Bake the Hall in the Candle of her Brain

There is a reason why I go out once in a blue moon. Multiple actually. Apart from the fact I would prefer, given the option, just to stay in my beautiful home and have fabulous people come over to me with bottles of wine. I am completely unable to fake being interested in people and situations I am not. I dislike loud music unless I get to choose it. I want to curl up and die when having to answer monotonous questions about myself when I am actually really uncomfortable and would rather discuss the weather/canapes/decor. Often I'll pray people will just think I'm a narcissistic bitch and get bored rather than realise how nauseatingly awkward I feel around mass strangers. I think the reality is what I have always known, I am just really, really uncool and kinda socially inept. Sometimes my husband uses the latter as an insult, a stab at my personality when we argue, but I'm never offended because I just know it's true. I do not care about cool people. Cool places. Cool music. Cool clothes. All your 'cool' kinda makes me wanna puke. And don't even get me started on not being able to even want to put on a hot dress and do my hair when I've had inch-thick make-up on my face and been in heels since 8am. I don't wanna get photographed sucking in my fucking cheekbones or hanging off hipsters arms. I don't wanna be on pseudo-zine blogs looking like a drunk slut. I'd rather watch Jim Henson's Muppets, make guacamole, dance around my house with friends to the Dirty Dancing soundtrack, go on late-night runs to the local store, find lost wallets, talk perfumes and David Lynch for an hour and all the while do it whilst being able to hear and see and feel everything for real with people I really love.
So, I'm really sorry if I've ever met you out and I seemed retarded.
And my friends- hit me up if you're near Old South Head and feel like some muppets and merlot. How's your week?