Who am I to disagree?

Oni made the MOST amazing bruschetta for our post work snack last night. JAYzus the man’s a kitchen god. He said he’d hit a great farm stand that day and they had the most awesome veggies. Happily, he couldn't resist.

This, naturally, reminded me that yes, we are adults now. Only adults get psyched over fresh, beautiful scallions, tomatoes and eggplant (OK, I’m the only one who gets excited about eggplant).

Which, somehow, brings me to the temps right now. They've dropped from the unbearable high 80s to the sublime 70s. Yea!

There’s a beautifully cool, salty breeze coming in through my bedroom window. I even had to put a couple light blankets on the bed last night. Yes, there was already one at the foot of the bed BUT that’s Coco’s. She laid claim to it, made it all nest-like and comfy – who am I to disagree?

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I dreamed that I was the lead singer of a girl group  It was the early ‘60s and we were set to perform on some very local television show. I was tall (heels?) and my hair was up in a bouffant. My dress was a white Mary Quant. I was seriously stylin’, my friends.

An aside: I’ve never been tall, would commit harakiri before I’d bouffant and, due to muy grande boobage, could never wear Mary Quant. Yes, this is how I knew it was a dream. Also too, singing? Even when I had hearing singing was something only done for laughs or pest extermination. I have the vocal talents of, say, a tortured wildebeest.

Back to my girl group though, the bass player and drummer were extreme elders – like, in their late 90s. Both were nearly deaf with snowy hair and spines curled over like crabbed question marks but, apparently, they could build a formidable, killer wall of sound.

We took the wee stage and waited for the producer’s cue to start. Only then did that I realize I’d completely forgotten the lyrics to our hit song.

Classic.

Before I could utterly embarrass myself, I woke. No, Coco wasn’t the culprit. I think, during some bad dreams, I wake myself. The stress, anxiety and fear of failure are so strong that, though off in the Land of Nod, my self protecting flight instincts kick into gear.

Or it’s luck. Whichever, I’ll take it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
While on holiday in San Francisco, my pal Jenny saw this wonderful sign. This is advice I can most solidly endorse!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Illustration by John Bauer

Factoid alert:

Vermont has the most toxic online commenters in the nation, according to an analysis by Wired magazine and online commenting platform Disqus. (source)

Lemme underscore – this is based on sites which use Disqus, a popular comment app. Facebook and Twitter asswipe stats are not included. The Wired article also notes that:

The most toxic time of day (darkest line) is 3 am—11 percent of comments are mean.

Not surprising. Most folks, up and online at 3AM, are likely unhappy about that. If awake at such an obscene hour, shouldn’t it be because you’re out dancing up a storm, at a some thriller party OR, better yet, engaged in wild two backed beast action with some fresh hotty? No? Then, for the Miscreant Americans amongst us, dickless poo flinging is less a than shocking habit.

I got my very first troll comments this week. I was surprised that it took so long for the turnip brained varlets to show their toxic, not-bright-enough-to-get-on-this-ride selves. What’d I do? No reply, no acknowledgement – I just hit delete. Like slow witted, uncreative, psychologically damaged, mental 12 year olds, they were just looking to claim king of the hill by flinging barely coherent feces and running. Bothersome bully manqués.

I don’t feed trolls. And, oh yeah, happy Friday!
Eurythmics – Sweet Dreams