This is a blog in which I will complain AND muse about absolutely everything in my life BUT NOT MY JOB. I got fired from my last job for this here blog. But that's really a good thing because now I have all this time for bridge and whiskey.
Today, Reed pulled his vintage sewing box up to the cabinets in the kitchen, stood on it and grabbed a tomato off of the countertop. As he trotted back to the television for more Sesame Street, or Street Street, he happily told me, "Peach!" Jason and I simultaneously said, "No, buddy, that's not a peach." Before we could do anything about, he started taking ravenous bites. He looked at us and said, "Mm, mm, goot!" We laughed and said, "Reedy, that's a tomato." He replied, "Mm, tuhtuhduhduh!"
My deal consists of Jim Beam and hookers.
I also like cheese.
I live in a small town in Alabama with my son, my husband, our alien-like dog Rocky, sometimes my two step-daughters, and a ghost named Marty who makes us peanut butter sandwiches. It's irritating because Marty always leaves knives covered in peanut butter in the kitchen sink, and who do you think has to clean that up? PHIL, IS WHO.