Oh, hello! Come on in. Have a Guinness. A truly magical drink.
Last night, there was a debate on Twitter about the pros and cons of carrot cake. *gag* There are some who think carrot cake with it’s cloying cream cheese frosting is wonderful. There are others, like me, who think carrots and cake should not mix. “It’s all in how it’s made.” “It’s just gross.” And on and on.
This got me to thinking about my food issues. For the most part, I am a pretty adventurous eater. I’ll try something new, knowing that if I don’t care for it, I never have to eat it again. Based on that theory, I’ve tried alligator. It wasn’t bad, until I started thinking about it, and then the gag factor kicked in and I was done. I might try it again, but it’s not something that I have to go in search of.
I really like calamari. But I can only eat the rings; the tentacle bits sqweeve me out. I can’t even try it. But now sushi? LOVE it. If it wasn’t so expensive, I would eat sushi every day. Tuna, salmon, crab, eel. LOVE it.
I have two really big food issues: wet cake and bananas. *shudder*
Wet cake: tiramisu, birthday cake with ice cream on it, strawberry short cake. (seriously. *shudder*) I am pretty sure it’s a texture issue. But, ugh. I just cannot eat it. Apple sauce has a similar texture. Yick. It’s mushy and just gross. And yet, french onion soup? LOVE it. That has wet bread in it, and that doesn’t gross me out. Someone once said that it’s the cold that that makes it icky for me. Maybe so, but I don’t think I will be changing my mind anytime soon.
Bananas: there is about a 20 minute window of opportunity on bananas. Within that 20 minutes, it reaches perfect ripeness, perfect color and texture. Outside of that window, all bets are off, and it goes in the trash. The perfect banana has just stopped being green, there will be no brown spots, and it will be firm to the bite. I cannot buy bananas in a bunch. By the time I would get to it, the window of goodness would have shut. Once the banana has brown spots, it starts to get a little gushy inside, WAY too sweet, and gets that sweet banana-y stink to it. And the banana peel? That has to go in the trash in another room. The stink makes me gag.
BTDub, my brother Herb? He’ll wait to eat a banana until right before the fruit flies come out. Banana bread worthy. (I just threw up in my mouth a little). I could probably give my “old” bananas to Herb, but since I only eat bananas rarely (because I know they are good for me) and only buy them one at a time, I rarely have “old” bananas.
Now, the white-trash things that most people don’t admit to eating.
- Funyuns? Love them. They are gross, and yet yummy. Except for the fact that they rip the sh*t out of the roof of your mouth, so good!
- Vienna sausages. Admittedly, I haven’t had them for a very long time, but I used to like them. Herb and I wonder if they could be grilled. And what would happen to that weird gelatinous goo that they are packed in.
- Cheese fries. These are actually probably not white trash, but cheese fries KICK ASS!!! But the cheese has to be of the melted cheez-whiz variety for them to be really yummy. The refined shredded cheese type – while good – do not cheese fries make.
- Canned corned beef. Again – gross, yet yummy. Again, surrounded by a weird gelatinous goo.
- Cheez-whiz. So good on saltines, rice cakes, nachos, a spoon *heh*
- Ramen noodles. You can buy about 20 for a dollar, and really? Not very good in the grand scheme of things, but there is a peanut sauce in the international aisle that’s good, and if you add a little chicken and ditch the uber-sodiumized “flavoring” and it’ll do in a pinch.
I’m sure there are other white trash things that I like and other food issues I have, but I think that’s enough for now.
Okay, who wants a snack?? *snort*
Oh hello! We’re offering homemade chocolate chip cookies tonight. Have one. They’re still warm. 🙂
So random thoughts today… (*updated to tell you to stop reading. I’m boring today. Really.)
It’s Dad’s berfday today. I suck and forgot to send him a card. Rotten rotten rotten daughter!! I did call this morning but he was out, so after my last meeting today, I left early, bought him a cupcake and went to their house to hang for a while. I get there, ring the doorbell… nothing. The car is there. I know they are home. *sigh*
Walk back to the car, dig out the key to their house, let myself in, knock on the inside door… nothing. Fine. I go in, the house is quiet, the bedroom doors are closed. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. (picture Snoopy from the Halloween episode. hee) Cupcake into the fridge, note saying Happy Birthday, and I head home to sprawl in front of the a/c.
They called. Mum said he was very happy with the cupcake. So that’s good. Mission accomplished.
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So, at the beginning of this month, I gave up coffee. 29 days in and I am still doing well without it. GO ME!!! I think I started drinking it again the last time I gave it up because I still drank decaf. This time, nothing. I’m doing okay. I know I’m definitely sleeping better – you know that heavy sleep where, when the alarm goes off, you have to sort of swim back to awakeness? (Shut up. It is too a word.) So I’ll keep up with that, and once the humidity breaks, I can start back up with tea.
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I have curly hair. I’m the only one in the immediate family with it. And contrary to popular sentiment, I love my curls. The sister has thin, stick straight hair. She used to get perms. It didn’t go well. Did you ever notice that on makeover shows almost always straighten the hair of their curly haired “victims”. Why is that?? Curly hair is awesome. Granted, there are people who are blessed with the curl who don’t know the correct use of goop. Hair goop is critical for good curls. And if having curly hair is so bad, why do people get perms? HA! We win.
I’ve had really short hair and really long hair and have rocked both looks. Currently it’s short-ish. The only reason I ever feel like I might like straight hair is that there are some beautiful short hair styles that I can never have. Remember the blond chick on the first Melrose Place? I loved her hair. But, given a choice, I’ll keep the curls.
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My friend, the K2Kid, and I started a list last year of things we wanted to do for ourselves. You know, as a way to improve our lives. We had committed to start something new every month. It could be anything – going to the gym regularly; read more; eat better; not use credit cards. That type of thing. We had a name for it, the SHIT list, where the SHIT stood for something, but for the life of me I couldn’t tell you what it was.
Anyhoo, that fell by the wayside for a while once we both got busy at work. But, we have decided to start it up again, beginning August 1. This time though, we’re going to do whatever it is we choose for 2 months at a time. Better chance that it will “stick”. Since I have already given up coffee, and shredded my credit cards, I think I am going to eliminate sweets from my diet. I’ve done that before – for about 2 1/2 years. And then I slipped back into my sugar addiction.
It’s horrible to be addicted. My addiction, however, is not alcohol or drugs. It’s sugar. If I start eating it, I can’t stop. Even as I am recognizing the horror that is my gluttony, I still sit there and eat it. It gives me headaches. Every day. Literally. I have a headache every single day. (I mock people who call in with a headache. Tuck your skirt in, take an aspirin, and get in here. I’m not interested in picking up the slack of your lazy ass.) (Migraines are a different story. Those suck and the sufferer should stay home.)
So here comes August 1 and I am going to try again. At least all of August and September, hopefully longer. Wish me luck.
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Have I mentioned that I am on vacation soon? 7 more business days and then I am off FOR 2 WEEKS, BITCHES!!!!! I cannot wait. I probably will stick close to home, but honestly? Any day not at work is a vacation. I really want to walk everyday. And do a big cleanout of the closets and cellar. I was reading a book about getting rid of clutter, and the author wrote something I have really been trying to live by: If it’s not an ABSOLUTE yes, it’s a no. Meaning if it is not something that you love, enhances your life, or makes you feel fabulous in some way, it’s a no and you need to get rid of it. I have tried to do that lately. For example, I LOVE purses. Love them. I’m always looking for a new one. (Although, when I found the most recent bargain at Cole Hahn – a $400 for $59 – yeah you read it right! – I’ve stuck with that one for a while and it’s been good). But anyway. Since I read that quote, I have gotten rid of all but I think 4 purses. One I use every day; a winter one for every day; a weekend one; and one to cart in contraband to hockey games. Not bad.
Okay, you know what? I’ve blathered on long enough that I’ve lost my point and I’m boring myself! This post is crap. Sorry to have wasted your time. Have another cookie.
*goes to research something interesting to say*
Oh, hello! Vinho verde is this evening’s choice. Would you like some?
Dr. Wayne Dyer has a wonderful book out called Change Your Thoughts, Change Your Life. In it, he discusses he analysis of the Tao. I’ve read some of his other books and watched his lectures on PBS. He is an eloquent speaker, and is clearly passionate about his beliefs and research, and I respect him for that.
But, my question is: HOW THE HELL DO YOU CHANGE YOUR THOUGHTS WHEN EVERYTHING IN YOUR LIFE SUCKS RIGHT NOW??
I know, think positive and positive things will happen. Um, yeah, that works for about 37 seconds when you feel like I do right now, and then all the suck comes flooding back in. Positive, sucking, positive, sucking, positively sucking. It’s exhausting.
I am SICK TO DEATH of feeling worried and stressed and blue and unsettled and like it’s all hanging by a thread. And I don’t know how to stop it.
Oh, hello! Sapphire and tonic? With lime, of course.
I’m pretty sure there is no one on earth who hates house work more than I do. Well, except for those people on “Clean House” because that’s just gross. And okay, my neighbor, in the asbestos shingled, field for a lawn, use broken down minivans for storage (because that’s his “business” – selling cr@p at flea markets). And, okay, people who live like Deliverance folks.
Okay, whatever. Don’t get me off track. I get it. There ARE people who hate housework more than I. The point is that I hate it. HATE! I would love to hire someone to do it for me, but my house is so small that even I would feel guilty.
I think my family doesn’t like to come visit for very long because of my housekeeping skills. I mean, I don’t have rats or big giant bugs or anything. I did have ants, but only because I forgot to get the ant killer for the outside – and because the twins like to play in the garage, and I have to leave the door open so they can come in. But, my brother, Herb, even likes to say that I vacuum once a month, whether I need to or not. (So not true, but you get the point.)
Once year, Herb and his ex, Satan, were so sick of my dishes in the sink that they, along with my parents, bought me a dishwasher, and built an island for my kitchen to house said dishwasher and presented it to me for Christmas. (I cried. Don’t judge me.) (Related: I can never move now, because I love the island and the dishwasher, and I don’t want to leave it behind.)
I have gotten better though. I think I have the twins to thank for that too. Them and their black fur and their epic shedding abilities. It really is impressive how much they shed for such little bitty things. Alas, their fur is black (and white) and my carpets are beige, so frequent vacuuming is in order. The kitchen stays mostly clean. I think I have finally reached the responsible adult age that hits most people in their mid-twenties. Maybe I am just developmentally challenged.
OR, I am just lazy. I vote for the latter. I’m not going to win any awards, but I know I also won’t ever make it on to “Clean House”. And I’m more than okay with that.
Oh, hello! I have some lovely Raspberry Sangria Tea. Would you care for a cup?
What I learned on my summer vacation:
1. Seamus and Maggie like to sleep. ALOT!
2. Seamus and Maggie like to sleep ON ME.
3. I rather like the way I write.
4. I judge people too harshly at times.
5. Given the need, I can pull together a pretty good meal.
6. I really am one of the laziest people on the planet.
7. It’s time to take some bricks down from this wall I live behind.
8. I can live without coffee.
9. I wasn’t dreading the first day back at work as much as I thought I would.
10. Any day not at work is a good day.
Bring on my next vacation!! 5 weeks from now….
Oh, hello! Come in. Have some coffee…
After today, I’m going to try to give up coffee. *SOB* This is not a decision I just made this morning while taking a walk. I’ve been thinking about this for a while.
A few weeks ago, I took a Friday off from the Gas ‘n Sip and decided to not have coffee. Well, it was really more that I was too bloody lazy to get off my substantial ass-et and make some. When I woke up on Saturday, I had the most excruciating headache and knew that it could only be the result of caffeine withdrawal. So after diving in face first and swimming around in a freshly brewed pot, I felt so much better!
I also recognized that this was not good. Clearly, I was jonesing for a fix. (OOOO, I sounded so gangsta right then… heh.) I decided that once my supply of coffee ran out, I would stop. I’d done it before. I can do it again. Right? *sob*
One other thing I also knew. I could not go thru detox while at work. If my previous headache was any indication, the Gas ‘n Sip and I could not be a part of each others existence during this time. My snarkiness was already too well known and documented around the Slurpee machine to add this fiasco.
Originally, I thought I would be well stocked enough to make it until my August vacation. (Nope, not doing anything during that time either. Thanks for asking. Well, maybe a trip to see Meffa in VT…) Anyhoo, turns out, I just brewed my last pot. I’m sitting here, savoring the flavor and the smoothness. *sob*
I love the flavor of coffee. I love the smell of coffee. What did me in the last time – why I started drinking it again – was that I just switched to decaf. I teased my taste buds with that delicious liquid and thought I was stronger than my need. HA!!! I’m such a fool. I am powerless against coffee.
“Hello. My name is Mary. I’m a coffee-holic.”
In preparation for this fiasco life change, I have purchased some lovely loose tea. I’m looking forward to trying it. It’s called Raspberry Sangria Tea. (I do love me some Sangria!!) Tomorrow will be the first day. I’d like to apologize now for any residual snatchiness that might surface during my withdrawal. Other than the anticipated headaches, frothing at the mouth, eye tics, convulsions, vomiting, and sweating, I think I will be fine. *sob*
Wish me luck. And pray to whichever goat you worship that I make it thru alive. Where is Dr. Drew and his “Gas ‘n Sip Employee Rehab” when I need him??
For now, I’m going to sit and cry into my coffee…
Oh, hello! May I offer you a Lorna Doone and tea?
I’m on vacation from the Gas ‘n Sip this week. Actually, it sort of started last Friday. As much as the Leg Jiggler bugs the snot out of me, he can sometimes do something very nice – like let me “work from home” the Friday before my vacation. We all know that “working from home” means sleeping late, doing laundry, mowing the lawn, checking in via email occasionally just to indicate that you are, in fact, putting in a slight effort.
The first question most people ask when they find out you are going on vacation is “where are you going?” Why do people always have to go somewhere? More importantly is, if I am going somewhere, why would I tell you? MYOB, honestly.
I have been fortunate enough to go away on some wonderful vacations. Paris was, by far, my favorite place. Of course, Ireland holds a special place in my heart, thanks to Mum. London was not my favorite, but due to the company I travelled with, more than the location. Given another opportunity to visit, I would very likely have a wonderful time.
The only problem I have with “going away” is that it’s exhausting! The planning, the travel, the desire to see everything, the jet lag, the unpacking, telling everyone about it, blah blah blah. My favorite vacation locally was in Vermont. My friend, Meffa, has a condo up there, and visiting there is like going off planet. She doesn’t have cable up there, nor an Internet connection, nor the ability to make long distance calls without a credit card. Right after she bought the place, I took her dog and her keys and went up there for a full week. By the time she got there the second weekend, I was completely relaxed and totally news deprived. I had no idea what was going on in the world, hadn’t watched TV, had read 10 books, eaten locally grown food and felt wonderful. Vermont had completely de-bitched.
My only goal for this week off is to relax, read, and to get my ruffled feathers smoothed again. I have been feeling out of sorts lately, as has been made ridiculously clear in my recent posts. I hope to gather myself back together and feel like I have some sort of control in my life – BUAHAHAAHAHAHAHA! The only one whole has control of my life is the goat himself. But I still want to give it a go. A girl can dream, right?
I know the twins will be delighted to have me here. Their own personal servant. Taking pictures of them. Watching them sleep. They certainly have the right idea. Sleep when you need to, eat when you are hungry, forget the bad things right away. I think I will live like a cat this week. However, I am going to draw the line at licking myself clean. *shudder*
Oh, hello! Come in. Can I get you some water? With lemon?
Do you ever have days where you just feel alone? It’s similar to lonely but…. no, I guess lonely is a good way to describe it. But at the same time it’s also a feeling that no one “gets” you. Today is one of those days for me.
I’ve been lonely a lot lately. But it’s not the kind of lonely that getting out of the house will fix. It’s the kind that no matter how many people are around, they just don’t get your thoughts or wit or snark or kindness. It doesn’t feel judge-y either; more like they just don’t care. They are so wrapped up in their own lives and loves and work and troubles that they listen but they just don’t hear. And they may attempt to interact, but you know, looking into their eyes that they are a million miles away and everything you just said is gone. Then they get up, and go back to their bubble, and you don’t feel any better.
I know, deep inside, that I have people who care, and who love me, and would listen. And this is where the conundrum comes in. I really don’t like dumping my sh!t onto other people. They have enough to deal with without having my baggage. And so begins the viscious circle. Who do I trust enough to vent to, and yet care about less than the people I love, to not worry about leaving my cr@p there with them.
Before you say it, I know that the people who love me would listen to my b!tching. I know that. So do I dump my stuff on them, and risk alienating them if I do it too often?
And the people with whom I work, at the Gas ‘n Sip, they think nothing of it. They stop by my counter and just vent and go off and unburden themselves and think nothing of it. Maybe I’m a good listener, who knows? ::note to self: add “good listener” to my list of fabulous traits:: But then my counter is just awash in their negative chi and I have to sit there and marinate in it. I can’t smudge my area because the dang smoke alarms will go off!
The only one I can really do that with is the K2Kid and she is so busy, uh… working, that I don’t like to do that to her. I can’t talk to the Leg Jiggler because he is one of the most negative people, EVER! And somehow, he manages to turn every conversation around to himself. (Seriously, even in my annual review, he was going over things about himself that he needs to work on! Hello!?!? Can this one hour be just about me? Please??)
Holly Golightly (aka Audrey Hepburn, whom I adore!!) called this feeling “a case of the mean reds”, where it’s more than the blues, and you aren’t quite sure what’s wrong, but you just feel down. I think I need to grab my lute and go sit on my fire escape, and sing “Moon River”. Oh, that’s right, I don’t have either of those things. *sigh*
I just can’t win… where are the twins? Maybe they’ll snuggle with me if I give them treats…
Oh, hello! Come in! We’re having wine. And cake.
When I was about 30, I decided that I wanted a tattoo. I had long wanted one, but since no one in my family had them or much liked them, and since I was the dutiful baby of the family, I had never had one. I didn’t think there was anything wrong with tattoos. In fact, I found some of them to be quite beautiful. (Some, of course, were hideous, but I blame the “artist”)
So, as I said, when I was around 30, I decided, this is it. I’m getting me a tat. Next question? What should it be of? I love Lumiere’ from Beauty and the Beast, but a cartoon character? Really? How pathetic would that be? (Don’t mad-comment if you have a cartoon character tat… wait til the end of the story.)
Finally, I decided to get a Claddagh, to honor my mother, who is from the Emerald isle. And I would get it on my ankle. I found the one I wanted and spoke with Beer Man, my fella at the time, and he said he would take me to where he went. I know there was alcohol involved, and Beer Man had tats, and I was in lurve, so off we went.
The outline went on, and it was a bit bigger than I had originally wanted, but “in order to get the detail” it had to be that big. Uh, did I mention that alcohol was involved. Okay. Go ahead. Beer Man is here; he won’t let anything go wrong.
Those of you who have tats may consider me a big pussy, but good goat, that hurt. The constant poking with sharp sticks (okay, needle, whatev). It was only later that I found out that an ankle tat hurts more because of the bones. Had I known that I could have put it on my fat bum!! Live and learn.
Fast forward about 5 years. Being the brainiac I am, I realize that I don’t want the tat on my ankle anymore. “I don’t want to be 65 with a big inky spot on my leg.” Hello, Einstein, do you think you could have come up with that thought BEFORE?? Of course, I was living in another state by then, and Beer Man was long gone, so I had no reason to keep it. Picking up the yellow pages, I find the nearest laser-removal site.
Dr. Laser tells me that it will take about 6 visits to remove said tat and it won’t hurt any more than a “static snap”. Or like a rubber band snapping against your wrist. Lest you forget, I live in my little naive rose colored world and agree to this. Well, let me tell you this… STATIC SNAP, MY ASS!!! Okay, maybe – but about 1,000 static snaps per minute for at least 5 minutes. Getting a tat is like being licked by kittens, compared to getting it removed. I have never given birth, so I can’t say it is the worst pain in the world, but holy goat, it hurts.
Once that treatment is done, you go home, and try to ignore the smell of singed flesh, let it heal, and then go back for the next treatment. Keep in mind, since you are, in essence, burning the crap out of the same spot over and over again, it takes longer and longer to heal. Good times.
Once though, I went in, sucked it up, got my treatment of seared skin, and started to leave. These two guys were leaving at about that time – one in front of me, one behind me. I didn’t think too much about it, then the one behind me says “Excuse me.” I assumed he was speaking to the one in front of me. I keep walking. Then he touches my arm. “Excuse me, were you just in that office?”
“Yep” (I’m really very articulate.)
“Were you getting tattoo removal?”
“Yes.” (told you)
“Didn’t it hurt? We didn’t hear you scream.”
Now, I’m not much of a screamer. Get your minds out of the gutter! My voice is not high pitched and girly enough to do one of those movie-type screams. I usually just grit my teeth and suck it up if there is pain. So I answer “Yes, it hurt like a bitch.”
“I couldn’t do more than a minute. I had to have him stop. Is it easier as you go along?”
*sigh* “No, it doesn’t get easier. It actually gets more painful.” (You fecking pansy!)
“Well, I don’t know how you did it!”
Anyhoo, so after about a year and a half of treatments – yeah, the predicted 6? LIE! – and about 14 months of that being healing, blistering, oozing, weeping, red, pussy mess – I finally stop. It got too expensive, it was taking forever for each successive treatment to heal, and I was moving back to my home state. My last treatment was about 10 years ago now, and to this day, about 2-3 times a year, my ankle gets itchy and angry looking, turns this odd shade of purple and starts to get weepy. (I’m so pretty!) I think it’s mostly the heat. I have tried EVERYTHING on it to make it calm down and just be. Finally, someone pointed out that it is a 3rd degree burn and it will always be scarred. Kewl.
Then 2 years ago, I went to my first “girl camp”. It’s what K2Kid and I call our girls weekend away with about 30 other women. Shopping and drinking and relaxing. So fun! I, of course, had not learned my lesson from the ankle and decide to get another tat. I know. But, I have also mentioned my unnatural obsession with my cats, and found the cutest kitten tat – she’s cartoonish, and pretty, and bright eyed and proper. I got it just over my right butt-cheek – so it’s not a tramp stamp. I love her. She’s got big green eyes, and pink in her ears, and looks like my kitties. I even thought about getting another one this past girl camp in April, but couldn’t find exactly what I wanted. Maybe next year.
My advice to you – if you are at all unsure about getting a tattoo, either don’t do it at all, or put it somewhere that no one else can see (except those you are “closest” to). It is son NOT worth the paid of getting it removed. And you will walk around with a huge ugly scar. Unless, of course, your Dr. Laser doesn’t suck ass like mine did.
Oh, hello! I haven’t seen you in a while. How are things?
I’ve thought about blogging for a long time. Getting things out that I don’t need anymore. Not allowing “baggage” to reside with me against my will. I know I have started a blog at least 2 different times. At this point, I could not tell you where they are and what they are called. I did not spend a lot of time writing for those, but I did spend a lot of time doubting my writing ability and the thought that anyone would want to read what I wrote.
Recently I joined Twitter and found a whole wonderful group of people who seem to be just like me. Well, other than the fact that many of them are mommies. Luckily, birthing and raising wee people did not cause these lovely people, both moms and dads, to lose their senses of humor. In fact, most of them have wonderful creativity and blog themselves.
Lately, I have spent time trolling thru these blogs, starting at the beginning and moving forward. I feel very much like a voyeur in the lives of strangers. What I have found is that there are some amazing, brave, strong, exquisite, hilarious people who like to write. They have stories of joy and tragedy and mirth and heartbreak and unabashed happiness. And I, of course, being the festering, sniveling pile of self-doubt and insecurity, read these stories and again, feel inadequate about blogging. I have a very basic life with brief flashes of hysteria (see the shower/smoke alarm post) and why would anyone read about it.
Luckily, there are at least 2 people in my life who feel that I not only write well but also have something to say. Oh, I’m supposed to work the word “asshat” into the blog somewhere. I’m told that will help. 😉
One friend I have met, and one friend I know virtually. Both of them I treasure and both of them make my life infinitely more rich. I know “the K2Kid” from work. We met about 3 or 4 years ago and instantly clicked. We joke that we are actually the same person, because we have so much in common. She makes me laugh like no other person I know. She is married to a wonderful man who is also kind and funny and smart. The K2Kid is kind and also scary smart. I’m somewhat intimidated by her intelligence. I have always considered myself to be fairly intelligent, but dang, the K2Kid is brilliant. She has encouraged me, almost from the time we met, to write. She has seen in me something I don’t see in myself – the ability to write and tell a story.
The other friend, Moo, I have never met in person. I know her only on-line and only for about a year and a half. Moo is younger than I but has lived more of a life than I ever will. She is the young, hip mom and has a wicked sense of humor. I laugh to the point of sore abs at something she says at least once a day, but usually far more frequently. Moo is also brilliant. She is smart and quick and sweet. Miss Moo has also seen in me someone who is good and worth knowing. She encourages me to write and tell my crazy stories. She’s even going to guest-blog here occasionally.
So, here I am writing on the internet. I hope people will read it. But you know what? Even if no one does, and it ends up being me just typing away, I’m good with that. I have people on Twitter who find me amusing, people in my life who encourage me, and cats who think I hung the moon. (Okay, if I stopped the treats, they’d kill me in my sleep, but let me live with the fantasy.) And best of all, as indicated above, I have at least two strong, wonderful, witty women in my life, who love me.
Wait until I tell you about about my friend, Vermont.
*****I just realized I need to clarify that the Moo in my story is not, in fact, the Moo from the name of my blog. One is furry and the other isn’t. (I think… as mentioned, I’ve not met her in person. hee! )
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