I just received the following text from Fertile Myrtle:
No, no, dear readers, I did not die. I’ve just been sickly and introspective, and, in a bizarre turn of events, I was no longer convinced that I’m so super hilarious that the internet needs to hear from me every day. However, it’s obvious post-frantic-text that my public needs me, so here’s what I’ve been up to lately:
On Monday morning, I woke up with a sore throat and a low-grade fever, and have continued to feel achy and swollen and miserable until right now, when I am finally feeling less disgusting. So instead of going to hang out with the Fiece or going to lunch with a friend or heading to Newport Beach today, I have been taking long baths, reading a bunch of shitty magazines, wearing my favorite velour robe, and eating a ton of total crap while laying around on the couch. Essentially, my Spring Break is shaping up to be just like this. Except with more partying. (And probably less James Franco.)
In other news, nothing is going on here and no one cares.