Picture this....

There's a blog you follow or just find yourself checking out from time to time, okay? Do you ever wonder what that blogger looks like?
I am usually caught up in the art or the words and maybe, maybe sometimes, have an impression of the blogger, but don't actually stop to wonder if the person is a certain age, or has a Mohawk, or always dresses in pink, I just don't. It doesn't really matter to me, so why wonder?
Jazz will probably know why this is on my mind. She posted some lovely photos from her vacation, and included a couple of her & Mr. Jazz. I hope I wasn't rude, but I left a comment that she looked normal. I didn't mean that in a rude way, and didn't have a picture in my mind of what she might look like (I can't imagine why that would matter, and it didn't to me). I think I was thinking edgy, tough but pretty, maybe a cigarette hanging out of the side of her mouth (just kidding). I have no idea why I expected anything at all.
So, the question is: do you "picture" bloggers that haven't/don't post photos of themselves?

Where I live = who I am?

I live in a small town along the Western shore of the Chesapeake Bay (population about 2,000). Every morning, or any time, I walk to the end of my driveway, I can turn to my left, and there she is, just a few blocks away, the might Bay. The town has a post office, a (wonderful) candy store, a coffee/bakery shop, a few antique stores, an art co-op, a couple of places to eat, and a few other businesses. I don't always lock my doors (I also have two good-sized dogs) and last winter when Maryland got hit with 2' of snow, my neighbors helped me shovel out the driveway. It's not heaven, but it'll do.
I love living where I do, but I suspect I like as much (or maybe more) saying where I live.
So my question is: how much does where we live define us? Or does it at all?
Let me know what you think, ok?
Happy days!

F*** you, you piece of S#@t!!!

Yeah, that was me before I taught myself to drive one car at a time. I had the loudest, most used horn, and my middle finger was on alert as soon as I started the car (even before I left the driveway, you never know). One of my favorite driving skills was to slam on the brakes if someone was tailgating, wow, that was fun. What else, let's see, dirty looks were the least of my repertoire, and screaming ugly words was an art for me.
One day I had an Oprah light bulb moment: nobody really did anything differently. I had no control over other drivers. I was all in a rage & my blood pressure was up, and okay, maybe I got a few reactions, but mostly other people still drove like morons (never me, I am a good driver!).
So I changed, became a mellow zen-like driver. Cut me off, no problem. Drive 20 mile under the speed limit, yeah, I'll tag along or pass when it's safe. Ride on my bumper, here, let me pull over so you can pass me.
Strange but true.
I sometimes, just for the memories, toot my horn, and once or twice I've raised my middle finger in a friendly salute. Generally, me & my beetle just toodle along nice as can be.
What about you? What kind of a driver would you say/write that you are?
Happy days.

Next question:

What is sadder than a blog without comments?
Not much.
I'll have to come up with a question that you can't refuse.
I'm thinking.......

FACEBOOK

What about Facebook?
Are you on or not?
Why? or Why not?
I'm on because I have younger co-workers who live by it and so I wanted to see what it was about.
I still don't know.
Happy days.

Tipping

Whenever I am with others and have bad service at a restaurant, I get into this tussle with some people: do you or don't tip something even if the service stinks (with or without any apology or explanation from the server)?
Tipwise, how do you handle bad service?

Roadkill stories

I was going to put a picture of real roadkilled animal, but thought that might be too gross and the blog would smell bad. So I just put up this warning sign instead.
It's not a local (to me) sign, there are no camels crossing streets in North Beach, Maryland. The days when I might have thought I saw a camel crossing the street are long gone.
So the question, that's what I should write now.
The questions is: why, when everyone who knows me even slightly, knows I love animals, why do these same people feel the need to tell me about the dog they saw get hit by a car this morning? or the turtle, especially near & dear to my heart? or the squirrel?
Second question, does this happen to you?
Third question, how do you handle it?
Happy days,
Joanie