Sometime between Friday night and Saturday morning, I threw my neck out, which I didn’t even know was possible since I don’t even have an AARP card nor have I cut off all my hair and begun donning big wooden African jewelery. What’s next? THE CHANGE? Will I become one of those people who say things like THE CHANGE and Aunt Flo and va-jay-jay (seriously, stop. And non-Seattleites, stop thinking that there’s really a hospital called Seattle Grace).
But my neck and shoulder muscle cramps have made it pretty difficult to do anything other than creeking out, “I’m going to live with this misery forever!” When my husband suffers any ailment, he sincerely believes he is dying and I must rub his head and whisper, “You poor poor baby.”
When I’m sick, I believe that I am going to continue wallowing in this disabling pain and must be ferried to the ER where they will shelve all the heart attack patients, roommates who thought it was a good idea at the time to tape their penises together and stab victims in order to accommodate some lady who can’t even sit up to blog because she “slept funny.”
In non-Mona-whining-again news, I’m nominated for Metroblogging Seattle’s Blarch Badness! I plan to roll out my campaign strategy this week since I’m up against some pretty heavy contenders, contenders who don’t have a dark bottomless void where self-esteem and a moral compass should be. It’ll be like the real election only with bribes and without any promises for change!