Then I went home, ate my own weight in pasta, and fell asleep before halftime of the Spurs-Lakers game.
Therefore, my count sucks. 43. This is not an accurate reflection of how much I cuss. I mean, I cussed more than that at that fucking Lexus that pulled out in front of me this morning and made me slam on my brakes. Bastard. I didn't cuss as much because I was keeping track. Go figure. And I would have cussed more if I had managed to stay awake long enough to call Natalia back. That would have been 30 at least, because I'd had some cider. Probably more. Fuck.
I declare this entire fucking experiment a dismal fucking failure and wander off to curse at law students.