Ying and I are home chilling on the couch; I have a spiced rum and coke, he has a strange smell to himself that he wishes to share with my legs and butt, nearly curled in a circle, chin resting on my right foot. This is a big no-no, but I let him snuggle when Brian’s not home. Shhh, don’t tell.
I am watching Access Hollywood for no particular reason. Katy Perry is on. Tesla loves Katy Perry. Those costumes from her tour are amazing.
Wow, Bruce Jenner is really changing his looks. I’ve never seen his show. I bet that’s crazy stuff.
Speaking of crazy, activity on my blog has been crazy, especially yesterday. The Amish Mafia post kicked up a storm. Not as big as Lady Gaga creating her own religion. I’m not sure where balloons fall for popular posts. Don’t mind me. My brain wanders, but does return.
Today was less busy with visits, as the regular followers of Amish Mafia already read it. They’re usually one-shot readers. Instead, today it got specific as comments mounted and defenses on both ends went up. I have no idea if the Amish Mafia people read my regular, usually rather boring, life posts. (I have no idea who reads my blog unless you like or comment) I am the middle of the tug-of-war between one woman, with a supposed load of emails from the lead character, where they have a love affair online. The other end of the rope is another woman involved with a character on the show. Seriously, it could be an episode on the show, except it’s real life.
Moving on, the York Mayor was in a commercial about helping homeless children in York. I met Mayor Bracey at a function for the Youth Center. We talked quite a bit and she knew Brian well. Brian’s considering a career change. She would make a great reference. I think she’s doing a good job. Of course, I don’t walk down West Jackson Street after dark either.
Ying moved to the other end of the couch. I guess my ass and legs weren’t comfortable enough. He needs his hair trimmed. The fuzz on his butt is getting out of control, like squirrels fought a battle there. It reminds me of dirty cotton.
Thirty minutes till my man is home.