Bigger is NOT Better!

Somebody please tell me why strawberry producers have decided we want strawberries the size of lemons. They didn't ask ME! Have you shopped for strawberries lately? All I've been able to find are humongous red things that certainly do NOT resemble the berries of my youth. These "strawberries" have a terrible texture, are hollow in the middle, have little flavor and almost no juice. UGH! I think I've figured it out, though. If they make the strawberries really, really big, it takes a lot less time to pick and fill whatever container they're filling. That's what it comes down to. Money. And, here I am, craving the small, sweet, flavorful berries of my youthful summers. Guess I'd better find a strawberry jar and grow my own next season. It's like most everything else. If you want it done right, you've got to do it yourself!

Indifferent Old Broad

I think I need a dose of something or other. Pot likker. Castor oil. Kerosene and sugar. Something odd and ugly with roots in my deep, dark past. Something that would really get my cells' attention. I'm not myself lately. I don't know what the problem is. But, I'm just not grumpy. Not like I used to be. It's like I'm numb. I just don't give a rat's patootie.

I put up a couple of posts lately, but took them down today because they were just lame. I wrote them simply to be writing - not because I really cared a flying flip about the subject. I just felt like I should get on here and pretend to be grumpy. It doesn't work that way, I discovered.

Not that there's a lack of things to be grumpy about. Let's take celebrities, for instance. I could get all grumpy about the Hollywood Party Girls. You know who they are. I'm as sick of seeing their naughty bits and stoned little faces as anybody. But, you know what? Until one of them runs her Mercedes or Escalade into me or my kid...it really doesn't make a shit.

Speaking of my kid....would you tell me why that horrible actress in the Philadelphia Cream Cheese commercials...the insipid blond, not the brunette...has steady work and my beautiful, smart, talented kid sends out endless headshots and works her little butt off trying to get the smallest of breaks, and all she runs into are guys who are simply trying to figure out how to get her clothes off. There is no justice in the world. But, then again....I don't have to see my beautiful, smart, talented kid wearing strap-on angel wings on national television, do I? There's got to be some value in that.