The first time

I've finally done it; jumped on the blog bandwagon.  Woohoo!  The first thing I'm going to do is tell you who Bug is.  Bug is my daughter.  And that's her nickname. And I know you're not supposed to start a sentence with 'and'.  Or but.  And that was an incomplete phrase hanging participle.  But I don't care.
All you grammar police better put your lazer x-ray vision glasses on because I consider myself the grammar police chief, and like so many in political positions, tend to believe I'm right whether I can back it up with facts or not.  For instance, I'm pretty sure some of you are thinking I need a comma there, after 'facts', but you're wrong.  However, it would be less awkward and cause less discussion if I had just written "...whether or not I can back it up with facts."  So let's just move on.
This is an ominous beginning to my blogging career.  I  don't usually ramble so voraciously.   I am usually much more economical with my words.  Please accept my humble apology, keep reading, and know that future entries will be thrillingly concise, articulate and eloquent.  Also, because you are experiencing my manic side, those anticipated well-controlled, graceful articles will be all the more of a thrill for you.

In light of the recent You Tube channel I've discovered where a lovely young man uses the language with ridiculous grace, skill and panache, to the effect that I laugh out loud, literally, I am slightly embarrassed that I'm allowing myself to continue this apparently chronic case of oral diarrhea.

Perhaps it is a reflection of the unfortunate case I am suffering because Fairway Market decided to add mushrooms to their Beef Shepherds pie without any warning.  Unfair.  Downright Cruel.  One of my small pleasures taken away by some indulgent chef.  Fooey!  of Phooey, if you're picky. Yes, I am allergic, or at the least intolerant, of mushrooms.  And soy too.  So if you're looking to exact revenge on me, those are two sure-fire weapons to keep me weak and indisposed.

Fortunately, I have landed a new temp job that requires no more of me than that I fill a chair, provide a pleasant appearance and occasionally answer the telephone when it rings.  Consequently, I needn't tax myself while I get over this mushroom problem.  I get to write, too.  I'd say this is a pretty ideal gig, if I forget that it's not a starring role in Chicago on Broadway and remember that all things are relative.

I pledge allegiance, to my integrity, so that you, dear reader, may suffer not the indulgences of my mania when it hits.  I don't know.  Maybe you'd prefer the indulgences of my mania.  I just have this idea (and what pesky little demons those can be; ideas) that it would be more conscientious, more serious, more kind to you if I were to take the time to write something thoughtful; something deep and contemplative and stirring.

Look for that.  Here.  Soon.