restless leg syndrome? Boo, swine flu!
Halitosis? More like Swine-flu-osis!
Low resale value on your car? Swine flu!
Static cling? SWINE FLU!
Shower mildew? SWINE FLU!!!!!!!!!!

Okay, I'm tired, and going to bed. In my swine flu-infested sheets.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

This has been a week of stupid. Not just normal stupid, like "I left the coffee maker on" or "I was ten minutes late to work because I lost my keys" or "I forgot to kill the chicken before I ate it." Nono! Because for me, apparently, normal stupid is not good enough! Apparently, God is so proud of how I handle normal stupid that He's decided to SUPERSIZE it!
Now, I've said before that I really don't want to talk about myself in this blog. This still holds true. But for various reasons that will become evident as you read, this had to go in the POC section.
Friday night at Homegroup, I was sitting on the floor as I am wont to do. The floor is so much more comfortable to me for some reason, even when the searing lower-back and sciatic pain starts. The couch just doesn't work for me. Violates my chi or something (Jen, forgive me for using your chi joke, it just fit in so well here). Anyhow, getting up off the ground, I felt my wrist pop a little bit. No big deal, happens all the time. Moved on with my life, didn't think anything else of it.
You see where this is going. Hang on, gotta tighten my wrist brace.
I've mentioned that Scarborough Faire is going on right now. Since it takes three women, a pair of neoprene gloves, and a freakin' TREE to get me, Jen, and Jeni Graves (another awesome friend that needs to visit the POC WAY more often than she does) into our costumes, we had all planned to meet up at Jen's apartment semi-early and head out together.
So my alarm goes off at 7:30. But before the soft, polite "meep! meep!" could wake me gently out of slumber, I attempted to jam my hand under my pillow and woke up.
"Ow...."
There was a pain in my wrist that was quite a bit beyond the normal "slept on it funny" pain. So I tried to flex my fingers.
"Ow!"
Okay, maybe I can get some more sleep and figure it out in the morning.
"OW! MOTHER OF BISCUITS OW OW!"
Okay, so, sleep is a no......
by this point it was 7:30 and time to get up. I was so determined not to be late to Jen's that I had showered and packed my stuff the night before, so all I had to do was brush my teeth, wash my face, dress, and go! Sounds good, huh?
NO!
First of all, everything took twice as long to do because my right hand was utterly useless. Now, I am left-handed, so I wasn't totally crippled, but you'd be surprised how many things it takes two hands to do. Toothpaste is an evil little invention, by the way. Takes two hands to squeeze and manipulate the toothbrush. Nevertheless, I kept trying to use that hand, hoping it was just some soreness that would work itself out. No such luck. The pain just kept getting worse and worse. But hey, I was running ahead of schedule, I could stop by Walgreens and get an ACE wrap, no problem! So I get ready to trundle out the door.
....Where's my phone?
....no, seriously, WHERE IS IT?
Corrie had to call it a dozen different times, because I, the genius, FORGOT TO TAKE IT OFF OF BUZZ! I can hear the little monster vibrating somewhere in the vicinity of my bed, tore apart my sheets, and found nothing. Well, with a car on the verge of falling apart on the road, not having a cell is NOT an option.
"KEEP CALLING, CORRIE!"
"Are you serious?"
"I DON'T WANNA HEAR IT!"
Then, I see a flash of light coming from under my bed. The side that's against the wall. That's right. Hurt wrist and all, I had to LIFT MY BED AND MOVE IT OFF MY PHONE!
Sometimes, you just gotta let the cuss words out. Holding that stuff in will give you cancer.
So, now I am in a tearing hurry, stop at Walgreens (thirty minutes late already), and make my way out to Jen's house. Between the loading and unloading, my wrist is throbbing, and I'm increasingly more mystified as to what this could be, besides a huge, peanut-butter flavored wad of OW!
Jen and Jeni got tired of my whimpering and made me go BACK to Walgreens for an actual brace. The brace worked like magic and took about 70-80% of the pain away. That fact was actually a cause for concern, since that started me thinking that it might be a stress fracture.
I got through the rest of the day okay, except for one stunning accident in the haunted house that caused me to CRY LIKE A LITTLE GIRL. Luckily, the medics at the front of the faire were nice and gave me a crapload of ibuprofen. But by the time I made it home I was in a lot of pain. Managed to get to sleep for only about four and a half hours before the pain woke me up. I was really worried by now, because the only thing I could think of that would cause pain like this would be a stress fracture, and since I don't have insurance right now, I CAN'T AFFORD A CRISIS LIKE THAT!!! AGH!
Despite that fact, I had to get Laura to take me to the ER. Poor, tired, "I just worked a twelve hour shift" Laura.
Just FYI, I may be a little impish in the hospital, but I am NOWHERE NEAR as bad as Laura.
FIRST she tried to put me on a bedpan.
THEN she pulled down the scopes and started looking in my ears. When the nurse came in, Laura actually JUMPED AND HID THE SCOPE BEHIND HER BACK!
When the words, "Ooo, I wonder what'll happen if I push this blue Code button" came out of her mouth, I near 'bout lost it.
I finally got Laura to sit down, and in walks the same doc that treated her for her fingers.
CRAZINESS!
So I'm waiting to see if he remembers us, and apparently I was looking at him funny, cause he raised an eyebrow at me. I raised mine in return.
"......what happened?"
"I dunno."
Not the answer he was looking for, I guess.
"You don't know?"
"Nope."
"....so why are you here?"
"So you can fix it." I could do this all day, Jefe.
"......okay."
He looked so confused, I took pity on him and actually explained myself, gave him the lowdown, the 411.
"Huh. Weird."
"I know, right?"
Did I mention this doc is kinda hot?
Oh, and he DID remember us. When he said we looked familiar, Laura held up her two injured fingers and yelled at him for not remembering us before. Have I ever mentioned how much I love Laura? He apologized, and apparently remembered me because I was "pretty funny." It's nice to be remembered for something.
Anyway, the x-rays made me cry. Again. I'm not a wuss, but by this point I was exhausted and stressed, had been put on a bedpan, and had light shined in my ears against my will, lost a staredown with a hot doctor, and was about to have to pay through the nose for them to tell me to keep doing what I had been doing until I felt better.
My spidey-sense always tingles when there are unnecessary medical bills being incurred.
So yeah, apparently I just ruptured a ligament. In Corrie's words, "I don't think there's any 'just' to that statement." I don't mean to sound ungrateful. A ruptured ligament heals much faster than a break. But a lot of people don't get that sprains can be more painful than breaks, and expect you to be able to get over it in a couple of days. Plus, all this fuss....for a sprain? GAH! I know how to treat a sprain! I didn't need the $200 ER bill! So when the cool doc stuck his head in to say that the x-rays were negative, my reaction was, shall we say...somewhat less than enthusiastic.
"Okay, it looks like there's no breakage, so more than likely you just blew a liga--"
"ARGH!"
"......."
"How stupid is this??"
"Hey, it happens. Lean on a joint just the wrong way at the wrong time, and it pops."
"*grumblegrumble*"

Now, three days later, it's sore but nowhere near as bad as it was. This is mostly because Darvocet is the coolest thing since peach smoothies. I'm guessing I should be able to get through tomorrow with just ibuprofen.
Thanks to the roomies for putting up with my drug-induced cackling....I promise I'm not doing anything stronger than pain pills. Thanks to the cute doc for putting up with my grouchiness. Special thanks to Laura for keeping me sane and giving me abovementioned drugs.

STUPID!!!!!!!!!!! GAHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!