Squalling In The Sandpit

Googlechatting dorkily about meeting other bloggers at what was apparently an Irish Blog Awards Festival last March (I did not get the memo):

me: did you nerds make a big week of it?

13:50 him: four nights, i think.

13:51 me: and nobody invited me.

cunts.

him: you hadn't insulted me to the pint that i felt like asking you out at that stage.

point.

13:52 though pint works.

me: fair enough. i do still feel like the kid sitting in the corner, waiting for the other kids to notice me and ask me out to play.

13:53 the only problem is that i don't like a lot of the other kids, so i'm not sure why it bothers me.

well, the kids themselves may be nice, but i don't like their fingerpaintings.

i have pushed this metaphor too far. i know.

13:54 him: no, no, go to the finish, pull their hair till they notice you.

13:55 me: and then pretend i have a pain in my tummy and make the múinteoir call my mam to come and collect me.

13:56

him: You can just cut and paste this gold for your next post.

13:57

me: you reckon? because i have nothing else...

So there you are.