You know how sometimes you're in bed and your house is cold so you're cuddled up to your George (a 21 year old teddy bear) and your blankies are up to your chin and your mouth is probably doing that sucking on a bottle
OF TEQUILA thing?
There you are, warm, snuggling your teddy bear, probably dreaming of half naked Brad Pitts dancing around just for you when ALL OF A SUDDEN your leg decides it is tired of living and tries to commit harakiri 腹切り (only without the cutting of the stomach part)(don't get technical with me okay? I know that is the definition for harakiri but the last thing I need is for somebody else correcting me) in the most painful way imaginable by taking your calf muscles and twisting them until they look like this:
This is what some call a Charley Horse and I call why-not-just-pull-my-heart-out-through-my-nose-you-rotten-bastard-that-way-I-will-die-faster. Both terms are acceptable.
Anyway, once you get the dreaded Charley Horse (I will use this term since the other one takes up too much space) you go from sound asleep to literally jumping straight out of bed and fighting the tentacles of your spouse/significant other/torturer frantically trying to straighten your leg and end the misery.
In the narrow space you have between your side of the bed and the wall, you start doing yoga poses, something you've never done while awake or sober, and you beg for the pain to go away. All this while your spouse/significant other/torturer/jerk laughs at the fact that you shot up 3ft in the air and did an amazing vault that deserved a 10 from the gymnast judges. He laughs and laughs and you swear at him that his pubic hair will be pulled out one by one without the benefits of anesthesia.
The pain is such that your mouth has an after taste unlike anything you've ever tasted. I mean, you'd remember if you had sucked on a tailpipe, right?
Then, just when you think the danger is over, you start to sit back on the bed and make the mistake of trying to get your leg to accompany the rest of your body. WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING??? This sends your spouse/significant other/torturer/jerk/jackass into uncontrollable laughter so you go looking for the tweezers to make good on your threat but then you notice walking is making it better.
You walk around for a little bit until you think the knot in your leg won't commit another act of treason. You go back to bed and your spouse/significant other/torturer/jerk/jackass/maggot offers to give you a (mocking)massage but you know any pressure will just make you cry blood so you politely tell him to go find a spoon and dig his eyeball out of his head.
You get in bed, assume the fetal position and drift into sleep. No longer is Brad Pitt in your dreams. Now you are just having all kinds of nightmares because your subconscious is telling you not to straighten your leg. This manifest itself by showing you images of mannequin legs sticking out of a dumpster. You wake up sore and realize you will have to torture yourself a little more by wearing your 4 inch stilettos to work because it's Friday and therefore your meeting day with OZ, or whatever your boss' name is.
You slip your sad foot into your shoe and wait for the stabbing pain that will stem from your deformed leg... but... NOTHING! The shoes are as comfortable now as they have been the previous times you've worn them. This means you must go out and buy another 10 pairs of the same exact shoe!
Uhm, so yeah. Drink water and eat bananas. That's what my trainer Ovi said will keep Charley Horses at bay.
Also? This did NOT happen to me. Allegedly.
Aww what the fuck! I saw Moulin Rouge on the cable guide only to be denied because it's the 1952 version! I was tricked! Bastards. Did you know that Colette Marchand (the Nicole Kidman of the 50s) had (maybe she's still alive and I'm killing her?) a lazy eye? And what is with the brutal kisses in old movies?? Did the director think it would make a movie sexier if it looked like the guy was trying to eat his lover's mouth?? Did they not get the memo that ravishing and ravenous are two different things???
Today, I added the word *fuck* to my Live Writer dictionary. Champagne for everyone! Except Andy.
My dog Tazz has been playing my nieces piano and I think he's pissed that he sucks because he keeps growling while he does it. Or maybe he's singing? I tell ya that I live in a nuthouse!