Derailing from the Bitch Track

I don't care for the fact that anyone visiting this journal for the first time will see one of the nastiest, aggressive entries I've written so far as their introduction to Me 101. So here I am to whitewash over the index page like a good little girl.

Problem is, I'm basically devoid of words. Oh believe me, I have stuff to say but it's not especially pleasant and might not be what some people would love to read. So it stays locked inside until I can grind it up and spit it out. Get me, I'm a word disposal. Oh well, better to wind up a bitter old hag and have people think well of me than to purge like a mentally healthy individual and keep a clean colon, right?

So when words just won't do it, I've made the executive decision to swap them out for pictures. The first one is some sort of Dream Chaser thing I shot in Barrie, Ontario when The Boy and I were up there for the annual Automotive Flea Market. And yes, it's as lame as it sounds. Lots of guys in Harley leathers and their biker chick sidekicks, old guys with bad cases of plummer's butt and their 300-pound wives with the 13 oz. dog under their Gramma arm. (I'm never comfortable in this environment, can't you tell?)

Thing is, the dream chaser looks more like a Dream Cuisinart to me:

This one was cute when you consider the ducks were being fed by a kid who was standing just to the left of the lens. Directly under the "Do Not Feed Waterfowl" sign.

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I'll return to regularly-scheduled programming soon.

Posted at 4:26 p.m.