We pretty much don't need a lot of dry-erase board use for yesterday's Pieces of Wisdom question, which was how much do you enjoy socializing and how much do you enjoy staying in.
This is good, because as you can see, I had trouble finding a marker that would work on my board. I do not know what happened to the nice marker that came with it but I blame Marvin or Edsel. Perhaps they worked in cahoots. My point is, almost all of you said you were homebodies, which was coming to me as home [space] bodies and home[hyphen]bodies and finally I had to yell at you in the comments. ONE WORD! IT'S ONE WORRRRRRRRD.
June's blog. Come to get yelled at. Stay to get yelled at.
After awhile, and someone noted this in the comments, too, after your hair returned from its blown-back position from my yelling, that people who read blogs may be, you know, introverts in general. Wouldn't the annoying extroverts be out there partayying and hobnobbing and guffawing it up as we speak, with no time to sit in a room and read a blog?
Also, those trash bags that they scented with Febreze make me want to hurl. I realize that was kind of, you know, HEY! from nowhere, except I just put a new trash bag in here and blurrgh.
Febreze. What an annoying name. What is it even short for? A February breeze? Because in general those are sort of unpleasant.
Anyway, thanks for participating. June's readers. Hating people and social activities since birth. Enjoying their pajamas since middle age.
Okay, SOME people were gadabouts. But not many. You all basically said okay. I will go out on weekends, MAYBE. But weekdays? Forget it. And last-minute stuff? Bite me. Oh and whatever you do, please drop in. We all adore that. PEG.
In somewhat related news, I went out last night.
My friend Jo, featured above, here, wearing a cool coat from my other friend Kit's vintage shop, had a book-up. I really like that coat. I wish I had a job, because I'd totally get a cool vintage coat that the pets could shed on.
A book-up is a thing I think she invented, but it's where a bunch of people get together and read. I am not making that up. We met in a restaurant, introduced ourselves, got out our books and read. We were at several different tables at the restaurant, and we varied in age from 17 (the 17-year-old brought a Kindle) (I am so plebeian) to, you know, middle-aged. In the prime of life. I like to say. I'd be wrong, but still.
I was reading a book my friend Dot sent me, called It Looked Different on the Model, and why did I have to bring a funny book to the book-up? Because everyone was over there reading normal books, and deep books, and there I was, all bent over in hysterics. She has a chapter on this woman who whipped out her breastical at a party, ostensibly to breast-feed, except there was no baby in sight, ever, the entire time her breast was out, and oh, I was dying. DYING. Like I am dying here next to the Febreze bag. And I'm certain I wasn't annoying or distracting. Like the Febreze bag.
Jo made me a certificate of excellence for my blog. I was awarded for my exceptional petspeak.
iris give you petspeek. you wash iriss. @#@% you, mom. Ther you petspeek.
Someone might have, you know, not dropped Mrs. Brown off at the sandbox in a manner that was entirely 100%. And therefore someone may have been dunked in a sink of soapy water. For a while. 'twasn't pleasant.
Look at her teensy foot. Her teensy outraged foot.
After the book-up, Jo and I had coffee across the street, and I feel the need to mention the restaurant and coffee shop were right next door to where my dot dot dot friend lives. I am afraid I sent a disclaimer email before the evening began.
Dear Dot Dot Dot Friend,
I am going to be at a restaurant 20 feet from your apartment. I am not stalking you. XO, June.
I mean, I felt like I had to clear that up. You know? Why he gotta live somewhere so centrally located? Anyway he was all, …yeah. Okay. Would not have thought that you were.
So then I mentioned how he should not be alarmed by the cherry picker outside his window with me in it. Just happened to be there, too. Why I gotta go too far? With the jokes? (Oh, good. Now someone can leave a comment about how annoying my personality is again, and how I'll never catch a man as a result.)
Also, when I was stalking Iris to get a photo of her wet humiliation, I took a picture of my own self in the mirror, because what's unobnoxious? It's a photo in a mirror. That is what is unobnoxious. Anyway I like it.
I did finally catch that poor kitten and, you know, towel her off. I didn't just get involved with myself in the mirror and let her parade on the wood floors in all her soppiness. I forgot that long-haired cats get this delightful condition every once in awhile. And the part where I have selected short-haired cats has come rushing back to me with remarkable clarity.
Okay, I must go. I have A LUNCH DATE and yes. Another day with a social obligation in it. Perhaps I will talk about Iris' butt the entire time. This could guarantee me more down time.
Go on with ya!