I came across an award that I will never receive. I found it quite by accident. I was lurking or loitering or lingering or lounging or some other “L” word but not the “L” word on another blog and one of the commenters commented that he had passed on an award to that blogger but did not say what the award was so being the curious but not yellow blogger that I am I visited the commenter’s blog to satiate my non-yellow curiosity.
Go check out the award I will never get right here, I’ll wait. Or not. I didn’t really wait but it doesn’t matter because you’re not reading as I’m typing. But in case you were too lazy to pop over to see the award for yourself you won’t pass the test later but I’ll describe it to you, the award, not the test. It is full of pastel colors and features a unicorn so apparently it was designed by a 12 year old girl. It is called the Best Commenter Award.
Now, I’m not sure all of my comments are my best words, but a few of them have been quite clever, astute, funny or some other adjective that makes me sound like someone you would like to have comment on your blog. Yet, the Best Commenter Award is not based on the quality of one’s comments, but the number. I think this is another justification for my hypothesis that this award was designed by a 12 year old girl.
I’ve always been a quality over quantity kind of girl, or I was that kind of girl. Now, I’m a quality over quantity kind of woman. At least I’m that way about most things. There are a few exceptions, but that’s fodder for another meandering musing. Maybe.
I’ve touched on my reasons for lack of comments in a previous post. Given the possibility that you remember that post better than I do because I don’t though it does seem vaguely familiar, I won’t bore you by repeating previously stated reasons. Suffice it to say, I am not the chattiest commenting Cathy in these blog parts or any other blog parts. I’m not overly chatty in person either, unless a glass or two of wine is involved then I am borderline loquacious which I believe could be the definition of bodacious if we were to rewrite the definition of bodacious.
Cerulean Blue. Honey West. Who but not who? Not while I work, oh right, I don’t work. No, but I wouldn’t rule out Betelgeuse. 42. No, but I could probably borrow a goat. Only in an elfin way. The Island of The Sequined Love Nun but I would have chosen a different adjective to describe it.
If the previous paragraph made no sense to you then you probably didn’t check out the post I told you to check out. I told you there was going to be a test. It’s not really a test, but I did answer the questions that awardees of the Best Commenter Award which should be called the Most Commenter Award or the I’ve Got Nothing Better to Do Than Comment Extensively On Your Blog Award (I think this was the first choice for the name of this award but that many words combined with the requisite unicorn portrait made the award too busy) are supposed to answer. Since I knew I would never have an official opportunity to answer these intriguing questions, I decided to write a post so I could unofficially answer them.
If you are a less than stellar Jeopardy player and cannot determine the intriguing questions from my answers, you can always go over to the previously linked-to blog to quench your quest for questions. I’ll wait. By wait, I mean I’ll be lurking, loitering, lingering or lounging on some other blog not commenting, but I will be back here at some point in future time since I haven’t quite got the hang of traveling back in time to comment on your comments on my commenting post.