Who am I? Really? Great freakin’ question. I’m 46 years old. How’s that for starters? You’d think by the time you hit 46 you’d kinda have a little better grip on who you are, but really, I’m still trying to figure that one out.
You can call me “Cheeze.” Hell, you can call me pretty much any damn thing you want, but Cheeze is what I’ll answer to. Why “Cheeze?” Truth be told, it’s from “Foster’s Home For Imaginary Friends.” My kids love that show, and when that bent little weirdo named “Cheese” appeared on the scene, for some inexpicable reason the the two darling little spawn of my loins decided that he reminded them of me, and so for quite a while now, I’ve been Cheeze. I threw the “Z” in to prevent any confusion since we seemed to be so much alike, and all.
The “Squeezins” part stems from a Ren & Stimpy episode involving squeezing a really shtanky chunk of cheese, and the resulting deliciousness from which it then squeezed out. A vague metaphor for the quality and character of most of what you’ll probably see posted here.
I love to write, I love to read, and I love to read what other people write. Most snarky chic blogs, apparently, which should be fairly obvious if you take a look at my blogroll. I may have to grow a uterus just to fit in.
Mostly this is just a place for me to play at being a writer, give the lack of focus I give it anywhere else. I hope you like it, but really, I’ll probably keep writing it even if you don’t. I’m just kinda of passive-aggressive like that.
Which, might explain a few things…