I woke up thinking that...

....it was 6 AM when it was really 12:30 AM. I made a potOcoffee and drank it thinking that it was morning. Now it IS morning, I'm caffeinated and verklempt.

There's a little girl peering over my shoulder but I'm going to pretent like she isn't there because it would freak me out to think otherwise. I don't know what she thinks I'm talking about now but I know she IS there and she IS thinking about it. She's a smart little girl.

I might even reach over and push her off of the stool she's sitting on, it's top heavy and she would go down like a brick. I could do that...maybe I will but I don't want to warn her so in a few minutes I'll just knock her over and run. :)

She's not one of those kids that you can lie about because she'll tell the truth. That's nice in a kid. Too many of them are little liar-kids...you can mess with them because no one believes them anyway.

My step-brat was a little liar...that kid came by it honestely, he lied like his father did. When we first got married, the little darling would walk past me and if he and I were the only people on one side of the house, the kid would bolt and go running to his father claiming that I had hit him, when I never had. I wish I HAD...but I never did.

At one point my ex DID know what his son was doing. About 3 days after he figured it out, I waiting until the perfect moment and smacked the kid as I walked past him in the hall. The look in his eyes told me that he understood what had just occurred. He never stopped lying...but he did stop lying about me.

My mind is a blank. But today is my birthday so that's OK with me.

Hey...

...check this out...some yahoo that I ordinarilly wouldn't bother with has actually requested a "review" of his nit-wit self. A slow Sunday afternoon makes me available for writing and, of course, I AM a bitch...besides, he could be right, this might be fun. That's what the nimrod says, anyway, in an email...thusly:

"Please send me the link when you get my profile finished, I would love to read what you have to say and get to know what you really feel about me, it might even be fun."

Actually he might be right, this could be fun.

So, Ronald Isakson, you want to know how I feel about you. I could sum it up in two words...I don't.

I don't feel anything about you, for you or because of you, ever, ever, ever. I am totally mystified by the fact that you actually believed that you could suck me into a conversation with a bully.

I've been up against the best of them, and you're a piece of crap bully, the kind that bullys emotionally and therefore stays out of jail to inflict women and children with some messed up attitudes and twisted logic year after year. I don't fear you as does your family and neither will I suffer you.

So, when does the fun start? Now.

Ron, this is what I know about you from first hand experience:

1. You find the time to come into town for your band but, for some reason, your unemployed self can't leave early enough to see your children who are a mile away on those days.

2. You tell people that you were in Viet Nam and hide behind that lame, "I can't even talk about it." crap as though you earned the right to say that.

3. Your ex-wife tells me that you were arrested for impersonating an officer.

4. Your son had a new bike leaning against the garage for close to a year without air in the tires and without a proper seat adjustment. Both jobs took me less than 20 minutes...and I'm a girl.

5. Your daughter is already trying to keep things as calm as SHE can and she's only a kid. Adults can't keep things calm, how can that little girl do it? By the way, when you grill the kids with a barrage of questions on the phone, you yell so loudly that everyone in the room can hear you.


6. You are almost 60 and you haven't learned to appreciate the young people yet. Grandfathers NEVER spank the grandkids. Ever....you asshole...EVER.

7. There's an interesting set of tools in your "work shop" or whatever you call the cash cow that you hoisted upon your wife. It's a set of files that look appropriate for carpenters who do fine and delicate work. I can NOT imagine you having the ability to do such work and the tools hanging on the wall make me laugh at you.

8. You are actually known as "Crazy Ron".

9. While you're busy attacking their mother, your kids are necessarily missing out on any positive fathering skills that you might find blowing in the wind. Every moment you spend nagging people could be spent more productively and that makes you a waste of time.

10. You were dumb enough meet this blog and invite yourself in. I actually sent you a rather scathing piece of my work and you didn't GO AWAY. You were smelling your piss and all of a sudden, here you are...requesting something that wise men fear. Whatever.


You wanted to hear what I had to say, take that for starters. You're right...this is fun.

(You can meet Ron yourself in Elgin, Illinois.)

Hi!!!

Ready for my injury du jour? The house that I live in has gates in between each room, like the one in the picture below this post. Don't ask me why, I don't know. But I do know that it's easier to step over them than it is to open the antique sons-of-bitches so I do step over them. As some anonymous dude told me years ago, I have "legs all the way up to my ass". I don't know where his legs stop, but mine do, indeed, stop at my ass.

There was a time when my long legs were an asset on the track field, those hurdles were nothing for me. But, I was 16 at the time. You would think that a gate lower than the hurdles would be easy as well, especially considering I wasn't running at the sucker, I was standing still and stepping carefully over the gate. All of a sudden, my big fat broken toe caught the gate and I went down. As with the broken toe, medical help is not in order so I'll just hobble with a broken right toe and a messed up left knee. I'm used to such a life. (By the way, I didn't spill the huge bowl of dog water that I went down with, it was quite an impressive maneuver, actually.)

I do tend to serious injuries, such as the huge bubble in my brain that will, eventually, rupture and leave me dead or worse. So, I went to the doctor yesterday. He's gonna stent and coil that sucker...most likely later next month as the blood from this month's bleed hasn't been completely absorbed yet. Anyway, as Forrest Gump would say, "That's all I have to say about that."

HOURS LATER

Damn y'all! I keep getting pulled from my favorite thing in the world...my blog. I hate that. But I've moved twice, once from Atlanta to Los Angeles and within a year from LA to Chicago. Each time my trip gets lighter as I leave my belongings in state after state. I have stuff in storage on two coasts. I want my shit back. Anyway, this thing is right where I left it and that's cool.

I'm annoyed that I've been in Chi-town for close to a month and I haven't been to a Cubs game. That bites...doesn't it? At this point I'd settle for seeing them lose at Wrigley Field as opposed to winning on TV.

Now that I think of it, I need to go out on a date. I wonder how one goes about doing that in an entirely new city? Well, it's not entirely new but other than one brother, one best friend and sadly, one ex-husband, I'm sort of from out of town in my own hometown. Odd.

I'll wait for a date to happen naturally but I gotta tell ya, I'm about two sex dreams away from an ad on Craigslist.

This is My Constant View From the Computer

Good morning!

Today I have to go to the doctor's office to see when I get to have my brain worked on. This should be fun. The appointment was originally scheduled for the 29th, which is my birthday, but I can't wait that long knowing that my brain contains a huge bubble...and that bubble could burst if I should be annoyed to the point of anger, frustration or passion.

Even if I DID have a man to anger, frustrate or impassion me, I would be too afraid to do anything and this is no way to live. I have enough trouble keeping my mind on point when I'm being passionate as it is. I could be going along, all playful and sexy...and then all of a sudden, without invitation, I could think about the Cubs and the game they won the other day. They won 12 to 1, it was a one sided slug fest. That makes me happy, but does nothing to enhance any amorous feelings I may have. I suppose I could pretend that I'm doing the pitcher, but that hasn't worked since pro baseball players have gotten younger than my own kids. Oh well, there's always the old-timer's game.

My friend and I are opening a business and before we can do that, we have some personal stuff to take care of so the quicker I get my brain fixed, the quicker we can start looking for a building to buy. My friend is still trying to finish her homework from her spring semester Luckily, she's taking classes that I took years ago and since it's my short term memory that has been attacked, I can remember those classes. I know what mitochondria is and I can even remember what varicella is. I can help her all the way through science, so she's good as long as she doesn't take any math higher than geometry...after that I must leave the room.

I always helped my kids with their homework until the inevitable day when the "smart one" graduated junior high. A thousand college degrees in nursing won't do a bit of good if the task at hand is calculus. To me, that sounds like something that would plug an artery, not solve a problem. But somehow that kid became an attorney so I guess I didn't do as badly as he thinks I did.

Oh, guess what? I know that you know I'm a flake...but did you know that I'm also an idiot? Well, it's true. Yesterday I was cleaning an oven...all of it. I started out by pulling it away from the wall, cleaning the floor, the sides of the oven and the walls surrounding it. Next I needed to clean the door so I took that off. A young man stood next to me startled and asked, "Can you put that back on?"

"DUH!", I responded, "I took it off, didn't I?"

Well, a can of oven cleaner and two hours later, I carried that 30 pound door (I swear it weighed more than the rest of the stupid oven) back inside from the yard where I had cleaned it and attempted to put it back. It wasn't like most ovens where the latches point down...these latches were at a 90 degree angle which baffled me. Unfortunately, being baffled is my baseline so it didn't stop me one little bit. I went to put that sucker back and, long story short, I dropped it on my foot. My friend happened to walk in 4 seconds after I did it and found me standing there, white and eyes wide open, slapping my self in the face with both hands. The pain kept me from speaking for a moment so I pointed to the door and used my hands to explain the reason for my silence. If I opened my mouth, I would have screamed and I like to think I have more self control than that.

Anyway, soon I found my voice again and I told her what happened. When she asked which foot, I told her, "The one that's bleeding." It's amazing how much blood blunt force trauma can evoke. I would have though one would need a knife to produce as much blood as was leaving my body through my right big toe. I guess most people wouldn't know that unless they were Joran Van Der Sloot or some other psychopathic killer.

Well, I have to hobble away and help get the homework done and then, if I'm really, really stupid, I can try to put the door back on the oven.

:)

It took me a while to...

...decide whether or not I should mention the following situation. I hesitated because the "victim" sort of asked for what she got but after reading her story, thinking about the clueless wife and the fact that there's a doctor involved, I chose to go ahead and spill the beans on one Dr. Christopher Kelly of Hawaii. He currently resides in LA with his Philippine wife, his unemployed daughter and her 2 children who her parents have raised since birth.

Anyway, back to Sherry. As I said, Sherry isn't an innocent here. She knew the doctor was married yet she allowed him to help her out when she had no place to go. That would be fine if it weren't for the fact that the doctor would only help her if she consented to attempted sex with a drunk, old, bony man who left Hershey squirts all over the bed she was sleeping in. He told her he'd help her for a month but he never paid more than two days worth of the motel bill because he needed an excuse to keep her worried about being on the street and therefore willing to attempt to screw the "too drunk for screwing but not too drunk for trying" fool who considers a ride in his Beemer foreplay.

Even THAT wouldn't have annoyed me too much, except for the fact that Marta Kelly was sitting alone waiting for her husband to come home. But if there's one thing I've learned since I've been old enough to marry...it's that very few men and perhaps fewer women remain faithful to their vows. That trio was just another group of cheaters and enablers out of millions.

What REALLY made me angry was the fact that the doctor had one other way of keeping Sherry sitting in her motel room while he was at work...he would call her in prescription after prescription of her favorite drugs. Now, he may be a doctor, but he isn't HER doctor. He did run out to grab his stethoscope once to tell her that she had a hideous heart condition (she did NOT) and had no business leaving the room that week. Frightened, Sherry relented and stayed right where the good doctor told her to. Of course, he would visit at least once a day, bearing gifts of narcotics, sedatives and barbiturates.

At some point, Sherry herself became disgusted by her own behavior and she told the doctor that the game was over. There was only one problem, now Sherry was hooked on the drugs the doctor had ordered over and over again. Physically addicted, she asked him what to do. His answer was no help at all...he ignored her and her phone calls. Then, he told her he was in Guam. Next, he was visiting Japan.

Now, he has been spotted in LA so there's no reason to buy his globe-trotting stories. He simply won't make gifts of drugs to women who do not give in to his feeble, drunken attempts at sex. Luckily, Sherry was smart enough to enter rehab where she remains today.

Unfortunately, your government is paying this charlatan to choose which men and women are fit to go to war for us RIGHT NOW. Chances are pretty good that another poor fool is becoming hooked on the gifts Dr. Christopher bears, but I don't know for sure. I just know something about a leopard and it's stripes. I don't know if it's worse or not, but Dr. Kelly has said over and over again that his colleagues cover for him should he come to work too drunk to even perform a simple exam.

One more thing, in case Dr. Kelly should try to lie his way out of this, Sherry sent me enough evidence to strip him of his medical license and perhaps send him to jail. She saved it all. She may not be very nice, but she is as cunning as is the good doctor.

I've been working...

...my ass off all day and I'm as sticky as anyone stuck in Chicago on a hot muggy day would be. I hate hot. I used to hate cold. Oh well, maybe someday it'll be just pefect but in the meantime, I'll keep positioning myself to be able to have the fun I seek. I don't care if it takes me until I'm 60...I'm gonna do it.

:):):)

It Occurred To Me This Morning...

...that the entire universe could be the result of some larger adolescent being who's working us out in his basement. Odd, isn't it?

In the entire scheme of things, it doesn't really matter that people can be Scaramouch's. We can usually avoid them (except in the case of ex-husbands who, long ago should have been pleasant memories but instead, are currently enjoying the fight as though it happened yesterday...rather than 1987.). I don't know how many times I've retorted with, "Nineteen eighty WHAT!?!?" when accused of some cocaine related charge that my ex husband has used to judge me ever since. (I give. I did it. I snorted cocaine in 1986. I didn't CREATE the crap, I just dabbled in it. And...there's no way I'm believe that freak didn't at least TRY it himself. But I can't prove it so I shan't make baseless allegations. Call me kooky!) Personally, I just smirk and walk away when I encounter such fools but you may have another way of handling them, perhaps activity that involves a rumble. Whatever.

I think that my main point was really stupid, something like Men Suck in one form or another and that could come across as anti-man and I am currently going through a very favorable attitude toward men. I think it has something to do with the fact that the only man I see is the mailman and he doesn't even get out of his truck. I don't do the "hanging from the car/truck door" thing anymore. Like flannel shirts, it worked much better when I was 17.

Funny thing about men, whomever they are, wherever they are and to whomever they belong, they all take the same bait. The 55 year old dude I played with in LA was enticed by the exact same thing that I used in 1982...a woman having fun dressed in adorable clothes and obviously all alone. It helps if you get to dance unless you have those little Elaine kicks.

It's always wise to do an honest appraisal of your own dancing. You could use a camcorder or even a web cam...and it wouldn't hurt if you downed at least three stiff highballs because seriously, isn't that what it takes you to REALLY get down? That White Boy dance might work sober but you should really see what it looks like drunk.

If you don't know what you're doing, you could end up all drunk on the dance floor, struttin' your stuff and then out of nowhere, you spin around. I hate the arbitrary dance spin. If I see it coming, I'll slip silently into the dance crowd and wiggle my way to a dark corner before he spins back to me. And there I wait until he gives up looking for me. In hindsight, that's not really a good barometer of a man's character, just his drunk dance ethos. Hell, Prince Charles probably took an arbitrary dance spin at some point in all of those balls he's played with. I'm SURE Prince Harry has done it a FEW times.

Oh well, I simply cannot get past certain things and one of them is arbitrary dance spins. Another would be guys who take too much time folding, pulling and tucking his shirt in order to show his muscles as though any fool with a cerebellum couldn't produce one of those. Hell, a chicken runs around with no head, I bet no man can say that. Oh well, it doesn't matter, I don't do men who spend more that 6 seconds putting on a shirt, maybe I'll go to 42 if there are buttons, zippers or snaps involved. Strike that, I don't do zipper/snap shirted dudes either. Buttons. If it isn't a cool Black Hawks T-shirt, it better have buttons.

OK, I'm getting somewhere!

This next requisite might sound a little cold but I would also prefer if the guy had, respectfully and with without having to subject to a polygraph...buried both of his parents. I hate ma-ma drama and in my world, that exists in the form of a dates' mother. I could almost handle a father, but I'd rather not. People my age aren't even supposed to HAVE living parents so if he does, I'm worried that HE'LL live to 100 and that would mean that he would be there UNTIL THE DAY I DIE. I tried that once. If I had given it this much thought at the time, I wouldn't have wasted 20+ years on a 0.4 on a 1-10 scale. Hell, a penis gets you one point, he lost some for the skid marks.

The one lesson people should take from this experience is that you never choose a spouse during a drinking binge in your life. Like the bitch at closing time, he could be a real frightening yahoo to sober up to. And yes, that is why I'm giving it so much thought this time.

OMG!!!

Did I just end up with a Men Suck thing? I am laughing with tears in my eyes, you would enjoy this. I think I'll just walk away from the computer. It sucks something out of my brains. I just wish it would take what's left of my estrogen. That shit only serves to confuse me.

One thing that keeps me...

...from writing more than I do is that other people are freaking me out over it and they aren't even people in my life. How stupid is that? I mustn't let that happen anymore. I do THINK about stuff, I even write some things down if I can find a pen before I forget what I was thinking of. Last night something occurred to me...like a bolt of lightning or the Big Bang, and it sent me scrambling for a pen. It was the answer to the life-riddle, To Shave A Bush or To Not Shave A Bush.

Obviously, the answer is no. I heard the term "beefy red pussy" and that did it. If there's one thing I never want my pussy called, it's "beefy". I haven't had any complaints about the status quo although I think I reached a thoughtful compromise by offering to use any pussy rakes that might be on the market. If one appears, I get a LOT of the money, right? If loose hairs and gagging is a problem, there's no reason to go into overkill to the point of "beefy red". I think I'd rather be Butch Bitch than beefy red...no, I'm sure of it. I have even stopped wearing flannel shirts...they aren't as cute on me as they were when I was 17.

Everyone has always assumed my best friend and I wear either sisters or lesbians. We knew about the sister thing, a lot of people would ask. But they never asked if we were gay although they must have thought it. Neither of us were aware of that thinking for years. Some mutual friend finally said something. We aren't gay, never have been gay and unless she grows a real dick, we shan't be turning gay. Of course, never say never. Actually, she isn't even my gay type. I guess I just "don't like her that way". I haven't met my gay type, yet, mind you. But like I said, you should never say never.

But I am pretty damn sure that I won't run out of humans with dicks in my lifetime so I'll just let the lesbian crap go. Speaking of humans with dicks, I could use one. I keep having sex dreams and they're even more disappointing than the dreams where I win the lottery but wake up before I get the money. Women don't have wet dreams, they have incomplete dreams. Those are hideous. And the bad part is that I never seem to be close enough to a human with a dick to latch onto.

You realize that all of the preceding chit chat was just funny to me...right?

Things That Occurred To Me This Morning

1. My dog is my favorite person in the world. There's nothing I'd rather do than be with him.

2. The parent of a 13 year old has 5 short years to ready that kid for manhood in a world that changes every ten years.

3. Listen. I feel as though I cannot improve on that other than to say...listen.

4. My friend and I need to have more fun like we used to, at least once in a while. Otherwise, what good is a 40 year old friendship?

5. I'd rather not be aware of the giant black hole at the center of our solar system, dormant though it may be.

6. I really, really, really want to have fun. I guess I'm still somewhat of a girl.

7. I adore my friend but I heartily disagree when she says, "I HAVE to play the sermon where my preacher talks about Christmas pudding for you, it's so sweet, you'll love it."

8. I'm sick of my local Doppler radar.

9. Neighborhood trees are my favorite kind of trees. The big ones take a lot of care.

10. I must be very careful what I do until I get my aneurysm fixed, I could die whilst doing it so it shouldn't be something stupid.

Good morning!

I know I should have been back earlier but a semi-killer headache has kept me from doing anything but taking pain pills. I woke up this morning at about 3 without a headache for the first time since I got married but I became glued to the TV and wanted to catch up on the news that I've been missing. I watched it for a while and then decided that there wasn't anything else that I wanted to know so I went back to sleep for a bit and now I'm sleep-ed out, headache free and sick of bad news so here I am.

I've decided to talk about where I am because it's actually more fun than letting my ex wonder. I AM in the Chicago area, a few miles from him. That's just incidental, he happens to live near my home town and that's where I decided to go. It occurred to me that the biggest mistake I ever made was either leaving my home town in the first place or getting married. So, I'm going to start over...I've come back home and I won't get married so now I'll try over again and see what happens.

That doesn't mean I won't be enjoying any males of my species...I certainly will if I happen upon one than pleases me. I do find them to be rather necessary occasionally and if there's anything that I've learned since my divorce, it's that I should play with them for a while and then throw them back into the water (preferably with a hole in their mouth) and then drop my line and find a new one.

I do miss the one that I played with in Los Angeles, but he wasn't a keeper so I can live without him just fine, thank you. It's fun to think that somewhere in Chicago-land is a man who has no clue that he's on his way to my hook. Right now he's minding his own business, walking through life with no clue of the danger ahead.

Luckily, I remember what bait to use and my line is still good enough to reel in a nice one. I just have to find the proper fishing hole to fish in. I won't make that a priority, currently I'm trying to figure out the proper 6 numbers with which to win the lottery.

Last night I dreamt that I won but I woke up before I found out how much. I always seem to wake up before good stuff happens but if I dream about something bad I can wake up and pick up right where I left off which defeats the entire reason that I woke up in the first place. Oh well, I guess I'll just have to buy one of those stupid tickets today even though I swore I never would do that. I think it's OK, I swore it in another state.

Right now I have to consider whether or not I feel like going to Tae Kwon Do or not so I think I'll make some coffee and contemplate how much I care if my head explodes. I don't go to the docs until my birthday so until then I remain in limbo. But, that's better than being dead so I guess I'll just go out and act as if I am still alive!

See ya later!

You know...

...just when I thought it was safe to come into the blogosphere, I ended up in the hospital again! Last Thursday I had another bleed in my brain and yesterday I was released.

I have to go back to the hospital for more tests on June 29th...which is my birthday! They offered to change the date but I don't want to stretch this stupid thing out any longer than I have to so for my birthday, I'll be getting hideous tests instead of a party. :(

I had an angiogram this last time and after all of the discussion about shaving my pubes, the decision was left to a technician in the lab at a hospital I had never heard of until last week. They didn't shave it all...but they got enough of it to make me very sad and very itchy!

I woke up this morning at 2 AM and never was able to fall back asleep because of an infection in my hand, most likely from the IV that was placed there. My hand is all swollen and it's hurts...Boo Hoo. So I might try to fall back asleep but something tells me that the dogs and kids will not allow it! That's OK...the kids are sweet little munchkins and they like me so I may just play with them for a while. Or, I'll hide in a closet and fall asleep.

Anyway, barring another trip to the hospital, I WILL be back later on today!

:):):)

Remember me?

My name is Meg and I used to update you regularly on my life but it's been so "out there" recently that I didn't think it wise to memorialize the events that transpired and I'll leave it at that. Well, I will say that I'm good, it wasn't me this time.

:):):)

Anyway, I would love to tell you were I am at the moment but I recently learned that the absence of that particular piece of salacious info is driving my EX crazy. To add to the fun, his wife is wondering as well. They don't know if I'm in Juneau or in the house down the street. I would have never thought that it would matter and I had every intention of telling you when I got here. But this is unexpected fun for me and I have so little fun that I'd appreciate it if you just let it go for now. Thanks.

My dog is having someone adjustment problems since we left Georgia and it's finally occurred to me that all he needs is me. So, I've been sleeping in the east facing Florida room with Payton and I've been spending time with him. It's a pain in the ass but he deserves it. He has served me well over the years and like many of you, I think a novel AND a Penny Marshall movie about MY dog would be totally appropriate. I picture him as one of those dogs who would sit on my grave until he died. Anyway, I'm trying not to die and he just wants to be next to me...preferably positioned between me...and the entire universe.

I tried to be strict and I went all Alpha dog on him to no avail...but spending time with him has been much better. When I get back to my own place, it won't be a problem. Suddenly he has to share me with another dog, 3 children and an occasional adult. One way or another, my place in Georgia was his Tara and he wants it, or something equally as stable as it was. So, in the meantime, I'll spend my nights sleeping on a blow-up bed with my dog. He loves me, I love him and neither one of us wants to be without the other.

So for now, I'll just hang with my buddy. There's a big field at the end of the street and I can take Payton down there to play. But, I have heard (from a kid) that the land was private property. I'll keep going until I see a sign or a large flannel shirted, blue jean hanging, suspender pants pulling, tobaccy chewin' yahoo with a 12 gauge. I might stay long enough to assess his affect but for Payton's sake, I should probably rethink that. Cops and rednecks like to shoot so I shouldn't push it.

DISCLAIMER: I did NOT mean to imply that cops really like to shoot. That was just funny to me. Good job guys...you do the best you can...don't you? Anyway, I'll pick on cops just like I would tattoo artists...I'm an equal opportunity picker-on'er. That's all, folks.

I'd really, really like to be sitting in IHOP or some other such pancake/waffle/crepe filled wonderland. I'd try one of each...a cheese filled, blueberry covered blintz for the crepe, strawberry pancakes and a waffle that included, amongst a few other ingredients, sliced pecans. There would be berries on all three of my concoctions...real maple syrup...oh, and real butter...lots of it. Yum.

There's only one problem...I don't want to get dressed and primp just for a few plates chock full of carbs and immediate release sugars. I just want to eat it all. I suppose I could actually MAKE that stuff, but I doubt that there are any pecans here. Of course, I could be wrong.

On second thought...I'm probably right. I KNOW there's a waffle iron...and that was lucky. I seem to have everything I need to know to cook but there is one thing that impedes my cooking mode...a little girl who wants to help.

She's as sweet as she can be, gives me hugs and tells me she loves me...how can you resist such a sweet thing? So, I give her easy things to do and she's happy to do any task I assign her...and smiles broadly as she does it. Kids are cool.

Anyway, I've talked enough about food that I find myself in serious need of some Fruity Pebbles. I WILL be back soon.

:)