April Winchell

I'm screwed.

I don't know exactly what I've done to myself, but it's bad. Real bad.

How bad? Well, bad enough that I can't do the show tomorrow night.

It's a shame, really, because while I may be incapacitated physically, I'm at the height of my bitterness. Something tells me I'd have a good show tomorrow, if only I could sit down. But I can't sit down. At all.

I'm writing this standing up at my computer. I do everything standing up. I even pee standing up. I kind of like it, but that's not the point.

This morning I was weepy because I woke up at 5:00 a.m. to pee and it took me a half hour to get out of bed. Then it took another 20 minutes to get my pants down. Mick said I should have woken him up and he would have helped me. I told him he was crazy. I was already so humiliated by the whole thing, there was no way I'd ask him to help me pull my damned pants down. He said, (and this is my favorite quote of the month) "How about if I take off your outer pants, and you can be in charge of your own underwear?" And you know, that's something every girl wants to hear. I hope he says it again when we renew our vows.

So obviously, everything is a mess. The weblog hasn't been updated in a week, the May 1st Summer merchandise is late, and in other happy news, I smell like urine. I kind of like it, but that's not the point.

Hopefully you will all be patient with me, and will not switch over to Ira Fistell or Ray Breem while I'm recovering. I expect to make my triumphant return to the airwaves next Saturday night.

In the meantime, know that while I'm finding some relief with pain pills, I am also watching DirecTV. And that means I am suffering more than you can imagine.