This blog has been interrupted by real life

Please stand by.

Tonight’s theme: friends and enablers.

I had a really good Saturday. Thank you to all who participated — you know who you are. Sunday, my plan was to subvert the Zen cliché of being the dog. Dogs are enthusiastic. Energetic. Friendly. Hyper. That’s not me. I am more of a cat.

Today’s goal: Be the Cat.

I did a really, really good job of it until 17:00. I didn’t get dressed. After coffee and company, I lounged slothfully around on the sofa. I stretched a lot. I did some reading. Quite a lot of reading. At 2, I actually took a nap–which I consider quite a success, because I never take naps. Then I had lunch and a hot bath and lounged around some more.

At 17:00 I got a text from Chelle inviting me up for dinner. Somehow, hijinks ensued. I know. Hijinks on Tequila Hill? That never happens!

Shayla provided a hookah and lessons on how to operate it. We had a great dinner. A good bottle of Pinot noir. We were being really well behaved. Reasonable. An early bed time was predicted. Then Paddy came over and somehow bourbon and hard cider came out. I can’t really complain about how it turned out, because it was really fun and we laughed a lot…but…well…it is Sunday night. We all have work in the morning.

At least Shayla kept Rick from burning the neighborhood down with alien Chinese lanterns. (Note: Alien Chinese Lanterns would be a good band name)

It’s too late to go to bed early now!

Somehow I seemed to have ordered myself a hookah. How did that happen??? This is the magic of Tequila Hill. You go up for dinner and you come down with a new hookah.

Thanks, Chelle and Rick!
I love you.

What I want to know, however, is why no one else understands why Camembert tastes like sex. It does. It totally does, only I am evidently the only one who gets it.

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