I know you all are totally hung over from celebrating Millard Fillmore and suchlike, aren’t you? I knew it. President’s Day is way raucous that way.
The big news over here is that this weekend the temperature went up into the upper 50s. And of course, as people here do whenever that happens this time of year, there was much gallavanting about in flipflops and shorts. Not me, folks. First of all, my inner thermometer was telling me that there was no way that it was that warm. Second of all, I do not bust out the summer wear until it is at least 65 degrees.
Here’s my problem this week. I have nothing to say. Nothing. My motor mouth has a problem with its spark plugs. Does that metaphor even make sense? I really should stay away from car references, as the only types of cars I really understand are the ones that Fred Flintstone drives, where his feet stick out the bottom and he’s just running around town. (How idiotic is that, by the way?) I’m just saying. I am all out of blogging material. The reason being that I am working, working, working, and none of that has been blogworthy and Nordic Boy is on a business trip all week so I have no stories to tell you about him, and I didn’t do one social thing all weekend, so I am just one boring mothereffer today. I could regale you with my feelings on the Snoop Dogg reality show, or how I went bra shopping yesterday, or how I went for a walk around my city on Sunday and Monday that were over three hours long each day just for the hell of it, but really? That’s the best I can do?
So. Yeah. Hi.
(crickets chirping in the background)
Remember, a long time ago, you guys all commented and asked me questions? Remember that? That was so fun, right? You have been dying to do that again, I can just tell.
Ok so maybe you haven’t been wanting to do that. But please. Help a girl out, will you? I need fodder. So come on, bring it. Ax me a question. My brain, she is busted. I am always a little scared to do this whole Ask Librarian Girl thing, as it’s like inviting people to a party and then what if no one comes? What if no one gives a rat’s ass about asking me anything? Then I get to look like a big asshole. You know what I mean? It’s like asking me to do a Trust Fall. And I don’t do Trust Falls, people. Ever.
So, comment or email me and I will answer all, much like Miss Cleo. Except I can’t tell the future, and I am not Jamaican, and I won’t charge you by the minute. And I look stupid in a do-rag.