Another quiet weekend for me, still trying to get assignments out of the way. I got my drinking out of the way midweek and have instead spent my Saturday going goggle-eyed over grammar and repenting Thursday night's shitetalk at my leisure. Man, I come out with some dorky and downright embarrassing drivel when I'm jarred. Prattling on about how I count my shoes when I need to curb my spending (current count: 28 pairs, and 9 pairs of boots. Not including wellies. Or any of the ones I've left in my parents' house). Confessing to being a secret redhead (which, incidentally, does not mean that I dye my hair). Admitting that the new skirt I was wearing was unflatteringly short and that I hadn't noticed til I got to the venue and sat down, and that I'd only bought it because the lady in the shoe shop the other day had told me I have nice legs (see why I have 9 pairs of boots? I'm a sucker for salesfolk). I just don't know when to shut up.
I don't do it with everyone, just those who already know and love me (and are duty bound to listen to me). Gingerbeard and the New Daddy got the brunt of it the other night (and I do mean the brunt of it; I was stressed out before the gig in case people didn't show and once the place had filled up, I kinda let loose...) but they're both still talking to me.
I hope.
I don't do it with everyone, just those who already know and love me (and are duty bound to listen to me). Gingerbeard and the New Daddy got the brunt of it the other night (and I do mean the brunt of it; I was stressed out before the gig in case people didn't show and once the place had filled up, I kinda let loose...) but they're both still talking to me.
I hope.
