I literally have a pain in the ass. No, its a not a neighbor, family member, my ex-husband, (not anymore) or new beau. However, I did meet a man from the neighbor hood quite by accident, and much to my dismay. He rides around a lot on a bicycle, rumored to be looking for crack. I guess in some circles he would be called a cracker looking for crack.
Anyway, some friends had congregated on the front porch laughing, drinking a few cold ones, and some of the younger ladies had their little children with them. Like 10 of them. All little boys. I raised little boys. I have learned what they are capable of. Not in an evil sense, just in a little boy sense. If its loud, makes a mess, breaks something, and involves wrestling, rough-housing, and picking on the smallest one, it must be fun. Two of the young ladies are divorced, and in desperate need in seems of getting laid. So walking by, they happen upon my son, sitting on the porch with his friend Anthony. Never mind that Anthony is in a wheel chair until his leg heals as much as its going to heal. He's blond and blue eyed and handsome in his way. And you've seen pictures of my son.
So, they decide to stop and conversate for a while. I stick my head out the front door, and suddenly there is a cooler full of beer, a fifth of vodka, my car stereo is playing and these two moms, are displaying themselves modestly but to the best advantage the moment will allow. I can tell by my son's voice, he is already half-tanked. Maybe its the Indian blood in him, I don't know, but he does not handle fire-water well. The more he drinks, the louder he whoops.
He is in the process of tying a skinny flashlight to a toy gun for one of the little boys, making his gun an M16 with a night scope. I know this at a glance, but then they all decide they are thirsty, so he says, well, go in and get you something to drink. I wait for the Mom's to follow their kids into the house, just to make sure they do indeed get something to drink, and not decide to chase my cats all over the place, just for the hell of it. So, being the old fart I am, I follow them inside. They are already poking around in side my refrigerator in my kitchen, all of them fighting over Anthony's one lonely little yahoo, when I hear one of them say, "What are you going to to drink?" and suddenly I turned into Bernie Mac. It happened in a flash. I didn't even feel myself change.
"You can have some water, goddammit, " I said. "If you want to drink a soda, go home and drink your own sodas. Does this look like the little kids shot house?" I swear to God that's what I said. I shocked myself. We all just stood there, in silence for a minute. I started talking about the late hour, it was 11:00, at night, and I didn't know what their moms would let them have at that late hour. Wrong thing to say. "Oh, my mom lets me drink anything anytime I want to." was pretty much the standard reply. I said, because I was still Bernie Mac, "Well, I ain't your Mom, and in this house, you drink water. Yes, you can have some ice. Jesus Christ, let some one else get some water, you little water hog."
My friend from across the street, Melissa, a tough young mom, who watches her kids like a hawk watching baby rabbits, pops in, and monitors her brood, and says, "You're nerves are about shot, mine were, too, last night. I was ready to kill somebody. I had to go to Food Lion to just get out for awhile."
Those were the magic words. I transformed from Bernie Mac back into myself. I spotted the smallest of the bunch waiting patiently for his turn, and got him some ice and water, and heard him say thank you, and told him he was a gentleman, and had earned the best kid award for the evening. Then, thankfully, they went outside.
I followed them, where the two young mothers had practically shoved their asses into my son's face, who was enjoying the scenery immensely.
I decided it was best to leave the young people alone and retreat to my room. This is wear the real pain in the ass comes in.
I have two things. Bilateral rotator cuff tendenitous syndrome, which is a condition I have never heard of, but did 3 weeks of physical therapy for, and degenerative spinal disease with bone spurs, yes bone spurs, ladies and gentlemen, they just grew on my my lower spine, below my bulging disc all by themselves. I figure one day, I will wake up, look in the mirror, and see the creature from the black lagoon, or something. I'm pretty close as it is.
The last few days, I have hurt like a somfabitch. That's southern speak for a whole lot. Like on a scale from 1-10, a whopping 12!! I'm thinking of going through a pain management doctor. I don't want to. I'm one of those people who think I can take it, just suck it up, and don't think about it. But, hell, I guess even I got my limits. The thing is, though I take a more than a few meds, with each one I've taken, I have to research it over the Internet, check all the side-effects and interactions, and tremble with trepidation each time I pop one in my mouth. Is this the one that's going to give me convulsions, or make me shit my pants uncontrollably?
Maybe I would be better off staying Bernie Mac.