Too busy to blog. Okay, that’s a big fat lie. I’m stuck in a memory rut. I’ve been trying to write a story about an “episode” that my friend Carmen and I call the “Where’s My Grater” story. My problem is when I start to relate the story and events that happened leading up to the “Where’s My Grater” it makes my family sound, well, a bit deranged to say the least and well, we were a bit deranged, but I don’t want my words to make my family sound like they should have been locked up in a padded room somewhere, but we certainly could have used a little padded room time. I’m not trying to say that we’re normal now, but I think we are a little less crazy-spastic-furious-deranged out of our freakin‘ minds nutso now. So, you see my dilemma? No? I’ll keep working on the story, but for now I leave you with this;
We got a poopy….no no no, I mean a poop, wait that’s wrong too, I think it’s potty, no, maybe it’s puppy. Yeah, that’s it, sorry, I forgot what those little poop butt things were called, but I knew it sounded a lot like poopy, cuz that seems to be all he can do right now. We’re calling him Preacher. Preacher the poopin’ puppy.