Foul language, not my finest moment

This is the blog in which I share with you my asking the orthopedist to have sex with me.  Sorta.  Not really.  But I did say f*ck me, and technically, that's asking for it.  Here's what happened.  I had to go in for a steroid shot into my knee.  It hurt.  Bad.  And while I generally do not use foul language, apparently I do when I am in pain, and there is a needle in my knee and a a doctor on the other end of it.  I felt the sting of the medicine and grit my teeth.  Then, I said f*ck.  Then sh*t.  All while gritting my teeth and trying really hard to be quiet, so it was more of a grunt each time.  Then, we all know my classic frustration phrase, "f*ck me," had to rear it's ugly little head as I am grunting and about to come off the table.  Then, he stopped.  I assumed because that might have alarmed him, so I then grunted, "Don't stop!"  He said he was done, and isn't that just like a man to finish first?  All I could do was tell him that I generally don't curse, and he fake smiled and nodded his head.  I even tried to tell him that I was like a mommy blogger, and you know, those type of people are super clean.  Not so much.  I just won't ever introduce him to Jenny Lawson's work.

I got the coolest compliment the other day when Melanie said that she enjoys reading my blog, and sometimes it makes her blush.  Thanks Mel!  I wasn't aiming for that, but now I might ;o) I rarely blush, but if I wasn't ready to toss my cookies this morning after the shot, I might have crawled into a hole in the fetal position and eventually rocked back and forth until Passover/Easter time.

In other non-news... I was chatting with my doppelganger today, and luckily for me, she is seriously the coolest chick.  She said that my neck has lost weight.  (Well, something to that effect.)  So, it appears the sitting around the house, eat all the garbage you can find, and wallow in self pity for not being able to lose weight by working out at the YMCA is agreeing with me.  NOT.  So, tomorrow, I count calories again.  But this time, I will count to a certain number, and STOP.  Apparently, that part of the process is important.  I'll let you know how it goes.  If you happen to see me, and are not sure if it is me or not since my neck is tribal thin, just look to see if I am limping. I'm that one.