Sometimes I feel like I'm the last blogger. Back in 2008, everybody had a freaking blog. Now it's crickets out there. And let's face it, I'm not really that stick-to-it kind of a gal. But here I still am. Officially unfashionable. And to that I say hooo care?
That collar is preposterous. There is no less "Lu" collar than that one, with the pink bow. Really, if you asked her, she'd wish for a sensible brown. Tallulah is a total lesbian, the kind that wears Burt's Bees tinted lip blam, though.
I had a migraine yesterday and pretty much spent all of yesterday in this bed.
I was occasionally joined by Nurses Lily and Iris, but usually they were over me and my head and were very busy sleeping on the couch or whatever.
See what I did, there? I was doing a Lily impression. It's uncanny.
Having a migraine is not fun, in case you were wondering, "Is it a good time, having a migraine?" You can't read or watch a movie or anything, because it hurts to do those things. So mostly you have to lie there and wish to be deceased. And now today I have my post-migraine mop personality. In case you were wondering, "Is it fun to read June's post-migraine posts?"
The night before I was felled by this migraine--and say "migraine" one more time--I went over to my friend the Tall Boy's, where we talked and watched baseball. I mean, the "we" on those may differ a tad from person to person. Boys always seem to watch baseball with the sound down, or is that just when I come over? Anyway, this is his cat, Cora, whom I have shown you before but not since, like, 2011. She is a half-a-face kitty. Don't tell my cats I was out gettin' some strange. Although as soon as I got home, Edsel knew.
Do you feel guilty when you get home and your pets sniff you obsessively and you know that they know you'd been headed for the cheatin' side of town? Because I've watched Edsel, for example, hurl himself at other humans like he'd never give me a second glance if they offered him a home. So I don't have to feel guilty, if you ask me.
And I found a picture of a bitchy note I wrote to the gas company. You can click on it to read the full throttle of bitch. I pay online now. I'm less cranky that way, unless my password doesn't work. At this point, pretty much all my passwords are some iteration of fuck you. FuckYouGasCo, for example. If you wanted to break into my gas bill, now's your big opportunity.
I also found this picture of Pal From MA and me, back on New Year's 2011 turning into 2012. We had no idea the year we were in for. But we were both newly separated, so we kind of figured it'd be interesting. What is that, a big plate of fries? Happy fat year!
Okay, my fine and delightful head and I are going to shower. Then I gotta figure out what to wear, because we're in that in-between stage where it's chilly as hell in the morning and then hot as Beelzebub's knapsack by noon. I have no idea why Beelzebub's knapsack would be hotter than anything else that resides in hell, but migraine.
Really, Beelzebub is the best name for the devil, but really all devil names are kind of hilarious. Old Pitch. That's a good one. Oh my god, migraine fog hat. I must go.
P.S. Do you know who else was likely a lesbian? Lady Elaine. A rosacea lesbian.