Riblets. McRib. Ribbing. Ribbed for your pleasure. Rib-a-dib-a-dooo!
So yesterday I cracked a rib.
It didn't happen while drinking beers around midnight on Friday and getting into a Bouncy Castle with 5 of my best people pals (seriously, you guys, the part where your Friends With Kids have kids young enough to warrant a Bouncy Castle at their birthday party is one of the best parts of being friends with Friends With Kids), although, if I were going to crack a rib, you would figure that's when it should happen, right? Because that makes for an even more awesome story: We were drinking beers and bouncing in a Bouncy Castle and then I cracked a rib!
What is not such an awesome story is taking a flying leap on to your bed on Sunday morning to make your boyfriend laugh and landing - hard - with your hand in a fist underneath the right side of your rib cage.
Yeah. That was me. The girl who cracked a rib after she jumped into bed like a total fucking dorkatron.
It's not suuuuper bad - I didn't break off a piece of the riblet or anything - but holy crap, you guys. Did you know that when you crack a rib, every breath is an exercise in pain? Did you know that raising your arms or simply sitting - in any position! - hurts like a MOTHERFUCKER? Did you know that this can severely compromise some other stuff you've got going on, like, I don't know...showering, meditating, ab workouts with Jackie Warner, sitting at the computer and finishing a book, watching Shark Week...? Did you also know that it can take up to six weeks to heal and that you basically can't do anything for it except take some aspirin and a deep breath every hour to make sure your lung tissue doesn't collapse and you get pneumonia and die?!
Bet you didn't know all that, huh.
So yeah. Hope I don't get pneumonia and die.
But if I do, please remind my mom that my last wishes are laid out carefully and explicitly in my Living Will, and that I haven't changed my mind about "Don't Cry For Me, Argentina" being played during my funeral procession, and I still want a cake made of my likeness that should be shared and eaten during that whole "Hey, someone died! Let's stand around and eat some ham sandwiches and talk about it" thing they always do after funerals. And if she could gather the most flattering and poignant photos of me and make them into a moving slideshow of my life set to the music of "Without You" by Harry Nilsson, that would be pretty cool, too, and would halve the odds of me coming back to haunt her as a ghost.
Wait, you guys...what if I came back as a ghost who haunted people by taking flying leaps onto people's beds?! HOW FUCKING AWESOME WOULD THAT BE. And then my eerie voice crying, 'This is how I diiiiiiiiiied!" as I did it would show up on the Ghost Hunters EVP when they did a show about it, and people would flip. The fuck. OUT.
So maybe this rib thing isn't so bad!
It didn't happen while drinking beers around midnight on Friday and getting into a Bouncy Castle with 5 of my best people pals (seriously, you guys, the part where your Friends With Kids have kids young enough to warrant a Bouncy Castle at their birthday party is one of the best parts of being friends with Friends With Kids), although, if I were going to crack a rib, you would figure that's when it should happen, right? Because that makes for an even more awesome story: We were drinking beers and bouncing in a Bouncy Castle and then I cracked a rib!
What is not such an awesome story is taking a flying leap on to your bed on Sunday morning to make your boyfriend laugh and landing - hard - with your hand in a fist underneath the right side of your rib cage.
Yeah. That was me. The girl who cracked a rib after she jumped into bed like a total fucking dorkatron.
It's not suuuuper bad - I didn't break off a piece of the riblet or anything - but holy crap, you guys. Did you know that when you crack a rib, every breath is an exercise in pain? Did you know that raising your arms or simply sitting - in any position! - hurts like a MOTHERFUCKER? Did you know that this can severely compromise some other stuff you've got going on, like, I don't know...showering, meditating, ab workouts with Jackie Warner, sitting at the computer and finishing a book, watching Shark Week...? Did you also know that it can take up to six weeks to heal and that you basically can't do anything for it except take some aspirin and a deep breath every hour to make sure your lung tissue doesn't collapse and you get pneumonia and die?!
Bet you didn't know all that, huh.
So yeah. Hope I don't get pneumonia and die.
But if I do, please remind my mom that my last wishes are laid out carefully and explicitly in my Living Will, and that I haven't changed my mind about "Don't Cry For Me, Argentina" being played during my funeral procession, and I still want a cake made of my likeness that should be shared and eaten during that whole "Hey, someone died! Let's stand around and eat some ham sandwiches and talk about it" thing they always do after funerals. And if she could gather the most flattering and poignant photos of me and make them into a moving slideshow of my life set to the music of "Without You" by Harry Nilsson, that would be pretty cool, too, and would halve the odds of me coming back to haunt her as a ghost.
Wait, you guys...what if I came back as a ghost who haunted people by taking flying leaps onto people's beds?! HOW FUCKING AWESOME WOULD THAT BE. And then my eerie voice crying, 'This is how I diiiiiiiiiied!" as I did it would show up on the Ghost Hunters EVP when they did a show about it, and people would flip. The fuck. OUT.
So maybe this rib thing isn't so bad!
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