Tuesday, March 13, 2012

A Blogging Injury

I broke my finger last Wednesday.

Here is the true story:

I sat down in my chair and quickly rolled over to my laptop, slamming my finger between the chair arm and the desk.  I must have hit it just right because I broke the first knuckle and split my finger open for blood and guts to ooze out.  

AND WHO SAYS THAT BLOGGING ISN'T A DANGEROUS SPORT?  I'm going to sue myself, but I don't expect much of a settlement.

This version gives me absolutely no street cred.  And you should never ruin a good story with the truth, so here is what I'm telling people:

I was at a PTA meeting - you know - just sittin' there mindin' my own business when all of a sudden this Mom suggested that we do a car wash instead of a donut sale for a fundraiser.  And you know how I feel about donuts.  
So I was all like, "What are you thinkin'?"  Then she was all like, "You better shut your Krispy Kreme lovin' mouth!"  Then I was all like, "Oh no, you did-en!  Why don't you come over here and shut it for me?!  Oh, and by the way, your Louis Vuitton is a fake!"  
Then she was all up in my face screaming, so I body slammed her right there on the school cafeteria floor.  She didn't go down without a fight, though.  Sure, I got this broken finger, but you should see what I did to her..."

How's that?  By saying that it happened at a PTA meeting, does that make it more plausible?

Let me tell you something about breaking the actual knuckle instead of your finger:  It freakin' hurts!  On a scale of 1 to natural childbirth, I'd give it a 6.  Okay, a 5.  But natural childbirth isn't just pain, IT'S AN OUT OF BODY EXPERIENCE.

I almost passed out, so I took a pain pill.  Look.  I don't take pain pills.  I don't even take an Advil if I can help it, so let's just say that it might have affected me more than most people.

My sister drove me to the Urgent Care and I'm embarrassed to admit how I answered my medical questions while in triage.  Sorry.  It was the pain pill talking.

Do you smoke?
Gah no!
Do you drink?
Only when I've had a really bad day.
Are you sexually active?
Not as often as my husband would like.
Do you exercise?
Pfft.  No, but you should read the blog that I posted about running.  Do you run? If so, then I need to ask you a few questions.

And it just went downhill from there.  

So, in case you're curious, here is what a broken knuckle looks like:

It hurts worse than it looks.

Oh, and you know how your Mom always told you to wear clean underwear in case you were ever in a car accident?  Well, ladies, I've got something new to add to the list:  Have a good manicure just in case you're ever in a blogging accident.

Just like a Palmolive commercial.

Typing is very inconvenient now, which is sort of an important part of my day.  I tried using a voice activated typing software, but apparently this software only works for people who live north of the Mason-Dixon Line because it didn't have a freakin' clue what I was saying.

Does Larry the Cable Guy make a similar software?  If not, then he should.

It reminded me of the time when I called 411 trying to find a nearby Halloween Express.  The voice automated system gave me their phone number.  How nice!  Usually it doesn't understand what I'm saying and sends me directly to an operator who speaks Redneck.

So I called the number while my children were in the backseat watching The Little Mermaid a little louder than they should.  The lady who answered the phone gave me directions.  I drove up and down the street thinking, 'Ugh! It has GOT to be right here!'

And since I wasn't born with a penis, I called the number again to admit that I was lost.  I asked the kids to turn down the volume on the DVD player first, so this time, I could actually hear the lady say Holiday Inn Express.  Ahem.  I was sitting in their parking lot at the time.

See.  I'm better with directions than I thought.

So even though I'm working with a disability for the next couple of weeks, I'm going to keep blogging the old fashioned way.  Because when I do something stupid, you deserve to laugh at me for it.