Calgon Take Me Away

     Let me start by saying I love my son with every ounce of my entire being.  He's all I could ask for in a son, and since he's the only child I'll have, I am eternally grateful for him and the joy he has brought to my and DH's lives.  With that being said....my son has been nothing short of a holy terror today.  I know what you're all thinking, "Whaaaat? How is that possible? He's such an angel and could never be less than a source of joy, love, happiness and inner peace".  Well, I have to beg to differ. Does anyone know exactly what it's like to have a hard headed, independent, cranky 10 month old who is also teething?? It is trying, frustrating and enough to make you want to hide in the closet and then wonder when it's time to go back to work...

     DS has been up since 0721 this morning. Now, I'm not complaining about that-are you kidding me? Hell no. He's always been a terrific sleeper. Except for nap times. Nap times, he will fight you like Lex Luthor does Superman, but bedtime, and he's a dream.  So much so that I have been walking around in a smug stupor of  "My son sleeps through the night like a dream...." (Insert pretentious British accent here).  Meanwhile, what I'm not letting on is that when it comes to naps, he's incorrigible.  Anyway, within about 25 minutes of him being up and awake, it happened.  I don't know who did it, or when, much less where the hell I was when it happened, but someone snuck into my house and kidnapped my child and replaced him with the crankiest baby of them all, one who's Cheerios had obviously been pissed in.  So by 0800, one can imagine, I was pretty frazzled, worn out, and in general wondering if Hubs would believe me when I said I had to go to work. So all day, I have dealt with the crabbiest of babies.  One minute he's crying, the next minute he's laughing and giggling and melting my heart. Then he's screaming, then he's quiet and playing. Then he's crying, and so on and so on... Meanwhile, Hubs is moaning and groaning about still being tired and considering going back to bed. WTF.  Everything I did was damned if I did, damned if I didn't.  I get DS breakfast, he doesn't want it. I put it up, he wants it.  And hubs is talking about going back to bed.  Over my dead body.  So instead he zones out into a movie.  And then a video game, leaving me to handle and trouble shoot my son (now, he is OUR son, but at that point in my life, he was MINE), but getting frustrated all the same with DS's indecisiveness about what he wants.  

     Eventually, after 3 attempts to put DS down for a nap, only to have him climb out of his bed and show no signs of closing his eyes even to blink, I tapped out and said, "Fuck it. I'm done.  If he doesn't want a nap, he doesn't want a nap." Cause I'm too tired to argue with a 10 month old.  I take a shower, and even bring him in with me.  I do my hair, and change his clothes.  I make lunch for all of us.  And still DS is happy, then he's sad, etc etc.  All the while doing the "I'm tired" eye rub when he thinks I'm not looking.  And Hubs is still playing his video game. And blissfully ignoring what's going on.  And it makes me want to throttle him. And scream at him to stop what he's doing and pay attention to me and DS.  But I don't.  Because I know that once they go back to Texas, Hubs won't have the ability to zone out and let someone else worry about our son. So I know he cherishes the moments I take care of our son, and I do try not to begrudge him those moments.  Just because I understand doesn't mean it doesn't frustrate me.  I really try to give him breaks since he doesn't get many when I'm not around, and being over here with me for a bit, he definitely doesn't when I'm at work!  Now our son's room is on the side of the apartment where the sun shines it's lovely rays of light and warmth in, right about the time we try to give DS a nap.  So we got to thinking that perhaps one of the reasons it's been such a struggle to get him down for a nap here is because there's too much light in his room.  Since we don't have any curtains, we decided to improvise with blankets.  Naturally, we'll take them down when our apartment is featured on MTV cribs.  We finally get them hung across the windows and I put him down, kicking and screaming, by the way, for a nap. The first time, he fusses and cries.  I go back in when the cries are louder, like they would be if he had gotten out of his bed and was now sitting behind the door; which he had and was.  I put him back into bed, he lays down, inserts thumb in mouth, and stays down. Victory is mine! I close the door. I make coffee, I settle in for some "ahhh" time. And it lasts for all of 25 minutes. And he's up again. So being an advocate of the Cry it Out method, I wait about 5 minutes. He's still crying. I go in there, prepared to be as boring as possible. And he's sitting up, crying his little heart out.  But kind of still asleep.  So I rub his back. Still crying.  I get him a bottle. He doesn't want it (and yes, Hubs, I will get you my phone so you can make a phone call in a minute...bit busy here).  I go back in and lay him down.  And tell him mommy loves him, and realize he is indeed still asleep, yet crying frantically at the same time (which is common when he's sleep deprived, which does happen, despite our attempts to not let it happen).  So I back out of the room, close the door, and then listen for the crying to stop. And it has. And I have to stop myself from going in there to check on him, to make sure he's still breathing, alive, not stuck somehow from doing his Harry Houdini impression by escaping from his bed. But I know me, I'll do my damndest to creep in and check on him, only to find him sitting up, chewing on his bear's nose.  And ruin the "ahhh" time I've been trying to get.  

My Little Voice Talks Too Much (October 2012)

Today I decided I wanted to walk to the North Seoul Tower. Having 4 days off in a row, in a foreign country all by yourself, you've got to come up with ways to keep yourself entertained in acceptable, yet fun, productive ways that won't cause an international incident. I needed to get out of the apartment and I needed to work out and I wanted to go walking. Korea is a great place to walk and get a work out-very little of it is flat! And the hills aren't slight, gentle inclines. No no. They're more like walking bent over almost Bear Walking up the hill. They're not so bad if you're not paranoid about the old lady behind you catching you and following you into your apartment and killing you in your sleep with a pair of cuticle scissors. If you are paranoid, then you race up said hill and die a slow and agonizing death as you attempt to race up the 36 stairs to your apartment, hoping you can get your code punched in in time, and lock yourself inside before that evil 85 year old woman catches you. If you take it leisurely and "stroll", cause she is 85, after all and is as likely to torture and murder you as the Tooth Fairy is, the hills are OK. Challenging, but OK and not so bad.

So I decided I was going to walk to the Seoul Tower. Cause I had been told it wasn't that far. How hard could it be? Famous last words... But before I could go, I had to prepare. So I put on my fave yoga capri pants, which according to Fashion for Dummies, I shouldn't wear capri pants because being a pear shape, they will make me look hippy. I have yet to find anything that Doesn't make me look hippy. So on they went, along with the bright red 41st Fires BDE reenlistment Tshirt. I then put on socks and sneakers. Now since I had recently bought ankle socks to wear with my hippy pants in mind, I was feeling quite confident, albeit hippy. I needed provisions, too. So I emptied out my ACU backpack, and in went a water bottle (filled, thank you very much), a book, a diet coke, a PB&J sandwich (on whole wheat, thank you very much), a fruit cup, spoon, emery board, camera, knife, band aids, my wallet with, 4 types of currency (hey, I found euros in my suitcase and for some reason put them in my wallet. I have yet to figure out why I put the Deutschemarks in there...), a clippy for my hair, my journal, and 2 pens (in case one ran out). See, I had envisioned getting to the Tower, finding a nice spot to sit and read while munching happily on my PB&J sandwich and sipping a diet Coke, feeling at one with nature, and at peace with myself. All the while, feeling calm, restful and bohemian and perhaps writing something profound in my journal. You know, something like Jenn loves Tony and drawing our names with hearts all around them. Now, some of the other supplies were the result of the risk assessment I did prior to leaving. I had to ask myself what all of the possible risks associated with my journey were. And I came up with getting lost, getting dehydrated, getting hungry, getting poetic, getting hit but a car, getting kidnapped, my hair hanging in my face, my cell phone battery dying and therefore taking with it my ability to take pictures, breaking a nail, and needing something to do while I waited for help to arrive in case of one of those things happening. I did consider the possibility of twisting an ankle, but since I decided to wear sneakers and not high heels, I figured I was good to go there. I will admit to leaving the reflective belt behind. Despite one of the risks being getting hit by a car, I decided to mitigate that risk by wearing bright red and paying attention to the world around me. So I left my iPOD at home, sitting next to the discarded high heels. I even told 2 people where I was going, Granted, one was in Texas, and the other one Osan, but I did tell someone where I was going. So once my PCC's/PCI's (precombat checks and inspections) were complete, I went over my plan once more. I was going to the Seoul Tower and as soon as I was done making lists, I would leave. I figured I'd be back by 1500 or so, feeling 3 hours was plenty of time to get there and back. I didn't really know the route I was taking, I was kind of winging it, and figured since it was a tourist attraction, there would be signs. So, I was finally ready to go. I got my sunglasses (I had decided to go with the cheap ones as opposed to the Coach ones. I didn't want to look like That Girl, you know?), put on my sneakers, backpack, and pedometer, and off I went with a spring in my step and a song in my heart. I started walking in the general direction of the tower, not really knowing how to get there, or where exactly it was, just knowing it was somewhere "over there" on my left. 

Well, with it being on my left, the first thing I did was cross the street to be on the left side. I finally made my way to the park with the trails leading up to the tower and encountered a sign that pointed me in the right direction, and said it was 1.5 km to the tower. How easy is that? Well, I was about to find out. So as I trudged uphill, the spring in my step a bit smaller, the song in my heart getting slightly breathy, I thought that this wasn't too awful. And since there weren't any homicidal grannies around that I could see, I decided to slow down a bit, and take in the sights. At the next directional sign, and it said 800m to the tower. Wow, I thought. I am kicking ass. And then I get to the next sign. Apparently it was 800 m to the next sign. WTH. And then I see The Hill. The kind where I'll be one with nature all right. So as I bear walk up the damn thing, I am convinced I must be on hidden camera. And somewhere there is a live studio audience laughing hysterically at me. I was also slightly worried I'd trip and fall, and roll all the way back to the bottom and get hit by a car. And that would really suck cause I'm pretty sure my diet coke would get shook up in the event that happened, so then I'd be stuck drinking water while I waited for the ambulance, sine the diet coke would explode and be flat. Ugh, no thank you. So with that on my mind, I made it my mission not to trip and fall. So I manage to get to the top of the hill, and the next sign. Oh neato! 1.2km to the Tower. How is that even possible? I mean, where in the hell is this Tower? I don't even see it in the distance anymore. Did someone mess with the signs? There's a live studio audience watching me, isn't there? By now, I have noticed that I'm sweating kind of copiously. Cause brainiac me decided to do this jaunt at high noon. And I see all of these Koreans, walking up the hill, dressed to the nines as they always are, and not the least out of breath. I mean, there was an old ajima, who must have been 85 years old and I could hardly keep up with her. Perhaps she was trying to keep away from me, paranoid I was going to kill her with cuticle scissors....So on I climb. Not really kowing what to expcet in 1.2km, and wondering what the "1000m" spray painted in the road means. And by now, there's no spring in my step; it's more like stomping. And that song in my heart? Forget it. That's a waste of precious energy and breath. Meanwhile, my dumb ass is thinking, "I should so do this every Sat or Sun morning". WTH is wrong with me?? It must be the lack of oxygen to my brain. That's the only explanation I can figure out for that crazy thought. Meanwhile, there are buses flying by me, cause there's no sidewalk, just a lane in the street for pedestrians. And the way this road curves, a reflective belt wouldn't have helped in the least. 

So I see another sign, and it informs me the Tower is 1000 m away. In my defense, this was about 500m after I saw it painted on the street. I finally get to the parking lot where the buses were in such a hurry to get to, and see another sign, and it says the Tower is 1.4km away. How is this possible?? It has now occurred to me that the signs are totally wrong, because as I stand there and watch the tourists get out of the buses and gaily skip over to the latrines, and then up a hill, where they disappear, I realize I have to be almost there. So I follow the masses up yet another hill, feeling a bit out of place, because they are not sweaty and out of breath and I am (that's because they took the bus, you silly woman). Some are wearing the high heels I wisely chose not to wear (ha ha; in your face bitches!). And then the hill levels out, and there it is. The Tower that has been eluding and taunting me. And I have triumphed. I have trudged over the river and through the woods. Up hills, risking life and limb, all so I could get out of the house and work out (cause we all know it would have been too easy to go to the gym on post). And still, my dumb ass is thinking, "I should totally do this once a week". WTH is wrong with me?? So I wander around, and take pictures. Gone are my ideas of sitting down and having a sandwich, journaling, reading, and wiggling my toes in the grass. Why is that you ask? Cause I was tired as hell and still had to get back down and get home. So I drank my water, refilled it, reset my pedometer, and away I went. Well now the spring is back in my step, and the song is back in my heart, cause it was all downhill. Literally, all downhill, like "please don't let me fall, please don't let me fall" downhill. And once again, my little voice said to me "I should totally do this every Sat or Sunday morning". I chose to ignore my little voice. All together it was about 3km to the Tower, and 3 back, but my little voice is not doing the math and chimes in once again, with, "3 k's? Oh, well that's not so bad!" says . My little voice also has conveniently forgotten the 15 minute walk to the park from home, and back. So now I'm back on the main street, fully cognizant of where I am and where I need to go in order to get home and finally have my sandwich. And as I climb up the stairs, and enter my code for the front door, my little voice says, "I should totally do that every Sat or Sun morning. It wasn't so bad and I did just say the other day that I'm going to start listening to my little voice more often since it's usually right". Now, I don't know where in the hell my little voice got that last part from, but all I have to say is, my little voice talks too much

Feel The Music

     So let me tell you about my first experience with Zumba. It wasn't good. And thank God I had the blinds on the patio door shut, because knowing my luck, I would find out that I have a stalker across the way with a telescope, and would end up longer having one after he saw me doing "Zumba"-quotes, because what I did that day was definitely NOT Zumba.  Maybe more like "Foomba"...
    So. I've been interested in Zumba for awhile now. Cause it seems like fun. But I was always a bit worried about attempting it. See, although I have some rythmn, and can keep a beat (or so I thought), Zumba requires the type of coordination I didn't think I possessed. I can't even do side straddle hops, or as they're called in the civilian world, jumping jacks. Yes, there's nothing like doing 4 count side straddle hops in formation and being unable to catch the beat, the count, or any of it really and instead of high speed in cadence side straddle hops, you're resigned to simply jumping up and down, waving your hands in the air (like you just don't care). So then you become the Re-Up Lady who can't do side straddle hops. Well, don't even get me started on ski jumpers, high skips, or cross country skiers...Anyway, I was in Osan, and I see a set of 4 Zumba DVDs for 10,000 won ($10), and think "what the hell". And by the way, ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies...no polly, no waiver, no statement about the DVDs. So I eagerly purchase them, and all but count down the minutes until I could get home and try the work out craze that's sweeping the nation!
     So there I was, Sunday afternoon. Wearing my work out gear and ready to do this! An hour later, I figure out how to the make the DVD player work, and how to figure out the remote that has all of the buttons labeled in doodles. I mean, Hangul (that would be the written Korean language, btw...). Ok, so NOW I'm ready to do this! And I'm excited, I'm anxious, I fixed the DVD player by myself! Wait, I'm not ready to do this. I gotta pee. Now I need to refill my water bottle, cause I drank it all figuring out the damned DVD player, TV and remote control. Ok, I'm back. I'm ready. I'm motivated. Kinda hungry too. Maybe I should have a sandwich before I do this...well, then I should probably wait about an hour before I work out, cause I don't want to cramp up. Wait, do I need to wait an hour? I mean, it's not like it's swimming and I could drown as a result of cramping up. Wait, nevermind, here we go. So much for a sandwich. It's time to Zumba!

     So I am intrduced to Tanya Beardsley, Jill DonchaWishYourGirlfriendWasHotLikeMe, and some Asian chick, Chusok, or something or other. Anway, they're all wearing the kind of work out pants that definitely required a Brazilian wax (well, Zumba did start in Brazil, right?), and sports bras. And big hoop earrings. And bracelets. Yeah, cause I always wear big hoop earrings and bracelets when I work out.  And Tanya and Jill have their hair back with bandanas ala J Lo in her Jenny from the Block days. Okaaay...and then Tanya speaks. And she can't seem to decide if she's from the Valley or a Puerto Rican from the Bronx. Aye aye aye...So thanks to the lovely Zumba girls, I am going to learn all the steps necessary to do Zumba, and to lose weight while having fun. And I will say, this part was great. Thanks to Easy Beat 1,2, and 3. But can I just say some of these steps I'm not so sure about. Such as the "Cumbia Funk". I mean, is that REALLY a traditional Hispanic dance? Or what's the deal with Reggatron?! Seriously, what the hell is that? But don't worry, cause the 3 Amigas made sure to roll their "R's" whenever they said anything with the letter "R" in it. Even Chusok, which didn't quite sound right.  So, each of the girls takes a turn at teaching me all of the steps I need to know to do Zumba. But I'm unable to rewind anything on the DVD player, so I'm kinda screwed if I don't pick it up in 3 Easy Beats. Now Tanya, she is by far the best instructor, indecisive accent or no. Then there's Jill. Who seems more interested in showing us all how well she can Zumba and how hot she looks while doing it (yeah, well I have bigger boobs, bitch). But she's able to teach me the "Destrozza" (roll the R please) fairly well and her favorite, the Cumbia Funk. And then there's the Asian chick. I'm still not really sure what her roll was. But she taught the Calypso stuff and probably some of the other moves.  So 45 minutes later, I'm ready to do this! I know the steps. Bring it, bitches!

                                                               
     Oh they brought it all right. And with them, they brought more skinny bitches who's pants were about to fall off and the creator of Zumba. Who sounded a bit like Puss in Boots. I spent half the workout waiting for him to do the big cute eyes, or say, "I am Puss...in Boots". But alas, that never happened. Instead, he spent the whole video groping, fondling and ogling Tanya (who was the lead instructor), Jill, some other chicks and the Asian chick (Chusok, or something about as Hispanic sounding as "Jennifer").  And saying shit like "Ju got to feel de mew-zic.." And groping and grinding up on Tanya. At one point, I wondered, "What the hell kind of video IS this?" Is this a porno that takes place in a Zoomba class? I mean, there's two dudes who aren't even remotely good looking and a buncha hot chicks. Now, I don't watch porn, but I don't think this is the kind I would watch if I did. So anyway. I merengue. I salsa. I cumbia AND cumbia funk. I destrozza (roll the R, please), I do the reggatron (2 r's to roll in that one). Or at least try to. At some point I emulated Jill and just stood there and wiggled, only I don't think I managed to look as good at it.  I attempted and failed miserably at the samba, but somehow manage to get the calypso and the shimmy. And let me tell you about the shimmy. These skinny bitches are shimmying like it's their freaking job! And smiling about it! And here's Tanya, "Now remember to just move your shoulders back and forth!" "Don't forget to give it some 'sabor' [taste]!" "Get your hips into it!". Let me get this straight. I gotta shake my shoulders back and forth, shake my ass, AND put some freaking "sabor" into it? Oh, I got your "sabor", honey. It's called the taste of my fist in your mouth. The shimmy is not really a move a woman with boobs will enjoy doing, since even when done correctly, is a bit painful for the "twins". These chicks don't have boobs, so they're shimmying and wiggling, and smiling (and being groped by Rico Suave). And clearly not in pain from shimmying. Grrr....meanwhile, the cast of So You Think You Can Dance are really bringing it. I mean, they are in it to win it. Meanwhile, the white chick with more boobs than coordination, is in her living room, dying, going left when she should be going right. Going forward when she should be going backward. I'm so far off the beat, it's lost, it's gone and will perhaps be found next week.  I'm doing the merengue instead of the cumbia. The reggatron (don't forget to roll those r's!) instead of the calypso. And there's no one all up on me groping me. But it's okay, cause Antonio Banderas and Tanya are both really supportive of my efforts, from Julio Eglesias telling me "Ju are doing great" (you should know the deal by now, roll that r, please), to Tanya, the Valley Girl from the Bronx telling me I'm looking good. And don't forget to shake your hips and give it sabor! Jill's in the background by now just shaking her ass and smiling. Chusok is auditioning for Solid Gold, So You Think You Can Dance, I don't freaking know, and Puss in Boots is still smiling and telling me to Feel the Music. And I am dying. Sweating copiously and thankful (hopeful) no one can see me. And wondering which one of the dancers will get voted off, pretty sure it's going to be me. And not upset by that in the least.
     Then at last, it's over and we're "cooling down". And no one else is sweating. At all. And it dawns on me. These assholes are not Zumba instructors. No no.  They're professional dancers. That explains it. AND they're all wearing Zumba Gear. Ohhhh. So maybe if I wore Zumba Gear, and put my hair back with a bandana, and alternated between channeling Rosie Perez and a Valley Girl, I would be able to do Zumba.  Hmmm... as I ponder all of this, and give thanks to every Deity out there that I survived, Cat Deely comes out, dressed to kill and, and in her perky, upbeat, and alluring British accent, declares that I was voted off of this week's episode of So You Think You Can Dance. Well, at least I had the bad news broken to me with a cool accent. But I would have preferred hearing it from Jason Statham...Now for that sandwich...

Let Me Entertain You

     Well, it's been suggested by many, okay 1, maybe 2, that I start a blog. And while I have the one called "The World According to Jenn", this one is meant, or at least for now, to be one geared more towards my adventures, trials, tribulations, joys and sorrows of being not just a working momma, but a military one at that. Hence, the title, Momma Wears Combat Boots. I do indeed wear them, and not just as an obscure fashion statement a la Carrie Bradshaw or some Emo/Goth/I-Hate-My-Life-Because-I'm-So-Misunderstood way.  I'm in the Army, and have proudly served since March 1996, so coming up on 17 years this March.

      So I figured I would give an introduction, for those who chose to read, and then wonder just who in the hell is this crazy chick who seems to think all of the world is not only a stage, but her own personal one. And I know everyone who peruses this will forever wait in breathless anticipation to hear what I'm going to pontificate, rationalize, cry, whine, jump, jive and wail about next.  This isn't necessarily to win friends, admirers or accolades, although, please, by all means, feel free to admire, befriend and accolade away! It's a place for me to tell you how I really feel.  Cause sometimes, I just have to say it out loud. And sometimes, I have so much to say, and I worry that if I don't say it, I'll die.    Really really.  Or that I will say it only to learn that perhaps I shouldn't have said it out loud.  So with that in mind, although I will do my best to keep it light, maybe even funny, I do need to keep it real, so there may be times when I have nothing funny or witty or sarcastic to say about the shit that's just swirling and twirling away in my mind.  

     Now, here's the deal. Please keep in mind that this is my page, and there may be times when I say shit no one else likes. And while in the grand scheme of life, I will do my best to not offend anyone intentionally, it may happen. And I will most likely curse on here. I may or may not put cute little characters in place of some of the letters in said curse words. And while I welcome comments, I suggest following the rule my mom taught me, and one that I violate and break with abandon-if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all. Well, now, I suppose that sounds a bit dictatorial, doesn't it? Only say nice things, while I am free to say whatever the hell I want. Hmmmm...yeah, that's about it! I joke of course. 

     Ok, so I'm sarcastic and am prone to hyperbole (exaggeration). But while I might exaggerate a bit to get my point, I'm still telling the truth, which is what makes it enjoyable and funny,no? 

        As I mentioned earlier, I'm in the Army.  I had my first, and only, child-a son-almost 11 months ago.  I had him late, at 39, but I think it was the best thing for me. Hubs is a stay at home dad, and got out of the Army 2 years ago.  Despite it being almost 2013, I would say we have an unconventional marriage.  There really aren't many stay at home dads out there.  My husband does so since he can't work as a result of his disabilities, and I love the fact that our son doesn't go to a daycare with aides and caregivers that I really don't know, and would probably never fully trust. So knowing any firsts DS has that I'll miss because I'm at work is smoothed out knowing that it's his father who will see them, as opposed to Miss Kim at the local daycare center. 

          Right now, I'm stationed in Korea, which, if served unaccompanied-leaving one's family members behind at home station (which is Texas for us), is a year long tour. Getting on the plane to come here was one of the hardest things I've ever done.  My son was 6 1/2 months old. And he and Hubs needed me.  I was beside myself on the long-dear-God-who-did-I piss-off-will-this-flight-ever-end flight.  I wasn't worried about my son, so much as Hubs. Who was going to take care of him? Who would take care of him; who would remind him at 1300 to take his pain meds; to take them at bedtime?  How was I going to give him 3 kisses at night, and in the morning when I woke up and left for work if I was in Korea? And would my son remember me? Would my boys miss me? And what about me-who would tell me to come home from work with that one word text that drove me bonkers, "Honey", when it was 1730 and I wasn't home yet? Who would take care of me? So here I am, in Seoul, South Korea. Trying to keep a smile on my face, a witty comment on my lips, and a spring in my step (despite the ice and snow), when sometimes, I'm just struggling to remain upright and not climb into bed and pull the covers over my head.  

       So I started posting on Facebook micro blogs for each day I was gone, Day 1, etc. And I tired to inject some humor amidst the pain. Hell, half the time I was masking the pain with humor. And I started to use it as a blog of sorts, but I'll be honest, I usually have a lot to say, and I can only say so much on Facebook on a status update before I feel guilty for taking up my friends' computer screen with my huge ass status update.  So, as mentioned earlier, some friends of mine suggested I do a blog.  And I do like to write, and not to toot my own horn or anything (toot toot), but I do write pretty well. Or at least I think so! 

         Here it is, then. My Blog.  A place for me to put all of my random thoughts, musings,  hopes, dreams, fears (white shoes and birds), and monologues out in the open for all to see and comment on.  So let me entertain you let me make you smile...and we'll have a real good time...