Yesterday was the Summer Solstice and I celebrated by drinking waaaay too much wine. I wanted to have a nice dinner at my place but for reasons that made sense, I went over to Ken and Ram's for a cook-out. I have this psycho mentality: "But I'M the hostess! I want everyone to come over here and eat. … Shit." So when Ken left me a message, saying that for a bunch of valid reasons it might be better to have the dinner over there, I cried a single tear. Sniff. I'm the hostess with the mostess French Toastess. I don't want to boastess but I get my roastess from the Ivory Coastess.
Which reminds me: I cut my thumb last night while slicing grapes. I can't seem to cook anything without seriously injuring myself. First I sliced the tip of my knuckle off when using my mandolin, now I've cut the pad of my thumb. There was a lot of blood. I almost fainted. Or, I pretended to almost faint. I couldn't tell Ken, who was tending to my finger, that the sight of all the blood makes me feel gleeful. Shhh… It's a secret.
I'm staying in tonight and probably tomorrow night, conserving my energy for the upcoming weekend which is shaping to be action-packed. Friday night is 4thafreqs (which I think is pronounced "For the Freaks", not "For the Frecks" like I've been saying in my head) in Nashua, NH. Saturday, possibly a train ride, Masque of the Golden Bowl at Saint-Gaudens and another Nice-Up at the India Queen. Sunday: Hike in the morning, and then a Pirate-themed Birthday Party. … Or, I may do none of that. Who knows.