Do-Over

This blog (ugh, I hate the term "blog," it's just so... blog) is a place of happiness and light and creamy goodness and bunnies which frolic sometimes in fields of flowers. But there is no harp music. (I won't have it. It's gay, and not happy gay.) If you wish, envision harpsichord, which is more in accord with my personal taste.

This is a do-over. There's another place, a black blog which grows darker and darker and quite frankly gives me the creeps. Sure, I made it. Sometimes I give myself the creeps. So, we're gonna hang out over here instead, 'K? This place will be our happy place, our sanctuary to bibble-babble and play, our Shangrila-di-da. There will be much giggling, tittering, doodling and snotting of the nose. If possible, milk should pass through nostrils. Don't use root beer: it hurts.

This is a space built for my friend. It is adjacent to, under the same ownership as, and connected by an esplinade to the surprisingly affordable co-op that is my heart. Loud parties and wild behavior are encouraged.

Serious introspection is strictly prohibited. Any violators of this code will be hunted down, coated in something sticky and fed to the aforementioned Left Hand Black.

You got a problem with that?

I didn't think so.

Now, onward with the jocularity. March!