Good Missing Jesus, Help Me

Every time I have more than three glasses of wine and Bruce is sleeping, all I want to do is leave messages on my favorite blogs and pray and pray and pray until I fall asleep that they like me, they really really like me! Which, actually never ever happens, except for that one time with The Sarcastic Journalist, and a couple of times with Our G&D Lady. And yes, I feel an unnatural attachment to these people. An attachment that sometimes leaves me feeling like crap. Because you see, Internet, I'm not always one to leave comments on peoples' sites. And so you see, Internet, I'm not always someone who gets noticed as being someone who's obsessed with other peoples' lives. But, oh, when I get to drinkin'?! Them's the best times of them all, Internet! Because I can write them witty* emails, or leave them witty* comments, and then they will surely think that I am amazing, and write me back and tell me nice things about myself.

*This is all being thought to myself after at least three glasses of wine, so you can imagine how "witty" I actually am, can't you?

This is, sadly, not always the case. It seems that some of these terribly interesting people are so interwrapped in their interesting lives (which I love to read about, eversomuch, and hope they are always having interesting days to write about, etc.) that they don't really have the time to write back to every little letter. I agree, Internet. For if they would, it would cut back on their blogging time, and that time makes my day aproximately 15 minutes more fun than it already is. I wouldn't want to do that.

So, in my half-drunken state, I would like to offer unto the God of Blogging the following pictures of our pretty kitchen:






And also a few pictures of our sleepy catten, a part of the reason I'm so scared to try to get a pure-bred dog:




(Again with the picture thing. Trust me, it's enough to make me curl my toes and snuggle in up on myself, in hopes that I was furry and half that warm and inviting. Only with less teeth and other sharp bits.)

Doesn't he make you just want to curl up and take a nap?

On that note, I'm (finally) going to bed. Night, y'all!