Ok, so I don’t actually know about the red/blue part but in the last few weeks I have had the distinct pleasure of seeing an old friend and meeting a new friend.
The old friend and I haven’t seen each other since middle school but now find ourselves both living in the center of the free world, pining for particular pizza joints back in the old home state. <moment of silence> Our Starbucks date was the first week of March, and we sat inside giggling at the pedestrians who were bundled up to the ears in winter coats and the occasional hat. I wore a cardigan, she a short-sleeved dress shirt.
Today I had lunch with a new friend, one I met through this fantastic world of blogging (check her out! searchingformiddleground.wordpress.com) and who can relate to being new here and ending up at the Holocaust Museum when all you really set out to do was pick up some milk at CVS. It was her recent post about The Hunger Games that tipped me into that world as of last night, and her willingness to meet me for lunch at the Subway I already know how to find tells me she truly empathizes with the outsider thing.
In an effort to be less of a curmudgeon in my reading choices, I figured a popular work of fiction with decent writing and an original plot line, recommended by friends, would be a good place to start.
This weekend the mother in law and the Mommom are coming down for the cherry blossoms! The sad thing is there are storms in the forecast tonight and it’s entirely possible and even likely that all the blooms will blow off the trees. The happy thing is that it will take me approximately 6.5 minutes to clean the entire shoebox up to having-guests standards.
And if it does rain, hopefully that keeps the temperature low enough to make this poor warm fellow willing to go for an afternoon stroll with me again. Sometime before November.
Please excuse the unflattering spittle caught in his eyebrow. I was hoping no one would notice it, and then the husband pointed out that the dog has some unflattering spittle caught in his eyebrow. If the husband noticed, I know others will. Sorry, Dietrich.