Why I Am Questioning The Wisdom Of My Diet Coke Dependency

I think I broke my foot this morning. This oh-so-medically-informed conclusion is based on extensive Googling, the helpful input of several Lawyerly Place colleagues, and the fact that it hurts like a Mother Effer. I’ve an appointment with my podiatrist to confirm my self-diagnosis and hopefully, to get some Vicodin. But until then, I am carefully studying diagrams of foot bones, reading up on I-dropped-something-on-me type injuries and comparing all that to my current Purple Marshmallow Foot Status.

To better understand the events leading to my gimpdom, I need to rewind several weeks. On some random weekend afternoon, when I was still in the throes of misguided eCrush love, I ran out of Diet Coke. A continuous intake of caffeine is pretty much the only way I’m able to function and reduced calorie Coke products are my beverage of choice. That day, when I opened the Frigidaire to find my household Diet Coke supplies were low, I freaked. I need at least two available cans to maintain a continuous Diet Coke intake. Otherwise, my caffeine level dips, I get a rager headache and I sometimes decapitate small children. But my reaction to the soda situation was laughable compared to eCrush’s. His caffeine dependency far exceeds mine. It’s sort of like comparing a hardened heroin addict (him) with a kindergartner who has just learned to say no (me).  When I informed eCrush that I was out of liquid crack and we’d have to ration until I made a grocery run, he gave me Panic Eyes. Without a word, he got off the couch, grabbed my collapsible shopping cart and scurried to Soviet Safeway. Twenty minutes later, eCrush was back and armed with six fridge packs. Diet Coke crisis averted.

Liquid Sustenance

Liquid Sustenance

Fast forward to Sunday. Thanks to the previous day’s eCrush Confrontation, I was still at DEFCON emotional levels. In an effort to quell my instincts, which demanded I inflict injury onto his Stupid Smooshie Dog, I was rampaging through Chez Apartment and ridding myself of all leftover eCrush paraphernalia. During my Anger Storm, his fancy pants $150 whirly twirly toothbrush was repurposed; I found it cleans the litter boxes superbly. I played Balcony Basketball with his iPod. And the homeless guy who sleeps by the Rosslyn Metro looks rather dapper in the $195 Versace Shoulder Snap shirt eCrush orgasmed over. Then, towards the end of the evening, I found an unopened Diet Coke 12-pack tucked into the No Man’s Land Nook (that space above the fridge but below those basically purposeless cabinets that are only good for stashing random kitchenware, like fondue pots and vegetable steamers). Instantly, I knew it was a pack that eCrush had purchased. At some point, he’d written cutesy “I Love You” type notes on the cases and this one was graffitied with his lies. I was all quandarified about what to do. On one hand, I felt anything associated with eCrush carried some level of taint; a sort of a residual emotional toxicity and I wanted it gone. Otherwise I was probably going to maim his dog, be arrested for animal cruelty and, really, that would suck. Yet, the 12-pack was half a week’s worth of perfectly drinkable caffeine and I hated to throw it away just because it was purchased by eDouchehead. I wondered if there was some sort of cleanse I could do. Maybe something involving incense and Clorox Wipes? But eventually, my addiction won and I opted to keep the soda. With a nod to my sanity, I cut eCrush’s note off the end of the fridge pack and stashed the Diet Coke back in the Nook, intending the cans to be an emergency stash brought out when only I was desperate enough ingest tainted caffeine.

The Fridge Pack Of Doom

The Fridge Pack Of Doom

So, this morning, I went to the grab my a.m. dose of Functionality In A Can. And I guess the Curse Of eCrush was at work because as soon as I opened the fridge door, the end of the 12-pack, the part that keeps all the cans nestled in the cardboard confines, burst. One by freaking one, the Diet Cokes rolled from the carton, off the top of the fridge and Kamikazed directly onto my foot. And one of them exploded as it hit (what I’ve since identified as) my medial cuneiform.

bones_of_foot

Spikes of pain shot into my toes and up my leg. There was a thunking sound every time a can hit my foot, like a herd of drunken sorority girls stumbling down the stairs. Then, barely five seconds after it began, the Diet Coke Attack was done. There was no way I was opening the freezer to get ice for my swelling foot. If there was an errant Diet Coke can up top, I was not about to jostle it and be knocked unconscious. Instead, I sprint-limped from the kitchen to put my mangled foot under a stream of freezing tap water. And as I sat on the edge of the bathtub, I dialed eCrush. Wisely, he screened. But when eCrush listens to his voice mail, I hope he hugs his little doggie tight and fears the day I carry through on my threat to kick him and his Gay Dog in the balls.

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16 Responses to “Why I Am Questioning The Wisdom Of My Diet Coke Dependency”

  1. I-66 Says:

    Um… maybe I’m crazy for asking this, but um… how do I put this politely…

    Why the fuck is eCrush still in your phone?

    Yeah. That’s about the message I wanted to get across.

    It’s actually no longer in there. But it is seared into my brain under “Assmunch.”

  2. Brett Says:

    I missed what went down with e-Crush, but I’m sure whatever happened, he more than deserves the Assmuch title. Sorry about your foot. If you need some sexy footgear, you know I’ve got some with your name on it.

    Thanks, but I hope to avoid that type of fashion forwardness…

  3. Elle Says:

    Girl, I am sorry for your emotional and physical pain. In more ways than one, I have been there. I’m on the other side of the canyon, yodeling across the Internet void, rooting for you. Time and alcohol will prevail, and you will forget that wretched number.

    Ah, thanks! I can hear you being all Heidi the Yodeler from here!

  4. Malnurtured Snay Says:

    I started cussing in the office: like, frak, fraker, frakkin’, motherfrakker … my boss, not a BSG fan, doesn’t know what to make of it.

    I used the un-clean version of “frak” when it happened…

  5. suz Says:

    Just another reason he deserves to be exiled. With Gloria Steinem. In Berkley. With no caffeine. Or Madras pants.

    Or Nordstroms.

  6. amy Says:

    The poor puppy didn’t do anything to deserve your wrath! It can’t help that it has a dickhead owner 😦

    Do you want a puppy? I know one that needs a good home…

  7. areyoureallyalawyer Says:

    How do you know that the puppy didn’t do anything to deserve wrath. Would it help you to know that the dog, although trained not to, shit on the white carpet in her apartment. Or may be it deserves wrath because it yapped all the time and terrorized Bionic Kitty and Number Two. Not to mention that the dog was a perv and watched them have sex. Apparently the puppy doesn’t fall far from the dickhead tree.

    LOL, I tell you waaaayyyy too much…

  8. Zandria Says:

    That SUCKS…how’s your foot?

    Mildly fractured. Swollen and bruised.

  9. Page Turner Says:

    Cleary the diet coke box was defective, anything bought from Soviet Safeway has something wrong with it, otherwise they wouldn’t sell it.

    From here on out, it’s all Peapod, all the time.

  10. lyssabits Says:

    Re Suz: It would serve eCrush’s pathetic Republican ass right to be exiled to Berkeley. 😉 Although there are some other Republicans there, and frankly, I would probably end up having to deal with him since my in-laws are like 2 of the 15 Republicans who live in Berkeley, and I’d really rather not.

  11. Jennifer Says:

    Here’s hoping you have already managed to fix your foot (or dull the pain with various narcotics). *raises margarita in your honor*

    I have two tiny fractures. No narcotics provided. But I’m all about self-medication via vodka.

  12. Herb Says:

    I missed what went down with e-Crush, but I’m sure whatever happened, he more than deserves the Assmuch title. Sorry about your foot. If you need some sexy footgear, you know I’ve got some with your name on it.

    No pink Crocs, of course.

    Is your sexy footgear hard soled?

  13. ella Says:

    i would have taught that box of diet coke a lesson and drank every single one of them. NO SURVIVORS.

    Ha!

  14. the doc Says:

    if you have x-rays taken make sure you get a copy!

    Ha! They charge for that, my radiological friend.

  15. Leon Says:

    I think exCrush rigged it.

    I think he just left behind a trail of bad juju.

  16. Malnurtured Snay Says:

    Coke ZERO!!!!!!

    Weighs just as much per can as Diet Coke…

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