Diving In

After a much ado and a complete suggestion from a former co-worker I am blogging. Diving right in --- Greg Luganis style minus that Olympic diving board. Man, what to say. Possibilities are endless. I am not going to describe my idiosyncrasies (sp chk?), who I am, what I like, twenty-something schpeel. I am me, Ms. Minneapolis, as I should be known in the bloggingsphere. Definitely not the Carri Bradshaw-Sex-in-the-City type, although I do like the occasional Dayton's -- yep I'm a Minnesotan -- Macy's four inch on sale heel. I get around the town, but I like the hole in the wall establishments. Kinda how I grew up, although neither of my parents drink and our home was more middle class than whole in the wall. I just find these hole in the wall places to have a lot of character and plenty of characters in them. You know them when you see them. The chick with the bleached blonde hair and 80s bangs, all gently picked and Aquanetted to perfection. The man who has too much hair and all his extremities, but yet is one vicious darts player. Or pool player. The person, gender swinging both ways, who wears a sleeveless faded Harley motorcycle shirt with faded jeans, the leather chain but sadly the tapered leg pant. Skinny jeans never look good on anyone -- not even skinny girls. Besides the point. I think I should end the hole in the wall conversation. I could be offended my audience. Fuck that. I like to be occasionally offense and bend on the non PC side of the world. I blame it on the dry sense of humor, reading and mostly making fun of the people who don't realize you are making fun of them. It should be a sport. Hell if competitive eating is a sport, so should making fun of people. It's more of a craft really. Where to draw the line? Allowing to make fun of a person so that they too find it humorous. Always allowing to poke fun of oneself to ease the situation. I find my mind and my mouth are a deadly combo and I will take it anyday over a size 2 dress. Because being bigger than a size 2 means you have to become a conversationalist if you don't want to end up lonely in America. And I have tooting my own horn here have become quite the conversationalist. Let the speechless in Minneapolis begin. Cheers!