Sorry for the lack of postage on my part this week guys, I've been sick. And when I say sick, I mean sick. With me there's no range of being sick. It's not like I have the sniffles but can go on with my day, or have a sore throat and a cough but it's no big deal. I get the consumption. I get the plague. Every time. And I also get sick a lot, although I'm fully aware that it's my own fault.
You see, I'm playing this super fun game I call "Me vs. Death" where I refuse to get my tonsils taken out, even though I've been told by every single doctor I've been to (including my gynecologist, and Lord knows she wasn't even pokin' around up there) that I need to have them taken out for my own safety. I have what are called "kissing tonsils." That's a really adorable term for tonsils that are perpetually inflamed to the point of touching. (When I'm sick, they go from touching to being painfully smashed together. It's really cute, when I talk I sound like I'm perpetually choking on a dick. Ugh, is Friday morning too early for a dick joke? God I hope not...)
Having kissing tonsils makes lots of little things difficult, like say, breathing, sleeping or swallowing large pieces of steak (and that is in no way a euphemism, I have a really traumatizing story about choking on steak that I'm still not ready to talk about.) Still, I refuse to get those suckers taken out. At first it was because I've never had surgery and I'm a total pussy about pain, but now it's become this fun game where I'm trying to see how long I can go without having the tonsils pack up their bags and move out of town on their own accord. WE'LL SEE WHO LASTS LONGER TONZIES! It's always good when you're essentially having a breath-holding contest with your own organs because no matter who wins, someone has to lose. And either way that someone is me.
I also handle the pain of being sick with all the grace of a dying elephant falling to the ground. There was a point Tuesday morning while I was getting ready for work that I felt so sick I just stood in my closet clutching a pencil skirt and cried. Loudly. To absolutely no one in general, I live alone. I also felt like I had just finished the Iron Man challenge after blow drying my hair and decided to lay down and take a power nap before doing my makeup and getting dressed. As a result I was half an hour late to work and offered mere mumbles when asked where I had been. Later that night when I called my dad to complain about how shitty I felt he said, and I quote, "Meghan act like an adult for once and get a hold of yourself." Richard McBlogger has not spoken words so cold to me since I brought home a C in Ms. Poole's eighth grade History class.
I guess I deserved it (my dad's coldness that is, not Ms. Poole's C. Although I probably deserved that too). I am essentially treating myself like a petri dish in a twisted human science experiment for shits and giggles. Besides, only Nicole Kidman can make violent hacking look hot. And speaking of hot violent hacking, lace up your corset, burst into song and pour yourself some absinthe, cuz it's time for the Moulin Rogue Drinking Game!
- People talk about Bohemian ideals
- You see a windmill
- Someone says "penniless sitar player"
- Ewan McGregor says "love," and yes this does include songs (HAHA, your liver hates you!)
- The Argentinian narcoleptic falls asleep
- Satine is seen smoking a cigarette
- Satine lies to The Duke
- The Duke hits on Satine
- Satine dies because she wanted to see how long she could go without having to get her tonsils removed
As usual, thanks for reading, emailing, linking, facebook fan paging, twitter etc. etc. but can you do me one final favor? Can you have yourself a great weekend? Kthnx. Oh! And! Eddie, the original second bird, and I will be joining forces once more to live blog the Oscars this Sunday night, so check back for that hilarity or read up about it Monday morning. I'll twitter whatever time we decide we're delightfully tipsy enough to get started. Next week = full blogging schedule 4realz, 4realz I swear!