I Did It. God Help Us.

So people.

I decided it was finally time for me to put my money where my big yapper is, so last night [drum roll please…] BeBop filmed me doing my shots!

As a quick little aside, (except these never seem to be asides, but more complete deviations from my point and they’re never short!) as we rewound the tape last night, I stumbled across a video my sister (let’s call her Grommy) and I made a few years ago when she was up for Christmas.  She and her husband brought their three dogs, all King Charles Cavalier Spaniels.  The one little tiny female is adorable, with white and red/orange colored fur.  She has these long, fluffy ears, and my sister would take one ear and fold it up over her head. It looked like a giant, wispy, orange-colored comb-over.  Can you see where I’m going with this?  Well, Grommy would make her this comb-over and then do her best Donald Trump impression:  she would poke the dog’s paw out in front of her and say, "It kills me to do this, but YOU’RE FIRED."  And oh my God, we would laugh and laugh and she would do it again, and we would laugh and laugh.  And the rest of our family thought we were being completely retarded, but we captured it all on film and until last night, I hadn’t seen it in a couple of years.  And yes, we did this recently, not when we were twelve.  And last night I laughed just as hard, while BeBop rolled his eyes at me, just like he always does when I’m being impossibly lame.

Anyhoodles, back to filming my injections. Well, he filmed the beginning and the end of the process, the actual insertion of the needle into my belly fat did not turn out to be camera-worthy or appropriate for public consumption.

It would have looked like some horrifying version of Jackass, but instead of a muscle-bound young man stapling his scrotum to his leg, it’s a middle-aged, fertility-challenged woman mixing medications and then stabbing herself in the abdomen with needles and good grief!  Who wants to see that??

(And I did not want to be personally responsible for people all over the world vomiting on their keyboards.  That just seems mean.)

I know some of you sickos out there would want to see the actual needle puncturing my actual skin and hear my little yelp, but that? 

NOT GONNA HAPPEN.

This was scary enough.

When I was on camera (I like totally have the lingo down, man!  Those years I lived in LA after college are totally paying off for me now.) (PS  What I really want to do is direct!) where was I? Oh yeah, while BeBop was filming me, I must have said fourteen frillion times:  you can’t see my belly, right?  You are not filming down here, are you? My stomach is NOT on camera, RIGHT?

And when you see the tape, what do you see in live, living color?  MY BIG WHITE BELLY.

That bastard My husband claimed that it was impossible to show me mixing the meds and drawing the fluid into the syringe without showing my mid-section.  Stupidly, I had hiked my shirt up and secured it with a binder clip. (I know!  So on the cutting edge of fashion too, when will it stop?) It was not, as they say, a good look for me.

Also?  I had the unfortunate idea to wear a black and white top yesterday. Which for brunch in San Francisco was pretty cute.  But later, as I hiked it up, secured it with a binder clip, and proceeded to display it on film?

NOT SO MUCH.

I looked like Orca breaching or coming up to release air out my blow hole or whatever the frick it is giant black and white killer whales do.

And it’s all captured on film.  So if (IF!) I actually grow the balls to post it on You Tube, please be kind.

Vanessa was kind enough to mention in her comment that she would not embark on this asinine plan for fear of hearing statements like: "Heh. Looks like some sit-ups wouldn’t hurt." Or "hey look-the Stay Pufft Marshmallow Man IS alive!" or "pinch an inch? More like a yard, babe."

Ahem.

I have to agree with her.  That does not seem like fun. So please do not leave comments like that for me.  And also while you’re at it, please do not locate my cell phone number and leave a voice mail for me saying, "Fatty fatty, two by four, can’t get through the kitchen door!"

Because in real life I can get through the kitchen door and THAT’S SORT OF THE PROBLEM.

So okay, if I can figure out how to get the video from our camera to my computer to frigging You Tube, I will probably most likely who fucking knows maybe post it.

And then I will tell you I’ve done it.  And then you will watch and laugh and laugh (AT me, not WITH me, most likely) and then perhaps, some poor schlub about to start this nightmarish process might do a search and see BeBop and me fumbling about with needles and medicine and maybe, just maybe, it will help give someone an idea of what this injection deal is all about.  And that while it’s not fun, it’s really not so bad.

So what’s the downside?  Public mockery? Strangers leaving nasty comments? Bringing shame to my family.  Bob Greene calling to see if I want to go on his Best Life Diet…

Hmmmmmmm. Maybe I better give this some more thought…