One time I “met” Pink in an elevator with my grandmother.  I put the term met in quotations because I just awkwardly stared at her, proceeded to conveniently get off at the same floor and stealthily followed her to her lodging quarters without being noticed.

I didn’t go home with an autograph, but I did go home with the realization that my grandmother and I would be a really great generationally transcendent ninja duo.

Sorry, boys.  There's a line out the door to get a date with this 7th grade supermodel.
Sorry, boys. There’s a line out the door to get a date with this 7th grade supermodel.

This here blog is half wit, half wisdom, and a whole lot of nonsense.  Take what I say with a grain of salt, a pinch of sarcasm, and a heaping pile of why does she keep talking about stickers and snacks?

My twenty-something years on this earth have given me enough bountiful knowledge that absolutely in now way, shape or form qualifies me to make the judgements and observations I make, but I still do it anyway.

Oh yeah, and I’ll give you advice, too.  Because there’s nothing like sound suggestions from a lactose intolerant wine-o addicted to ice cream telling you what you should and shouldn’t do.

I have never been told I have street smarts, but I have also never been told I’m book smart either.  I drink vodka and wine.  I complain about beer.  I am addicted to HGTV, but I cannot do anything myself.  I get lost everytime I drive somewhere, and still will get mad at you when you get lost because I give the best directions on the planet.

Feel free to email and tell me how you can help me achieve my dream job of being an onion ring connoisseur.

Also, please be in touch if you have any idea how to turn this here blog into a book, movie, or semi-successful sitcom not starring Zoey Deschanel.

Or… just ask me some weird stuff, if that floats your boat.



Talk is cheap, but I'm on a budget anyway...

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