Growing Sense Enters the Terrible Twos: Bad Seed Born

Can't believe its been two years already. I thought I'd share some of the random thoughts that have run through my head about this blog since its birth.

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You're too angry. People don't want angry. Be funny. It's a blog, not Scarborough Country.

It's my blog. I'll be angry if I want. Writing about rage is more interesting than tapping the bumper of that Hummer that just cut me off.

Is it though? The missing paint on the Grand Am screams 'Nothing to lose.' And the look of terror in that soccer mom's eyes has to be worth something.

God is not the author of fear.

If it's good enough for your president, it's good enough for you.

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Jenny is so nice on her blog. And funny. And she has all of those cakes. I should have more cakes on my blog. I love cake. Even when I eat a LOT of cake, like maybe half of a big one, I don't feel guilty. That was one of the best things about being single, wasn't it? Someone would give me a cake and I'd take half of it home and have it all to myself. Cake for breakfast, cake for lunch, then for dessert. Cake, cake, cake. Feel bad? Nope, no shame about food. Wasn't that one of the lessons I learned in the 90s? That and how to buy clothes for the "husky" guy. I can't breathe or walk too well when I eat half a cake, but I can sit down and eat more cake.

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'Highheels'? Who is that? And why is she ripping into me because I don't know the difference between body building and 'figure competing.' She's never even commented here before. Figure competing--I bet she just made that up. What is it, tiny, bulked up women posing in spaghetti straps and then hoofin' it to Smoothie King? I should tell her to come back when the 'roid rage passes. Hmm...I wonder if she could track me down. I could probably take her. She said she was only like 5' something. If she does come here, she'll be pulling a stiletto out of her behind. "'Figure' this, Highheels! You don' know me." John might have to hold her. Better check the batteries in the alarm system."

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No one's commenting on that post.

So? I don't write for comments. I write for myself.

Sure ya do.

It's true! The minute you live for comments you start editing yourself too much to be interesting.

Uh-huh.

Oh Thank God, someone commented.