🌮 The Protein Powder Portal, a Pool Day, and a Taco in Armor

🎵 Song of the Day: “Chicken Fried” – Zac Brown Band

Because sometimes, after a portal opens in your kitchen, you just need a song about the simple things.

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This morning started like any other: protein shake, workout prep, and trying not to let soreness talk me out of doing the right thing. But unlike any other morning, I found Tobito and the Refried Avenger in the kitchen, mid-argument, standing suspiciously close to my tub of protein powder. My internal alarm bells screamed, but alas, they were just internal.

"You don't even know how to draw a proper symbol!" Refried snapped.

"That's because I'm improvising," Tobito shot back. "Besides, it's protein art."

Seconds later, the tub tipped. Protein powder erupted, coating the counter in a fine, white, snowy disaster. I sighed, bracing myself for the inevitable cleanup. Instead, Tobito crouched down, his finger now a crunchy shaman’s brush, tracing intricate patterns in the powdery landscape.

"Stop it," Refried warned. "You're going to mess something up."

Before Tobito could finish his masterpiece, Refried let out a sneeze so powerful it rattled the canister. The remaining powder puffed into the air, swirling and dancing before settling into weird, glowing lines and mystical sigils. They blinked at it. Refried tilted his head.

"Wait… I can read this."

He uttered something I didn’t quite catch—a word that sounded like ancient Latin, if ancient Latin were spoken through a mouthful of frijoles. A blinding flash of light filled the kitchen, the floor gave a soft shudder, and then… silence.

They were gone.

I called out, checked the pantry, even peered into the freezer. Nothing. Just the lingering protein dust and that bizarre, half-finished symbol on the counter. But I couldn't dwell. I had a dog ready for adventure, a bag to pack, and a friend waiting.

We left.

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💦 The Water, the Kids, and the Weirdness I Tried to Explain

At my friend’s house, the vibe was pure summer bliss. Kids splashed with water toys, the sun warmed our faces, and my dog—blissfully unaware of any interdimensional taco drama—was absolutely thriving. He dove, he barked at a floating shark, he brought unadulterated joy to everyone.

While drying him off, I casually mentioned Tobito and the Refried Avenger being MIA. My friend's eyebrow shot up. His wife, with an almost too-gentle hand, took the water bottle from my grasp.

"What is this?" she asked.

"It's water," I said, confused.

They sniffed it. Confirmed it was, indeed, water. Still, they exchanged a look that clearly screamed, concerned.

"I think you've been hanging around those tacos too long," my friend finally said. "You quoted one earlier, something about emotional support tacos?"

I shrugged. "They motivate me. Just this morning, one told me, ‘Discipline isn't punishment—it's preparation.’"

That one actually landed.

We talked more, laughed about the sheer weirdness life throws your way when you're just trying to better yourself, and before long, the sun began its slow dip. I dried off the dog one last time, loaded him up, and headed home.

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💫 And Then They Were Back

The house was eerily quiet when I returned. Still no sign of the tacos. I almost convinced myself it had all been some protein-induced hallucination.

Then the half-symbol on the counter began to glow—a soft, pulsing amber.

A flash of light, sharper and more intense than before, burst through the kitchen. I threw an arm over my eyes, momentarily blinded.

When I looked again, they were there.

Sort of.

Standing where my protein powder tub had been were two impossibly dressed figures. Tobito, now gleaming in plated, shell-like armor with vibrant salsa-red trim, proudly announced,

"I am now Sir Shells-a-Lot!"

The Refried Avenger, cloaked in a majestic cape of melted cheese and boots that faintly smelled of cumin, declared,

"And I am Cheddar the Brave!"

They both looked at me, expectant, as if I should applaud their grand entrance.

I didn’t.

"Where the hell were you?" I asked.

Taking turns, they regaled me with their adventure: a strange, swirling fog, a storyteller facing a crisis, whispers of a missing friend, and a glowing scarab necklace. Apparently, they'd offered advice, lent a hand, and were sent home through a scarab-shaped portal of pure light.

Honestly? It tracked.

I stood there in silence for a beat too long, then a short, sharp laugh escaped me.

"That explains why my friend and his wife were sniffing my water," I muttered, shaking my head. "I was talking about motivational tacos like it was totally normal."

I realized then just how far off the rails things had gone—and weirdly, how okay I was with it.

They nodded in unison, their new armor clinking softly.

"Emotional support comes in all forms," Sir Shells-a-Lot declared.

"And sometimes," Cheddar the Brave added with a glint in his eye,

"the mess you spill… is just the portal you need."

🎯 Catch more of my journey into weight loss, self-improvement, and real-life balance here:

📍 theselfrevamp.blogspot.com