I try to like butterflies.

It's still Summer. Jess and I live in a somewhat foggy area (it's no San Francisco, but it's cool and moist many evenings/mornings), so it doesn't always feel like Summer at home. But I'm reminded that it's Summer when I think of my schedule...

Seriously, I'm an introvert. I like to stay home and do quiet things (read, sit, think) to recharge/refuel. But ever since someone turned the sun on back in May/June, I've been busy trying to act like a social butterfly. Two of my friends are taking the marriage plunge this year (one already did in June, the other will in September) and because they're female, that means three party dates each: bridal shower, bachelorette party, wedding ceremony and/or reception. In addition, my mom is renovating two houses. Jesse and I moved, we did some renovation in our new place, and August brings both Jesse's and my birthday.

So, my quiet time has been cut back, due to everyone's need to take advantage of the Summer sun. Jesse and I tried to get away from our hectic pace last weekend by driving up to Yosemite and picnicking by a lake. It was really nice. Unfortunately, we did have to come back home. And now I'm at work, accepting and denying meetings, answering questions, and planning parties and gifts for other people's parties.

In fact, our intern had his last day yesterday (it's the end of Summer), so we took him out to lunch. My team at work is raucus and upbeat, so it was fun. Because of my recent trip to Yosemite, I was reminded of something I told my mom a few months ago: In the Summer, when you drive across Central California, you kill multiple specimens of California's bug species with your car's front end. I mentioned to her that she might not ever drive to her vacation home in eastern California if, before she left, she was given a tray of bugs and butterflies and a baseball bat, and told she had to beat them all to a pulp before she would be allowed to leave for vacation.

Is that mean? The lunch crowd recoiled and laughed uncomfortably at the story. Oh well. Sometimes it's hard for me to know if I'm funny or just inappropriate.