It's the new me.

Same as the old me.

Sure, I'm all domestic now. (again)

But this time I'm gardening, so that's totally an improvement. Also, I'm baking...this time without boxes.

My last blogs were all about whiskey and mistakes, sleeping with other people's girlfriends, and the cutters (strippers) that loved me. Today finds me sitting on a well-lit couch intended to be uncomfortable, listening to Concerto in Bb Major by Tempesta Di Mare, a complete news junkie (this is mostly new), and desperate for an outlet. I am always amazed at how many people in my life have read my stuff and I would like to welcome you all back.

So where to begin? Should I rant about how Vince Vaughn is misunderstood and that it is the intent and not word usage which should be the focus of our rage? Perhaps it's strange that I have yet to vomit out an opinion on Glenn Beck, he is more necessary than you probably realize, or give everyone an update on our new porch (the old one was stolen by the winds of change and a cedar tree).

Maybe some emo crap about how much I miss my cat.

Or maybe we should just take it slow, get used to each other again. Like an ex-lovers arms, my brain and ramblings will be comfortable again in time.


Since most of you refuse to participate in this conversation, instead lurking in your family rooms while the kids get into the cookies again, and don't think I don't love you for it, allow me to welcome myself back to our old ways again. Me being me and you being you.

Until Glenn Beck's zombies kill us all.