It's about time I started writing here. I mean, I talk faster than a Big Johnson shoots a bass boat (that's a hefty sized boat motor for you non-fishing gals out there). And I almost always have something to say. Regardless of whether or not it is asinine.

Today is brought to you by the letter C.

C is for Crap. I think I've said that word at least 100 times since 7 this morning.

Thank you for your ridiculous laws, Mr. Edward A. Murphy.

C is also for Comcast. As in, Comcast, you are my Calgon today. Thank you for saving me from putting my proverbial cajones on random peoples noggins.

Last, but certainly not least, C is for Cantankerous men. What in the world makes a man unable to use his brain just before going to sleep or just after waking? Sometimes I want to soap-sock him, except he prefers shower gel to the bar soap so there is no Zest in this nest. (Sorry, I've watched "Hot Rod" one too many times) I guess I'll just glare at him a while instead.