Thursday, January 14, 2010

For the Grandchildren

I think blog writing is one of the most self-important, pretentious things you can do. But recently, I realized that one day my grandchild(ren) will look at me and think, has this lady always been such a wackadoodle? I think I owe it to him/her/them to make it apparent that a) mental illness runs in the family, b) they shouldn't be afraid of pesticides, commercial solvents or street drugs because my late-stage dementia has not been caused by environmental factors, but is just a natural progression of the crazy that has always been lingering under the surface.

In short, this blog is How I Met Your Grandfather without all the creativity and humor. Oh, and Morgan's almost nine, so no suspense either.

I'd like to think of you, my loyal followers (hi, Suze!), as a family. And like any family, some ground rules will prevent future conflicts:

1) Any misspellings, wrong use of words, etc. are intentional and should not be brought to my attention.

2) Come to think of it, I guess that's it. But I was taught you should never have a one without a two, so...I vow to never post any pictures of animals giving birth. It's not only gross, it's an invasion of privacy.

Really, this is a gift to you, Grammar Nazi.


  1. Not so easy to keep up on you end, huh? Hey, how did you get the twitter feed on yours?

  2. Only dolphins could make birth look like something graceful and somewhat pretty, if you pretend the blood is ribbons and they're doing an interpretive dance. (Speaking of ribbons, do you remember the batons that had ribbons on their ends, that we used to bounce around the family room with, pretending to be in the olympics? I'm afraid that yet again, the dolphins have retroactively made us look bad, Carrie.)

    The Grammar Nazi has approved this message.