On The Curb's Page

Clearly, I have lost my marbles. I suspect they've rolled under the couch with the rebellious remnants of broken crayons, the beyond their recommended date of expiration cereal bits who refuse to accept their aged status, and hairballs from the woolly mane of yours truly.

I talk ad nauseam about myself, my kids, those whose names shall not be spoken, and whatever else keeps my pulse pulsing at On The Curb.

I look forward to a marble-less month of November on the NaBloPoMo funky train.