I’ve been having some back, neck, and shoulder pain issues lately that have interfered with me enjoying my normal routine of kicking ass doing Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu (which by the way involves no kicking, but my ass might sit on someone while submitting them). It’s equally painful to sit for long periods in front of a computer or in my truck which I need to do for the job thing. I always tap out before my neck gets really cranked, but let’s face it, that’s still just not good for soreness that’s already there. Sitting for long periods of time sounds harmless enough, but I assure you, it’s even worse. When I exercise my muscles get loose and happy. When I sit in the same spot all day driving, typing, or talking on the phone my muscles are like, “Um, can we like go do something?”. When I tell them no, they get unhappy and tight. Lately no amount of stretch breaks and lay on my cube floor breaks have been helping.

I turn to vitamin I. Vitamin I is also known as ibuprofen. I’m always the good person who takes it with food and drink, but apparently sometimes I still can’t handle it. I’ve been getting terrible heartburn off and on which may be due to taking more vitamin I than normal, or it could be completely unrelated. All I know is that if your back hurts in a tight, achey way and then your chest burns with pain at the same time, it interferes with your happiness.

I’ve been trying to get the not-boyfriend to give me awesome massages, but I swear he was way more interested in this activity before we were dating. I guess I shouldn’t think about that too much.

To be fair he has been sick and stressed and I’m sure that the last thing he wants to do is look at me and think, “More work I need to do. More that is expected of me!”

For those of you wondering about what a not-boyfriend is, since I don’t think I ever blogged about not-boyfriend, we’ve been dating since shortly after the boy dumped me. I call him not-boyfriend even though he has told me I can tell people he’s my boyfriend and he introduces us as boyfriend and girlfriend. I do this because I am silly over literal and dedicated to the truth. I mean, I can’t tell you the difference between him and a boyfriend, because all of the components are there, but we don’t call each other by these names. If we can’t say it to each other, it just feels weird saying it to other people. “This Guy I’m Dating” is just too much to say and/or type. I’m starting to try out the phrase, “My boyfriend was saying…” but I’m just not there yet. Those of you with a good sense of time (or are stalking me) will know me and the boy broke up last October. It’s now this November. If you ask not-boyfriend, he’ll say we “officially started dating” in February. If we don’t call each other boyfriend and girlfriend, how does one know when you officially start dating? I don’t know either. I personally also can’t recall anything about the month of February that indicated we were official then and not in January. Additionally I think we’ve since become closer in March and all those months after. Lately he’s been further confusing me about throwing in, “Now that we’re more serious,” and “Since we’ve become serious.”. You might be asking how serious it can be if you have issues with the words boyfriend and girlfriend? I don’t know, but if I suddenly have a ring, white picket fence, and four hundred babies and we’re still working on wording, someone might have to intervene. You may have to sit us down and say, “Look, you’re boyfriend and girlfriend. Just say it already fer chissakes.”

So I did get a massage this past weekend and it helped a lot, but it’s now Wednesday.

The massage was something like:

“You don’t feel that tight.”

“Yes, I’m making it up.”

“Nooo, that’s not what I meant. I’m just saying your back doesn’t feel that tight.”

“Well then you’re not pressing hard enough.”

“…”

“Can you go harder than that? …That’s what she said.”

“Is that too hard?”

“No, you can go harder than that.”

Eventually he cracked his knuckles loudly and declared that was all he could do. That is exactly what it feels like, no mater how much I stretch or rub the muscles, it still feels sore and tight. Before everyone recommends some fancy deep tissue massage, I have four words for you: You pay for it. I’ve never had a professional massage since I’ve never had expendable income (yet). Even if I could come up with the money to do one of these, I’m sure one little session will not be the end of it. Massages are an addictive drug even when you don’t have any pain. A professional massage when it gets rid of pain sounds like I’m filling up a credit card.

One thing that has been helping is using a heating pad before I work out to loosen me up. The gym I train at is nice enough to heat one up for me to put on my back while I begin to warm up. If it helps then, it can help at other times, right? So now I need to buy something. It always comes back to money.

As I was commuting this morning and posturing and stretching, wiggling in the driver seat, I decided it was time to visit a pharmacy to get a heating pad of my own. I couldn’t imagine sitting for at least eight more hours and then commuting home without doing something other than giving myself heartburn. In this case I think it’d be okay to be a few minutes late. This was going to make me into a happy worker bee.

There was a long line at the register of people buying one thing a piece. One of the guys in front of me tried to do the, “Oh, ladies first!” to a good looking woman who pointed out,

“There’s people behind you.” Score one for fairness, minus one for flirting. So much for looking at her backside.

“We all have like one item a piece, it shouldn’t take too long,” I stated to the line.

This apparently cued the guy in front of me to just start talking. He was certainly talking to the rest of the line, but he wasn’t continuing the conversation, “Man some retard was blaring his horn this morning and I was like I wish I had one of those devices that could just like disable someone’s electrical system. Z-pow! No more horn for you!”

I couldn’t think of any kind of response to fill the silence. He started again,

“Wow, I ate steak for breakfast. I have a wicked rush right now. It’s like my blood is on fire!”

Another register opened up to help the next person in line.

“I’m running late for work. Anyone mind if I cut in front?” a guy in back of me walks to the front of the line not waiting for anyone to answer.

“Ya, actually, I’m on my way to work too,” I say before he gets to the register. The guy glares, throws down the breakfast bar he has, and stalks out. Immediately a third cash register opens up, and one more person at the register finishes. As he walks out the door, he could have been going up to a free register.

I walked up, put down my heating pad, and commented on how some people just thing the world revolves around them.

That’s not the best part. The best part is me imagining him being late and telling his boss that he was late because of some *expletive* chick who wouldn’t let him cut in line. His coworkers all make non-committal noises and comments he takes as agreement as they really think, “Wow! What a jerkface!”. I love thwarting jerkfaces. Call it a hobby.