Michelle came out to the car and I was already standing there, rubbing my chest and wincing in pain. (That’s another story. I have a chest. Apparently my torso has been screwed on upside down for 25+ years.)
Michelle: “What happened?”
Me: “Your gate attacked me.”
Michelle (confused): “How did that happen?”
Me: “Your gate swings open.”
Michelle: “It’s always swung open.”
Me (realizing no matter how I explain it, I am just an idiot): “Your gate attacked me. I’m suing your and your family for all you’re worth!”
I have a really bad bruise on my sternum now, a reminder that I am an idiot. Still I take solace in knowing that birds of a feather flock together.
Michelle (leaving the bar by Pink’s): Let’s go to Pink’s!
*Everyone dismisses her, because we don’t want to wait in line.*
Kayne (walking by a car with two dogs in it): Look at those dogs. I want a dog!
Michelle: Me too!
Kayne: Really, what kind of dog?
Michelle: Pink’s hot dog!
*silent stares of confusion and disbelief*
Yesterday I went biking with Andrew and Fred along the beach. I have not ridden a bike in sixteen years, nor have I done any cardio working in quite a while. Let me tell you. My pushup regiment does not help in the cycling arena.
This was our approximate route, eight miles in each direction. I am not ashamed to admit that this was far too long for my first ride in over one and a half decades. I think I could have much better managed a trip to Hermosa, grabbing a beer at Hennessy’s, and turning around. Instead we went all the way to the power plant in El Segundo.
Here’s the proof we went to El Segundo. I would have used flash, but the low light makes us look better, and the background comes out. You can see storage tanks and stacks behind us. I’m smiling, but I am in a world of pain. My legs were on fire any time I tired to pedal faster than cruising speed. I had to stop at each pier to rest my legs.
To top it off, my seat was very uncomfortable. You know the part on your body where your butt starts to form from the front to the back? That whole area was going numb. There was definitely a lack of circulation going on down there. I kept trying to stand and pedal to get off my seat, but my legs wouldn’t let me do that for long. You know that annoying, shooting sensation you get when you have a part of your body fall asleep, and you move to a position that lets the blood start moving? Imagine that, where your undercarriage resides and for two hours. I need to get one of those big squishy seats.
I got back and my legs felt like they were going to fall off. I figured I would have trouble walking today. Surprisingly my legs don’t hurt very much, but I think that’s only because my ass hurts so bad. (Insert gay jokes here.) My ass is bruised and sore, and I’m honestly afraid to use the bathroom. I’ll leave you with that. Think about that image this weekend.
Girls never understand how painful it is to get hit in the crotch. To give you an example of how bad the pain is, if you asked a guy whether he would rather get hit in the face or the crotch with a baseball thrown from thirty feet away, most guys would answer the face is the better option.
The sensation of pain is so sharp and intense, and it does not stay located in the region of the crotch. Standing is impossible after a solid hit. Your limbs go numb and your body just collapses under its own weight. Your lungs tighten up and breathing becomes very difficult as your heart rate skyrockets. Your stomach cramps up as if you’ve just done hundreds of situps. I haven’t figured out the reason for this part, but your mouth goes completely dry too, like waking up from a morning of heavy drinking. Tears streaming down the face and vomiting often accompany harder hits to the crotch.
Fortunately, for the sake of the science of sports, some idiot decided to take a hit from a tennis ball in his special area for everyone to see. They get scientific with the explanation, but in the end the host just laughs at the dude.
I understand that part of the reason no sympathy is given is because guys laugh at each other when it happens. I recall playing a game of Cranium, and my roommate got mad at me for my poor performance. He took the ball of clay that came with the game and hurled it at my crotch, while sitting right next to me. I just tipped over on my side and tears began pouring out of my eyes. The whole time both my roommate and I were laughing. The girls stared at us, quite confused.
Just because the two of user were laughing doesn’t mean it hurts any less. We just know the pain isn’t normally going to result in death or the loss of a testicle. We laugh because we understand. Ladies, cut us a break. It does truly hurt. We don’t fake it. So do us a favor and keep the blows to the crotch to the good kind.