So Much to Not Talk About

Before I get to the theme . . . I will be in a dunk tank tomorrow. No one is sure what time this will happen (otherwise, I would invite all of you) and things are so seemingly disorganized that I'm not sure there will actually be a dunk tank (so . . . do the kids just attack me with squirt guns?) but yes, I volunteered for something. And now, unfortunately, have to do it.

Okay. Now to the "meat" of this blog . . .

I haven't been writing of late. It's not that I don't have things to say. I have plenty o' that. But when splashing your life up on the Internet, you tend to take some people with you. And those people? Most of them don't want their lives splashed on the Internet . . . or they would have blogs themselves. And most people don't really want their lives interpreted by a slightly crazy woman ("You're more kooky? But really, kooky isn't the right word . . .") and then laid out for the world to see.

And the people that I KNOW love me? Well, those are the stories I write about . . . because, while my mother might get a bit miffed, she still has to keep me. And Princess? Perhaps she takes the any publicity is good publicity approach.

But right now, well . . . I'm superstitious about this thing . . . but not everyone appreciates pieces of their lives available to every cpu with a modem in the world. And so things like "great mozzarella debate" go untold . . . because it's too important to me right now.

Okay, I've already said too much.

And so rather than my blogs saying "Ummmmm . . . I made some spicy shrimp today." I've been silent. Although, I was left alone and did make the shrimp too spicy. And I didn't skewer them right. According to my mother, I am the only person in the world who doesn't know that you have to stick TWO skewers through the shrimp. So I reminded her that I was raised by someone with a Master's degree in Food Science, which is why I don't know anything about food. Because she was so sick of food by the time she was done that we only ate cereal . . . and rice. So I only know how to make cereal. Open box. Eat. Close box if you don't want Dad to yell about staleness. Unless it's a cereal that Dad doesn't eat.

Mr. Crabbypants also has this thing about the freshness of saltines . . . but perhaps I will leave that so I will have something to write about tomorrow.

Anyhow. Summer is coming. I don't know how many adventures I can write about. I'll try to come up with something. Maybe I'll turn this into a photo blog or something.

First up . . . pictures of dunk tank.