Yes, I know.  I'm 31, and saying I'm old makes a lot of you, well... very old...  sorry...  (but it's true, you'll get over it).   Anyhow, I've never really had a problem with my back, but recently, it's occasionally acted up.

Since it's Christmas, and I'm far too girly to hang my own Christmas lights, we hired it out this year.   Afterall, I wouldn't want to over exhert my freakishly old back.  Anyway, since we hired real men to hang lights, and it was 10:00 AM on a Tuesday, oh yeah, and I was on vacation, I decided a cocktail was in order.  After talking to the "GUYS", I realized they needed some extension cables.  I had a big box of them in the basement, so I preceeded to lift the extremely heavy box.  (Actually, what really pisses me off is that it was pretty light).  Despite it's tiny weight, once I got it out to the porch, I set it down, and @#%^ Muther Fucker @#$^% I felt a sharp pain in my lower back.  I could barely stand up straight.  Of course, there were other men around, (who where older than me, I might add).  And so, fuck the pain, I stood straight up.  Walked out, smiled, and with just a tiny bit of a groan in my voice, indicated that the extension cables were in the box.  As I started to walk away, one of the bastards stopped me and proceeded to ask me a series of unimportant questions, what color lights do I want, how many trees, really stupid stuff... can't this son of a bitch see that I'm in agony?   Ask my wife about the damn lights, she's two sheets to the wind, her judgement won't be clouded at all...   After answering what seemed like 200 questions about lights, colors, power, timers, extension cords, but strangely, no costs, I shuffled my sorry ass inside.   

I explained to Brandy what had happened, and she was very supportive, she gave me motrin, some alleve, and even another cocktail.  Her support ran out however, when after an hour and a half, I was still lying prone on the bed practically (actually) crying like a baby, and I asked for something stronger...  A Hydrocodone, for example, maybe a Percocet, or, GOD FORBID, one of her Demerol's...  I might as well have asked her for a foursome with two slutty college whores.  (Now that I think of it, WHY DIDN'T I ASK FOR THAT!!!, damn missed opportunities).  Anyway, she gave me a lecture on how those things are like gold (not the whores, the pills), wait, they aren't like gold, they're like Platinum, no, GOLD WRAPPED in PLATINUM,... no,   GOLD WRAPPED IN PLATINUM, DIPPED IN CHOCOLATE AND SERVED AT THE BOTTOM OF A CHOCOLATE MARTINI WITH A DIAMOND COATED RIM!!!!!!!!  Anyway, you get the idea, they're kind of important to her.   She asked me to wait an hour more and then if I was still lying prone on the bed, I might be able to have the Hydrocodone (weakest of the bunch).  Obviously, it was at this point that I calmly told her to go to hell, and grabbed the bottle of Percocet.   Before you get the impression that I'm an asshole, I bypassed the Demerol, I'm not a total savage.  The bottle said take 1 or 2 tablets for pain, I took 2, it would have been 3, if Brandy hadn't pried the bottle from my hands.  It wasn't a fair fight, I have a bad back, and that bitch is psycho strong.

After another hour, I felt a little better, probably would have felt great, if the damn room wasn't spinning.  Anyhow, the back is still sore, and I'm thinking it's time to start smuggling some of the meds out of Brandy's stash.   I'll blame it on the house cleaner...  heheheheheheh.