Soul Mate Synchronization

First and foremost I have to take a minute to thank everyone from the bottom of my heart for the immense outpouring of advice, words of kindness and honest compassion and graciousness from each of you in response to my last post. I could never in a million years have imagined the reception I would get from people I seemingly don’t know in real life when discussing something so personal and it means the world to me. So thank you all for that.

Now back to our regularly scheduled cynical debauchery.

Ya’ll remember how I told you that I fell in front of hordes of degenerates and mongrels at my local Publix a few days ago right? I’m sure you remember cause it’s the one where I explained in graphic detail the crumpled, mortifying mess that became me that dark, foreboding evening. I epitomized every chubby girl’s worst nightmare. Sprawled on the ground, fists desperately grasping for that ½ gallon of ice cream that you and everyone around knows you don’t need, close to tears and wallowing in the pool of unidentifiable fluid that caused your plummet in the first place. Yea, that was me.

And if you’ll recall I came home and wailed like a little bitch about it.

Well, it seems as if the Boo and I are once again demonstrating our closeness and soul mate eligibility by being so fuckin in sync it’s scary. (Is it sad that my first instinct was to write *NSYNC in that sentence? And yes, with the appropriately placed asterisk preceding it? JT’s moves in “I Want You Back” were the stuff wet dreams were made of and “It’s Gonna Be Me” may have very well likely been my personal anthem to any given crush that week. But that’s neither here nor there.)

Now where was I?

Oh right, the Boo and I’s perfect relationship and how we’re so disgustingly adorable and connected that we might make you want to gouge out your own eyeballs with an oyster fork and then spit roast them over a raging fire out of the soul-wrenching agony and recognition that your relationship will never compare with ours. (Too much? Mmmkay. Just provin’ a point.)

I’ll just cut to the chase. Because we’re so on the same wave length the Boo telepathically channeled my luck and busted ass yesterday. In the shower. And seeing as he’s basically Yao Ming status height wise it wasn’t a pretty sight. (I mean it was kind of hilarious to come in to the bathroom after hearing what sounded like a herd of buffalo thundering through the nether regions of our house and find my 6’7” man friend huddled amidst a sea of magenta and gold shower curtains, soaking wet and trying desperately to stand upright and cover the whale and scrots all at the same time. So yea, I laughed. But only briefly. And only after I was sure he wasn’t badly injured.)

Turns out I’m a raging bitch and he was/is badly injured.

After 3 hours at the doctor’s office and another hour or so filling prescriptions and buying a ghastly looking sling, we’ve learned that he’s actually fractured his labrum (which is not to be confused with “labia” which I got another good laugh out of. God, I’m mature.) In laymen’s terms, he’s cracked the part of his shoulder where the ball goes into the socket (that’s what she said) and symptomatically, every time he moves even the slightest it basically feels like he’s being repeatedly stabbed with a two-edged rusty hepatitis smothered shank. (Or so I’ve been told.)

He may need surgery but we’ll have to wait a few days to see the specialist and possibly get a CAT scan to see more of the damage but bottom line is it’s a good thing he’s as tall as he is. Because if he was my height he would have come down on his neck and not his shoulder and very likely snapped his spinal cord in half. Needless to say we both feel a little like we’ve had some sort of near-death experience. The Boo almost dying or at the very least becoming paralyzed and me losing my best friend. So if nothing else we can at least be happy that it wasn’t any worse and we are still together and in one piece.

Then again, it’s easy to see the bright side of things when you’re not the one sporting the shiteous sling.

(Sorry babe. Thanks for letting me make fun of your wound. Get well soon. Kiss kiss. Love you mean it bye.)