About Me


I talk too much and write ridiculously long emails.

I don't like people. I like person, but not people. I do, however, like people's animals. I won't remember your name, but kiss Banjo for me.

I'm not on Facebook. I tried it once. I found out way too much about people I hardly knew. Way too much. No thanks. Now Twitter...

I hate going. I hate busy. I leave my house maybe once a week. We do have to eat, and Amazon hasn't figured out to deliver ice cream to my neck of the woods, yet, so to Publix I shall go. I guess if you like where you are, there isn't much need to go somewhere else. I'm not afraid of going, I just don't like it. Going is overrated and Amazon is my friend.

Rain and sprinklers make me happy. Sun kind of annoys me unless it is for the plants, then it's OK. I love snow when it hangs around for a couple of days, but not long enough to get all gross. I do have sort of an obsession with the weather, and there are like 6 weather apps on my phone, even though the Weather Kittens are never wrong.

I have made a commitment to myself: I will not have any soda before breakfast. Breakfast now consists of a handful of peanuts so I can have soda.

My family is a little gang. The small one is the muscle. The big one is the conscience. I am the mean one, and The Man is the getaway driver. Since he leaves the house once every other month, he isn't much of a getaway driver, but it sounds better than "pretty face and walking wallet".

I give my husband names, depending on my mood and the situation, like Mr. Fussy Pants, Mr. Movie Snob, The Grammar Police, and Scout's Personal Person. I will try not to call him my Love Monkey because it is embarrassing for both of us, but sometimes stuff just slips out. The upside is that it makes the kids cringe.

My husband is the nice one. I am the one with the temper and access to sharp things. He has a moral compass and I have a bucket of snark and more than half a bag of petulance.

Mr. Wonderful and I made an agreement when we first got together a million years ago: he handles cooking and finances and I handle bodily fluids and any social interactions that crop up. I would much rather ask for money to buy a whatever than have to figure out what the heck an IRA is and why I would want one. (He means traditional or Roth and I can only think Sinn Fein or Fianna Fail.)

Our cats are our kids, and our kids are here to serve the cats. OK, they are all our kids, and we love them equally. The kids DO have better manners.

Preferences: pizza over quiche, dumb natural disaster movies over poignant Oscar contenders, Thor over Cap, football over baseball, Wellingtons over Jimmy Choos, Assassin's Creed (or COD Big Red One if we are going old school) over fashion show, cabin over Ritz, cats over friends, no meat, no leather, no girls' night, and wine is gross. For some weird reason, I do love jewelry. I don't go out to fancy places where it would be appropriate to wear any of it, but seeing the famous little blue box makes me giggle.








Scout and Jem are in charge and do what they want.



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