Okay, so I got it in my head that I might want to start a blog. But I said to myself, “God, I really, really hate that word.” It’s as overused to me as “hunker down,” “the bottom line,” “think outside the box,” — you get the general idea. I don’t like faddish terms. I don’t like houses that may as well have the date and time they were built stamped on the front of them because their architecture gives them away. Don’t know what I’m talking about? Drive thru any cookie-cutter neighborhood in most cities and suburbs. You’ll see what I mean. Arches and stucco? Baton Rouge, Louisiana, circa 1995. See? I’m not trendy, in other words. Not in the least. My kids think I’m dull, but in a cute way. And that’s how I like it.

I apologize for veering off. You’ll find out within five minutes of talking to me (or reading, as the case may be), that I do that. It’s how I work, it’s how I live. I call it “ADHD-ing all over the place.” I’m good at it. Don’t like it? Better stop reading now.

More about me. I’m middle-aged, married for twenty-something years, with two great kids. I’ll only discuss them in the most general of terms — first, for the obvious reasons, and second, because this is the one thing that is about me. And I don’t mean that in a narcissistic, Happy Bunny sort of way. Most parents know what I’m talking about — you lose your identity when you become Brandon’s mom. Know what I mean? (By the way, my son’s name is not Brandon. Too trendy. Kids’ names make me nuts. But that’s grist for a whole other post.) Oh. And a third reason? Your kids’ adventures are just not all that interesting to other people. I worked with a woman once who discussed her daughter ad nauseum. April this and April that. (Yes, that was her real name. Discuss.) Here I was, with two of my own kids, and her stories drove me freakin’ insane. Made me think of the old “Airplane” movie where the passengers were dousing themselves with gasoline while holding a match. It probably did not help that I wasn’t all that crazy about my co-worker and disliked her bitchy daughter even more, but, again, I digress. Kids are cute. That’s a given. They say some really cute things sometimes. When they get older, they do things with their lives that either make you sick to your stomach or proud as hell. Occasionally (hopefully only in the latter case), you are tempted to brag. Don’t. As a rule.

I’m a proper southern, conservative gal who was raised to say “yes, ma’am” and “yes, sir.” Graduated from LSU. Love my Tigers, even after the Tennessee game. Socially, I’m a little more to the center — I could really care less who you do and what you do with them when you do, and I don’t think you’re going to hell for who your partner is — but overall I’m pretty far to the right. The rest of you may leave quietly — no hard feelings. Fortunately for those of you who stay, I believe that there is enough political writing out there that I don’t have to spew all over the place on a regular basis. Just don’t piss me off.

However, there is one place you can send me that WILL make me spew. Poor grammar. Some of you are already familiar with me as “Wordnerd.” If you were raised to speak with poor grammar and can’t help it, well bless your heart. You’ll even find me using some southernisms or colloquialisms that may give some of you the vapors. (There’s one right there.) And I may even start a sentence with “and” or write a run-on sentence (as a literary device, of course) now and then. But don’t write without proofreading, dammit!!! If you don’t know possessives from plurals, grab a handbook. You just can’t go throwing apostrophes and commas around, okay? (I’m certain I’ll fall on my, umm, backside one of these days when I post too quickly and find out all too late that my participle is dangling, but I can take it. You just better be right, sistah.)

So that’s me in a nutshell. Boring? Maybe. Comfortable? Like meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Pull up a chair if you like.