My motorized heart was traded in for a hand crank.  Just a little slower, more toned down. This change has not been a decision on my part, it just happened. One day I reached into my toolbox for a firecracker and came up holding a coupon for soup.  

I don't want to go your kegger, I want your damn kids off my lawn.

The foundation of who I am is basically the same, but all the rooms have been renovated.  There's a davenport where the futon once lived and metal trivets to protect the dining room table from hot plates, where we eat together as a family, most every night.

I'm not mourning my old habits or regretting this slower pace.

I'm comfortable, except when my back hurts.

I listen to talk radio in my car, I use the "roast" setting on my oven when I make dinner and I like playing bridge and filling in crossword puzzles.  I work my 9 to 5 in offices doing book keeping, researching tax laws and color coding folders.

I take pleasure in orderly and neat.  

I like the smell of Murphy's oil soap and green tea.

I write checks, then I write the amount in the little check register above. There are pictures of kittens on my calendar. I really want a vegetable garden and a creek on a couple acres of land some place sunny.  Preferably, someplace where people don't litter Moon Pie wrappers that blow into my rose bushes (I'm talking to you, Tukwila!).

I track my spending in Quicken.

I have no idea what the blockbuster movie is suppose to be this year or if Britney Spears is alive or dead. I have no interest in dancing at "the club" or defacing public property.  

My ring tone on my cellular telephone makes a ringing sound.

I can't see the difference in high definition television and regular old television. I think you got ripped off.

I hate southern California and pretty much everybody between the ages of two and thirty.

I hate those cartoon shirts where the characters are posing with sunglasses and hats sideways, "hardcore".

I hate the bus and the loud poor people on the bus.

I think the furniture from Ikea and the PT Cruisers look tacky.  

I think opting for "condo life" before you're sixty years old is a sign that you are a dipshit.

I think all dogs less than thirty pounds are basically vermin in a sweaters.

I don't think you should wear those shoes if can't walk in them.

I don't think you should complain about second hand smoke if you own a car.  

I think I've gotten off track…

I like my fancy Miele vacuum. And my iron, I love my iron. Combined they probably are my favorite purchases to date.

Recently, I've been making lists before I go to the store and I compare quantity to price while I'm there. (Toilet paper can be the trickiest thing to buy, but I will not be fooled! The double roll, with the picture of the cartoon bear is usually the best value for your dollar.)

I would rather shop online or from a catalog than go shopping. I try to download coupons from retailmenot.com before I order anything. I love getting a deal.

I like food that has not been genetically modified or tortured before it gets to me.

The last time I ate fast food was a year ago. And I haven't eaten McDonald's in ten years.

Sometimes, I use foot powder. I wash my hands after I touch anything I consider questionable. I wash my hands when I have the thought, "I haven't washed my hands in a couple hours".

In general, I think the band is too damn loud and you should all pull your pants up.

I am the oldest thirty year old in world.

What the hell am I doing blogging on MySpace?

First a nap,

Then I watch my stories and knit a doily for my cats.