Welcome to my butt. Yes, thats really it.. well, it really WAS it. If you can look at the bottom right corner of the picture, you can clearly see the date. Almost two years ago. For some reason, I think thats its smaller in this picture than it is in real life - present day. I do know that those are my HUSBAND'S old blue jeans that I have on in this picture - so if that tells you anything.... But, I really like this picture. If you can't tell, I'm holding my kitty cat Tootsie, may she rest in peace. And thats MY piano sitting next to me... the one that I traded off cheaply in order to acquire an even worse-off grand piano. I should've kept that little piano. I remember the day before my new piano was delivered, I sat in the living room and just stared at that little piano. It was Ms. Sharon's piano. That was the piano that I played my very first day of piano lessons. It was the piano that I HAD all my piano lessons on! Then momma and daddy (and Nana) bought it from my teacher. Its the piano that i LITERALLY learned to play on. Why did I give it away?? Oh why? I wonder if I could ever find it? Surely amro keeps records like that.... Anyway....

Back to my butt. I think its in a perpetual state of growth. When you talk about cities and subdivisions and churches and families, the perpetual state of growth always seems to be a good thing.... but NOT when you're talking about your butt. Butts need to have a cut off point at which they are so large that they should not be any bigger. I think my butt lacks one of those such boundaries though. I'm sitting on it right now... alas!! Maybe that is the problem!!! Maybe I sit on it too much... or lay on it... or something. But if you think about it, sitting on my butt is what I do for a living! Oh no ! My poor butt is quite doomed. It will be the biggest in all the history of the world. What shall I ever do? 

Walk? Run? Buy an ugly, way too big for my house stair-stepper machine? I think I need divine intervention on this one.

Tonight when i say my prayers, I'm going to pray for a small butt. Well, atleast for the strength to get offa my butt and get moving so that maybe it will decrease itself.

Thanks for reading my blog. Now, please drive through to the next window. Thanks.

My Main Man - the Muse of the Muser

Dear Unsuspecting Public:

What is a muse? Furthermore, what are musings? I've always kinda figured that a muse is a person/thing/animal/imaginatory figment that insprires one of the human species to do something creative. Since my blog title might be the source of some bewilderment on your part, I will try to explain. I will first have to describe my muse. His name is Bradley Ray and he is my husband. Well, actually, he would be the first chair muse, then Thurston - our 6 month old Shih-tzu doggie - or Shid-zoo as my momma put it in an email earlier this day. Yes - back to the first chair muse. I am married, and have been - yes, happily - for about two and one half years. Although we tend to be very shiny, happy people, sometimes we both act like rear depressions, and so... my blog was born, as a venting venue for the musings that rise from the depressions of our rears. Get it?  K. 

I have entertained myself for the past three or four moons by reading old journals that I kept for five years between 2000 and 2005. There is only a couple of thoughts that I can derive from that reading experience. 

#1: I really hope that I have evolved, atleast, somewhat from the pathetic loser that I used to be.

#2. I was a total... TOTAL loser who had no friends.

#3. I had a few friends, all of which who I was in love with at some point, and have since let me know that they are homosexuals. So - i was even a bigger loser than I actually thought.

#4. Bradley was right in front of me the whole time I was begging for a decent guy.

#5. My life since Bradley is about ten gazillion times less pathetic and I'm really glad because i'm not constantly worried whether all the gay folks up in Ripley are my friends.

See... gah.

But... unfortunatley, we have nothing else better to do that to tune in to the Karaoke Station on our digital cable provider and sing songs at the top of our lungs to generic recordings of original songs from the 1980s. So, it may be your decision on which chapter of my life is more pathetic.

Continued in the following edition............