Big Fat Liar

I recently read back through my posts and while they are true, they don't sound like me. Ok, maybe a little bit, but they are also stiff and over-edited. While I am a big fan of correct grammer and all, I never intended this blog to be as uptight as it has turned out. For God's sake, there hardly any foul language! I love to cuss! I have a master's in cussery and live for moments that I can whip out some shock-and-awe language. I love to refer to people as fucktard, asshat and dirty old bastard. My rants so far have been subdued and suburban. I sound like a soccer mom peeved about a practice schedule change.

I'm over it. Completely. I think iit was the fear of someone actually reading this that scared me. But you know what? I don't give a rat's ass anymore. This blog is mine and if I want to talk about my boobs and the asshole at work and the man's technique in bed, then dammit I'm gonna write about it. I dont' care if the entire internet knows that the crotch stubble I'm sporting these days could sand layers of paint off the coarsest wood trim. (Ha! Trim!)

So prepare yourself. There will be talk of poop and vibrators and fucking idiots galore. Because this is me, warts and all.