Last night I attended book group. . . or an informal meeting of book group.  Typical of spring behavior, folks had too many things going and couldn’t come together to talk about the PAIN AND SUFFERING we’ve been slugging through.  And in fact, most of the folks who came hadn’t made it through the book.  Yay me:  I want a cookie.  Except that most of the people who came had only recently started the book (as opposed to me, who started a month ago and finished on Saturday), and they *loved* what they had read so far (as opposed to me, who’s only verbalizations consisted of sighing and moaning when we’d actually talk about the book rather than how we came to be a part of book group or why one of the girls liked to torture another one because she had the gaul to say that she liked “The Age of Innocence” to which I added another disgusted noise or how the high ceilinged apartments across the street were great except for the cobweb factor).

Then we got on the subject of weblogs.  To which I was the only blogger in the group.  And yes, I have two:  one where the words “poop” and “yarf” are freely shouted from the mountaintops and one where they’re more casually used.  Someone asked what the point of blogging was:  journaling so all can read?  Diana, in her attempt to help, said she’s paint a picture for us:  “Imagine I’m wearing a raincoat.  Imagine I’m not wearing anything else under the raincoat.  Imagine I just ran in front of you and “wham” flashed you.  That’s blogging.”

I’m a flasher, and I never even knew it.  Excuse me while I run away giggling and try to warm up my tooshie (flashing this time of year is still pretty cold).

Random Remarks