Welcome and howdy!

Well looky here! I did it. Frankly, it's going to take a miracle for me not to screw this up but you crazy people asked for it and God knows I live to do as I'm told. For those of you who aren't technically one of the aforementioned crazy people, here's the poop behind this blog and my God that didn't sound good at all. Anyway . . . .

A while back, let's say August of 2002, I took a look in the mirror and said to myself, out loud mind you, "who the fuck is that fat person and what is she doing in my house?" I did that turn-around-really-really-fast-and-look thing. Nope. Nobody there. Whipped back around and noticed that the fat person was wearing my clothes. Had my eyes. My hair. Wearing the same appalled expression on her face. Oh go on and guess! Go on. I'll wait. . . . . YES! Yes, it was me. Big, fat, miserable, lumbering me who used to be an athlete, body builder and all around skinny kind of person had become . . . This. One thought ran through my head, that thought being "nope nope nope nope nope!"

Fast forward a few days. After quietly asking around to all the other formerly fat folks I knew, I wound up at weightwatchers.com, forked over some cash, signed up and got about the business of getting this nonsense under control. I entered my starting weight and if you think I'm telling you THAT, you can just bend over and . . . and . . . well, you know what you can do. Doesn't matter anyway. I started posting to the support boards there and shortly thereafter found myself doing what I always seem to do, that being sharing every sordid and embarrassing moment of my life and believe me, there are plenty. I wanted to name this blog, "Life at the Eye of the Shit Happens Hurricane" but that seemed a little wordy. Moosenuts. Yeah, that works. I dance like a moose and since I have an impressionable eight year old child with a memory like an elephant, most of my favorite expletives have turned into "shi . . . nuts." Moosenuts. Digressing again. A thousand pardons.

Anyway, as time went by and the number of stories grew and grew, people started telling me that I needed to start saving them, publishing them in some fashion and that I owed them underwear, keyboards and monitors that had been soiled by their distinct lack of control over their own bodily functions. Now that I've forgotten most of what I've told, I decided it was time to act on their suggestions. Nobody ever accused me of being organized.

So here we are. Moosenuts. At times, names have been changed to protect the unfortunate souls who have been unlucky enough to have been sucked up into the storm, usually completely against their will. I would like to thank the following for their contributions and perhaps unwilling participation: Onstar, ladies bathrooms everywhere, the VBFH and my mother for not selling me to the gypsies when she had the chance.

Welcome.