Sometimes I like to pretend that I’m more popular than I actually am.

You know, like if someone asks whether I can grab a drink next Saturday, I might tell her, “I think I’m available that night, but it seems like I remember there’s a possibility that I might have had something going on so I’ll check and get back to you.”

The problem is that people know me and know I’m not actually that popular, and inside I’m probably jumping at the chance to go out.  But I have to play it cool, you know, so I don’t scare away potential friends.

It’s kind of like when you’re playing the dating game and you don’t want to show your potential love interest you’re too interested, because displaying intense desire translates to desperate, which translates to if nobody else wants to date you, then why would I?, which translates to unattractive and undesirable candidate for courtship.

Which is complete BS if you ask me, because just because I’m eager to hang out with you doesn’t mean no one else wants to be friends with me.  There’s like… a whole waiting list of people who want to be friends with me.

And the cycle continues.

So.

Since I’ve gotten a couple of questions about things I’ve mentioned on the blog out of curiosity or my lackadaisical approach to follow-up, I’m going to pretend that I’ve received a whole slew of questions about issues I’ve failed to address, because I’m pretty sure you want to ask me these things, but you haven’t because you’re too scared to make contact or you don’t actually exist.

Here we go:

Why did I put the tick in vodka?  I honestly don’t know.  But something (a faded memory from something I read?  Instinct?  Complete irrationality caused by paralyzing fear?) told me it was the right thing to do.  I thought if I put it directly in the toilet, there was a possibility it could crawl out and take revenge.  But if I got it drunk first, it would obviously be too uncoordinated to swim.

Makes perfect sense.

How’s the office decorating project going?  Umm… I was decorating the office?  Oh, yeah.  Well, I did buy that desk from Overstock, and it’s awesome.  But that’s about as far as we got until I got home from the bar (the one where I work — not where I drink) at 3 a.m. on Sunday morning to discover this sitting in the garage:

It’s probably been too long for you to remember, but I was originally going to create an L-shaped desk with the one from Overstock as the short end, and then use an old door sitting on top of some filing cabinets for the long end.  However, Justin insisted on building the long part of the L to match the desk we purchased, and I was all “Yeah, okay that’s great — I can’t wait to have a desk that you made with your bare hands (har-har) in like a year since that’s how long it will probably take you to make it,” and then Sunday at 3 a.m. I had to pretty much stick my entire foot in my mouth and then my calf up to my frickin’ knee because I’ll be damned if that desk isn’t just the most perfect, coolest desk I have ever seen.

Now we just have to paint it, and Operation Office Decor will be back in full swing.

What?  You’re still working in a bar?  Haven’t you gotten a real job yet?  Oh you just had to go there, didn’t you?  As a matter of fact, Saturday night/Sunday morning, right before I had to stick my entire foot in my mouth because it turns out my husband is actually pretty awesome at building desks, I worked my last shift at the bar.

It was bittersweet.  Bitter because I worked with some pretty awesome people I really don’t want to lose track of, yet sweet because I’m pretty sure that’s the last time I’ll ever have to wait tables again.

Oh, and also bitter because I still haven’t found another job.  Even just one for a part-time office assistant.  The pickins are slim out there, people.  And I can’t count how many times the evil Craigslist has broken my heart by making me think someone was emailing me with an actual response but it was really just spam.

I mean, don’t get me wrong — I’m enjoying the fact that I can spend the entire day not wearing pants because I’m not required to physically interact with the outside world.  But sometimes?  Sometimes I want an excuse to wear pants.

Speaking of not wearing pants, you already revealed that you umm… revealed the “girls” at the beaches in Spain, but that wasn’t the real question — the question was, did you remember the SPF 100 for your nips?  (It wasn’t phrased exactly like this, but laxsupermom really did ask this question.  And I kind of love her for it.)

Oh, yes.  I had expressed concern, prior to our trip to Spain, about the very real possibility of experiencing nipple burnage on the nude beaches.  Well, I’m very happy to inform you that I did remember to wear sunscreen.  Almost every time.  Some general pinkness did occur in the overall vicinity one time due to carelessness, but overall, my first nude beach experience was a thrilling success.

Thank you for taking an interest in my precautionary measures for avoiding skin cancer and public boob itching unbecoming a young woman.

Your concern means the world to me.

You can all now go back to your regularly scheduled programs.