My throat hurts. Honestly, is there EVER a day where there isn't something wrong with me? What gives? If I'm not bleeding out my ears and seeing funny colors with a migraine, I break my ankle in 15 places and have to have pins in it and possibly a new fake Heather McCartney leg put in. If THAT'S not happening, I get swords in my throat and will never sing opera again.
I will also never sing Oprah again. Sometimes I just like to go around bellowing, "OPRAHHHHHHH!" in a warbly soprano voice.
No, I DIDN'T take hallucinogens today. What do you mean?
At any rate, I'm bugged. And Ned's throat doesn't hurt, which makes me think I have allergies, because if I'M getting a cold, you'd think Ned would be too, since we spent every second together all weekend, most of it making out.
She goes all the way over to the gay guy's place, and she can't go any further because there's a door there. God help that cat if anyone ever came through that door while she's being Adventure Kitty. She'd jump out her fur. Also, note how the gay guy has plants and birds and rocks and things outside his door, making it all welcome-y and pretty. Ned has precisely nothing outside his door. Except a big "Welcome, Ladieeeeees!" sign with that naked woman silhouette that truckers have on their mud flaps.
She's finally returning from her daring exploration, here, and Ned is three seconds from having to explain why there's no fatted calf. I resented the part where NedKitty looked at me a little hungrily.
I like how inexplicably Ned's cat has to have a blog name instead of just her real name. Have no idea how I started doing that, but now it's a thing.
I can't remember what I really came on here to blog about. Whatever it was, I'm sure it mattered in the grand scheme of things. I guess I'm delirious from this horrific sore throat. Didn't I just get OVER a cold? Maybe I never mentioned it, last time I had a cold. It wouldn't be like me to mention it when I'm under the weather. I generally suffer in silence.
That pretty much sums up my life as it stands currently, although I am spending an inordinate amount of time wondering if I have any sinkholes, because ugh. I mean, that's just not fair. All you're doing is lying in your BED and you get sucked into the earth. Which is what's going to happen to me anyway if my throat doesn't recover. You'll all be, Gee, we just thought she was being annoying on her blog. Who knew this sore throat would actually kill her? Who'll be sorry then? You. You will.
June, out. And P.S., as it stands currently, I'm still going to be performing at my concert/yodel marathon this weekend. So don't look for a refund on your tickets yet.
The first person to leave a "What concert?!" comment gets stuck in a kissing booth with me for the next 10 minutes.