Sunday, July 27, 2008

Notes on Our Trip...

Trying to finish up the first leg of our trip with a few anecdotes....

The service at the Del was unbelievable for the most part. With a couple of small exceptions. When we checked in, the bellman brought our bags up, got us ice, asked us if he could have reservations made for dinner (you know ol' anal retentive me, I had a list...LOL). It was first class all the way.

We got a room in the old Victorian part of the hotel. We knew the room would be small, but it was actually a little larger than expected. The king-sized bed? Uh not really king-sized. I spent 3 nights with Hubby snoring in my face. Or into the back of my head, which made my ears vibrate.
If we had been at home in OUR king-sized bed, I could have just rolled him over.

In THIS bed, he would have needed dental work once we pried his face out of the floor.

But I have to say that the pillows were absolutely perfect, which is unusual in a hotel, in my opinion.

Secondly, what would be an Attila post without a little doody?

And that was a problem.

There WAS no doody (not the Del's fault, of course).

There was no doody for 3 days. My bowels had completely shut down. I was so blocked up, I couldn't even muster up a one-cheek sneak.

I shoveled quite a bit of fabulous food into the entrance part of my body, but nothing was exiting. I drank a lot of water. I ate my fruits and veggies. Nada. On day three, I was feeling a bit uncomfortable.

Ok, a LOT uncomfortable. I had fantasies of running to a drugstore in town, buying a bottle of Alli, and downing several capsules with a stick or two of butter as a chaser. The only problem with that scenario is that while predictable (makes you sh*t grease like the dickens), you can't set your watch to it.

I could be on one of those raft tours, feel the urge to fart, and spot-weld everybody to their seats with a flying load of lubed squid and tortilla chip shrapnel.

And the bathroom in our room wasn't helping. It was tiny. As in Clueless-Guy-Driving-A-Shiny-Corvette tiny. The toilet was right up against the wall. The toilet paper holder thingy was bolted to the back of the door. While my right leg could spread out a little for some pushing traction, my left was wedged in. On the right side, my shoulder was rammed up against the sink.
Imagine trying to do the 2 with your knees together and your arms crossed over your chest. In this bathroom, everything just had to kind of "fall out" on it's own.

Which just wasn't happening.

When I woke up at 4am on day 4 (wet buzzsaws in my face), I knew THIS would be the day. The night before, I'd overheard another guest talk about the tiny bathroom issue and how her husband just opened the door to dooky so his left leg would have somewhere to go when he dug his heels in.

I figured I could get Hubby out of the room at some point in the morning so I could get to work and void. Yes, yes, I KNOW we've been together for 15 years, but there are just some things we don't feel comfortable doing in front of each other. Laying cable is one of them.

I took a quick pee, and gak. When I flushed, the water went down and didn't come back up. I waited for the toilet to stop running and flushed again. This time it filled up to the rim. Awww crap!

At 6am, I quietly called down to the front desk and asked if they could send somebody with a plunger up.

At 7am, Hubby woke up, and naturally, needed to use the facility. I informed him it was a no-go, so he threw on his swimsuit and sweatshirt, and raced down to the first floor to find a toilet before swimming.

At 7:30am, I called again down to the front desk and asked them to send somebody with a plunger up. Told them that I could plunge the toilet myself, just please send one up.

At 8am, I ran down to the lobby to pee again. And really, don't bother asking why I didn't do the number 2 down there. If I can't do it in the same hotel room as hubby, believe me, I can't do it in a public toilet either. I stopped by the front desk and asked again for a plunger.

At 9am, Hubby was back and ready to go to brunch. We had reservations for the Del's famous Brunch in the Crown Room at 9:30, and were planning to check out at noon.

The situation wasn't yet desperate, but I could tell that the Mayor was going to be ready to hand me the keys to Pooville in the next couple of hours, so I called down again.

This time I was specific.

I haven't taken a crap in almost 4 days and I'm ready to roll! Unless you want housekeeping to have to deal with a very large and nasty surprise in the bowl after we check out, you'll get somebody up here with alacrity!

When we got back from brunch, yes, somebody had been up to clear the drains.

I sent Hubby out to buy himself a t-shirt and was able to lose about 8 pounds.


Ok, random people watching....

Hubby went down to the pool one morning and noticed a sign in front of one of the conference rooms that said "Private Function: Arizona Trial Lawyers Association".

A little while later, while he was swimming, a young woman came to the pool with 3 small children. Obviously a nanny or an au pair.

He overheard one of the tykes say to her, "If I die, you're going to owe my dad a LOT of money!"

Hubby asked her, "Trial Lawyers Association?"



P.S. The second photo is from Mc P's Irish Pub pointing out the way to the restrooms. Mc P's is a great little place on Coronado which is owned and operated by a retired Navy Seal. Great margaritas!

Saturday, July 26, 2008

More Pics...

Still trying to recover from vacay. As in---take care of the crap that fell by the wayside while we were (blissfully) gone.

Here are a few more pics of the trip---the lobby of the hotel, the miniature elevator operator (straight out of central casting, I swear!), some of the gardens, etc....

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

We're Baaaaaack!!! (Grrrr)

I want to say that we're tanned, rested and ready (kind of like Nixon for 2008), but that would be a lie. I've never managed to turn into the one big freckle I imagined was possible when I was a youngster to get that coveted all-over tan, and gave up years ago. Let's just say I didn't suffer any serious burns. Other than carpet. he.

Ok, TMI!

And I have to admit that Hubby had to drag me kicking and screaming onto the plane back. Not because I was afraid of flying, amazingly enough---but because I just didn't want to come home!

Speaking of flying---I did it! I've had a serious, I mean SERIOUS phobia about flying which intensified after 9/11 and an incident that happened with Hubby's family. Not going to go into it in this post, but getting on a plane hasn't been an option for around 11 years.

I did it without meds or booze to help me along too! Hubby MIGHT be able to golf again next spring once the crunchy little bones in his hand have mended, but to me, the whole trip was worth a little discomfort on his part.

So on the first leg of our trip, we flew down to San Diego and rented a car to drive out to Coronado Island (it's really an isthmus, but who's counting?). Since this was for our anniversary, Hubby went whole hog and got the luxury sedan. Woohoo!

We stayed at the historic Hotel Del Coronado. I'd been there a couple of times while growing up, but Hubby had never been. This has been on my list of "places I'd like to go someday with Hubby", so it was really exciting for us!

We got a King room (hah--more on that later) in the old part of the hotel, and it truly is a Grand Old Lady, architecturally and historically. And the service was just amazing, for the most part.

The summer is obviously the busy season, and there were a lot of people there. Many groups from all over the country and the world.

Since I haven't traveled afar in the last several years, I guess I just forgot how culturally insulated we've been in our little mountain town. Seeing and interacting with an incredibly diverse array of families and groups was really a joy. A little funny too.

The first day we were there, we spent a little time "people watching", listening to all the different languages and taking in the total ambiance while sitting in the courtyard. Later that evening when we were leaving for dinner, Hubby had to run back up to the room to get our valet ticket so I sat out front and waited.

An Asian family walked by me---and don't ask me to be more specific, because I'm simply not astute enough to recognize all the differences. There was a mom, a dad, another adult female and 5 youngsters, the oldest was about 10. They were all very small (lots of people are small compared to Hubby and I) and wore coordinating summer outfits of t-shirts and shorts. Their little boy, who looked to be about 5 or 6 suddenly broke away and raced ahead full speed.

I waited for one of the adults to call to him, and expected to hear some fabulously exotic language.

Instead, the mom opened her mouth and Fran Drescher fell out: "AWWWWSTIN! STOP! D'ja hear me or what? Red Light! Red Light! AWWWSTIN! Get back heah! Don't make me chase yewwwoooo!"

I laughed so hard at my own doofusness that I almost fell over. ;-)

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

Life's a Beach!

Hubby and I are leaving tomorrow for the first away vacation we've had alone in the last 11 years.

I haven't been on a plane since then, and anxiety abounds.

...Except I think that spending another year without getting far away has its own special hell built in. I need this downtime.

My ex-MIL is coming to spend quality time with the guys and make sure nobody burns the house down.

So think about us on the beaches in Californ-eye-A! Be back in a week!



P.S. No parties in here while I'm away. I mean it. If someone so much as cracks a beer in the comments section I'll know. 'Cause I'm the mom. Don't make me hurt you.

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

The Run Down Cougar Canyon

If you're tuning in late, read the previous post.

Hubby and I are trying not to act too shocked about this whole thing. I suspect that Hubby is saying to himself---like commenter Just Bob---(Damn! Where were all the cougars and horny high school teachers when I was growing up?), so I don't allow him to be very indignant about this.

And since the woman in question is his age, I just don't think it's appropriate for him to comment too much on it.

Not that he would, I don't think---he's really a conservative and somewhat uh prissy guy, but over the years, I've run into ::koff:: "gentleman" (some were friends of my dad who didn't consider that the small fry---mainly me---were listening) pontificate about the wear and tear and saggage of women of a certain age, while complacently ignoring the fact that they had bigger titties, droopier butts and prolly hadn't seen their own peckers that were damply moldering under their beer bellies for at least a decade.

Ever hear the old joke--and truly, I'm not trying to pick on Donald Trump since I made the comment about his hair in the last post---and his divorce from Marla Maples?

Did you know that Donald divorced Marla because she violated their prenuptial agreement?

Yep. She turned 30.

But I guess when I cheered Demi and Ivana for marrying their cabana boys, I should have figured that at some point I'd have to put my money where my mouth is. Karma is weird that way.

And Ouch.

Sooooo....knowing first hand how sad and achingly lonely Big Kid has been, I'm not going to put up a full-frontal opposition to any of it. If I do, with his issues, I can't think of anything that will make him more determined to hang in there and see it through.

If it works out and he's happy, then what more could I ask for?

He's been so sad for so long.

If it doesn't work out, then it's a different and hopefully informative life experience under his belt.

I'm pleasant when she calls, but no, I'm not inviting her to Sunday dinner. Nor am I going to facilitate any of it by being his mommy-cab and driving him down to the city for a date. They're grown-ups and can figure it all out for themselves.

By the same token, he has to realize that I'm uncomfortable with this, and if he wants to have hearts-to-hearts about it, he has to be ready to take the flak from everybody. If Ashton Kutcher can do it, why can't he?

Random comments from the peanut gallery so far:

Big Kid's therapist: Run, don't walk away from this!

Big Kid's Friend: Does she have all of her own teeth?

Big Kid: Do you know how I could find out?

Big Kid: Did you ever see that movie Harold and Maude (he's apparently been primed on this--and she hasn't heard about Mrs. Robinson)?

Me: Yes. But obviously you haven't.

Big Kid: Well it's about an older woman and a younger man.

Me: Yeah, and after they have sex, she kills herself. You think that will be good for your self-esteem?

Hubby (to Big Kid): Maybe you're confused about her interest in you. Maybe she just wants someone to do yardwork.

Big Kid: I'm pretty sure that was a date.

Hubby: Are you positive she didn't ask you to trim her bushes?

Big Kid: No, she didn't.

Me: Well if she does, make sure she specifies what bushes she needs trimmed, ok?

Big Kid (not recognizing the whooshing sound over his head): What are you guys talking about?

Big Kid: I'm feeling sad. She's been working all day and I haven't gotten a chance to talk to her.

Me: Call one of your grandmas. They'd be thrilled to hear from you and you never know---you might just get that same warm, fuzzy feeling.

Big Kid (to me): I was thinking that maybe the two of you could be good buddies because you're close in age.

Me: My good buddies and I mainly talk about our children and sex. She'll probably want to hear about that poop chunk you left on the back of the toilet seat last week as much as I'll want to hear that you don't know where her clitoris is.

Bah! Who's going to volunteer to shoot me? Just shoot me now!

Saturday, July 12, 2008

The Cosmic Joker

Dear Boss of the Universe,

I'd like to think that we have a pretty good working relationship.

You know I don't spend all our face-time asking for personal stuff---although I suppose asking for world peace does affect me and mine personally. I do ask that you try to change the hearts of people who contemplate doing bad things, and to comfort people who are facing tragedies.

And I spend a lot of time thanking you for my personal blessings and the wonderful creations You provide such as cool breezes on steaming hot days, and now tubs of ready-made Philadelphia Cream Cheese cheesecake filling when I'm tempted to drive a BBQ fork directly into my throat. No bothersome springform pans or graham-cracker crust to wade through. Just hand me a shovel.

You've blessed us all with free will, and I know that at least 90% of my problems are those I've created myself, so I don't try to fob them off on You. Sometimes I ask You for strength in cleaning my own crap up, but the responsibility is mine.

And I appreciate that you have a twisted sense of humor---as shown by Your creation of platypuses, Donald Trump's hair, and KFC's "Famous" Bowls of slop.

We've had quite a few conversations over the last couple of years about Big Kid and his issues.

Ok, honestly, I've talked, You've listened.

He's desperately lonely. Between shyness and panic attacks---and other issues----he simply doesn't have the social skills he needs to develop meaningful relationships. The few friends he maintained from high school have either gone on to away college and jobs, or are loser dopers who he has (thankfully) distanced himself from.

Plus the fact that he doesn't learn from his mistakes is a huge check-mark in the minus box.

So over the last few years, most of his interaction to the outside world has been through stupid social networking sites like Myspace. Oh, and Tru.Com, which has a system that is almost impossible to cancel from and keeps billing his debit card (to an account that has no money in it) although he's called 3 times to cancel it. They keep sending him "so and so winked at you" notices in email, and impulsively he goes to check it out. The minute he logs in, they bill him for another month at 60 bucks a pop or so. :::sigh:::

But You know all that.

He's "hooked up" with 14-year-olds who pretended to be 19-year olds. He's given our home phone number out to several psycho girls who have never learned phone etiquette and if they didn't get an answer from one call, instead of leaving a message and waiting for him to call back, found a need to call every freaking 10 minutes with the hope that at some point he'd pick up the phone. Until I answered and screamed at them.

Then they called every 30 minutes.

And then there are the ones who think that calling at 2am is socially appropriate.

Let's not forget the couple of harpies who are local and recognized his MySpace profile and who have too much time on their hands. They make up fake profiles and pretend to be interested and write to him. Like a doof, he responds, gets all invested and spills his heart out, only to get a big huge Bahahahahaha at some point. You'd think after the first couple of times, he'd be a little more wary.

Of course there's the multitude in between---where he's fudged about himself, or they've fudged about themselves and they talk on the phone for a few weeks and like dumbasses are telling each other "I LURVE YOU!!" Then when they meet in person, it's sad and ugly all around.

I know I've talked to You and admitted that I hoped Big Kid would find somebody a bit older than his 21 years to be friendly with. Someone who is out of school, has some life experience and is beyond the juvenile game-playing stage. Somebody who might take this big lump of boy and give him a few worthy life lessons. Big hope, huh? What does he really have to offer someone who is stable and goal-oriented? Other than his lovely green eyes?

As You know, he met somebody recently. She was tooling around on MySpace and liked his musical choices. They chatted in email for a couple of weeks. She's gainfully employed, drives (HUGE plus, because he doesn't), has her own place. Then they talked on the phone for a week or so. He walked around with a huge smile on his face.

Yesterday, they made plans to meet in the park of the sort-of big city down the pass and go to lunch. I drove him down and dropped him off.

Little Guy and I went shopping and to lunch and picked Big Kid up a few hours later. He was on Cloud 9.

She had kissed him goodbye. And she called him later to tell him what a great time she had. He and I sat down to talk about how good he was feeling about it, and what he hoped might come of it all. Then he filled me in on a few things.

Boss of the Universe, I know I confessed to You that I hoped Big Kid might find someone a bit older and more experienced. And I realize that you have a somewhat odd sense of humor.

But seriously, and please don't smite me, because I ask this with the utmost respect....

5 years older than ME? Are You freaking insane????


PS---to my blogfriends, will fill you in with the details once I manage to choke them down.

Wednesday, July 09, 2008

More Stupid for Breakfast

What in the heck is UP with The National Children's Bureau in the UK? They recently issued a 366-page guide to those in charge of pre-school children to root out racism before it can take hold.

Nurseries are '"encouraged to report as many incidents as possible to their local council."

To quote: This could include a child of as young as three who says "yuk" in response to being served unfamiliar foreign food.

You have GOT to be sh*tting me.

I mean it.

Ok, in the U.S. we are the kings of pork barrel spending. 200 dollar toilet seats, 50 dollar widgets, etc, etc.

I KNOW we have no room to talk, because we've spent a bazillion dollars on studies of cow farts, but by the same token, you'd think that some of our UK critics would realize that giving this council 12 million pounds a year (which roughly translates to about 24 million dollars in yankee money, but don't quote me on that) could be better spent on things like fluoridated water or orthodontia for all the good this directive has.

At the age of 3, neither of my guys would eat anything with curry in it. Did it make them prejudiced against people from India or Pakistan? Did they know where India or Pakistan is? Did they know there was such places as India or Pakistan? Doh.

Little Guy wouldn't eat anything orange, including carrots and oranges. What a pig he was, discriminating against rabbits and Floridians. He wouldn't eat cotton candy either, which clearly shows a bias against clowns.

Sometime in the past, I wrote about how in the 6th grade we did a study on Eskimos, or Inuits in North America. We were shown a standardized and locally infamous film where a father killed a caribou, cut out its eyeball and handed it to his toddler son, who took a big bite out of it. When we watched it in my class, the kid named Gregory in front of me (who weirdly enough I was thinking about around a week ago out of the blue) turned around and yarked on my pants and shoes.

Was that racist against Inuits?

In my opinion, no. If somebody handed me a plate with an eyeball on it, I'd promptly hand it back. Maybe with a little pukey added sauce on my part.

You can't account for personal taste.

My husband despises Lima beans, but he doesn't walk around damning Peruvians.

And inquiring minds want to know: People in the UK traditionally eat blood sausage, toad-in-the-hole and Spotted Dick.

If some "foreigner" turned THEIR nose up at those culinary choices, according to the National Children's Bureau, would they be accused of discriminating against AIDs victims, frogs, and men with freckles on their privates (don't EVEN want to go there!)?

Stupid. They eat stupid for breakfast.

Thursday, July 03, 2008

How to Mess Up a Nice Pair of Jammie Pants

So last night I was up in the big city with the guys. My older brother took Big Kid to the concert, my mom took Little Guy out for bowling and dinner.

Me---I got to lock myself in the Holiday Inn room with air conditioning, an Arby's Roast Beef Sandwich with extra Horsey Sauce, ice cold Snapple and a couple of new Charlaine Harris mysteries. No dogs, no guys, nobody with a crisis...

Oh Bliss!!!

Mom brought Little Guy back at about 10pm. We watched some TV and then snoozed. Around midnight, my brother dropped the Big Kid off. They tried to chat about how awesome the concert was, but I just sorta waved from my bed and said "Thanks for taking him!" before falling back into the abyss.

Sometime in the middle of the night, a weird noise---one I could hear over the air conditioning--woke me up.

Scritch-scritch. Scritch-scritch.

Sleepily, I looked at the clock. It was 3:30am.


What in the hell WAS that?

I sat up and looked at the boys in the other bed. They were motionless and dead to the world. No arm-pit or groin scratching to explain the noise.


The noise was beyond them at the hotel room door.

Oh crap. Was there some kind of RODENT in the room?

I put my glasses on and tiptoed over. The only light in the room was from the bathroom---back behind my bed---and that door was mostly closed. It then hit me that we were actually in a room that faced outside to the parking lot, something I hadn't thought about before. Anything could be trying to get in.

Did Big Kid remember to lock the security locks when he came in?

Before I could check, something caught my eye in the sliver of streetlight that was coming through the curtains next to the door.

About 3/4 of the way down, something white was moving in and out of the space between the door and the jamb in a sawing motion.


In an instant, the first thing that crossed my mind was that it was some kind of slim-jim that could pop the door lock. With a scream caught in my throat, I grabbed it and YANKED it through to my side of the door.

Outside, I heard a startled "GAAAAAHHHH!!!!"

Like a dummy, I looked through the peephole (Yes, yes, I've seen movies where people get shot through the eyeball doing the same stupid thing. But I wasn't working on all 8 cylinders).

Standing outside the door was a little old bald man with a shocked look on his face. He scurried away like he had a flaming firework up his butt.


I looked at the thing I had yanked away from him. It wasn't some kind of new-fangled slim-jim.

It was crinkly. I took it to the bathroom to examine it in the light.

It was our folded-up Express Check-out receipt.


P.S. Gotta say, that scared the CRAP outta me! My adrenalin was pumping so hard I felt like I'd mainlined a triple shot of expresso. I stayed up shaking for the next couple of hours, then woke the kids up and drove right home. When we got here, I crashed in bed for half the day after it wore off.

The only consolation I have is wondering how THAT guy's day went. LOL

Happy 4th everybody!

Wednesday, July 02, 2008

A Little Ass in Your Glass

This story caught my eye, because our community is also served by a freshwater reservoir which is unfiltered.

Luckily for us, up here the water is colder than a brass bra and capped off.

A couple in Portland were caught skinny-dipping in the Mt. Tabor reservoir, which serves as part of the community's tap water. Fortunately for the townspeople, they were swimming in an area that was currently off-line, or the water bureau would have had to shut off the reservoir and consider dumping millions of gallons for cleanliness issues.

Of course, inquiring minds and all....

Since the water is untreated, and presumably at some point that part of the reservoir is going to be going BACK online, do officials think that stray pubes and skin cells are going to disintegrate? Or sink to the bottom? Or what?

Ok, I know---I watch too much CSI. LOL

Going back up to the big city to take Big Kid to the Stone Temple Pilots reunion tour.

Catch up in a couple of days!


Tuesday, July 01, 2008

The Good, the Bad and the Fugly

Or Should I say,

Hail to the Queens!

The Good

Queen of the Mayhem, that Beeyotch, got to get away without all the appendages and have a faboo weekend with the girls. Good for her, but I'm so jellus!

The Bad

Queen Goob, who totally cracks me up, tries to survive the gas crunch by riding the bus, and gets the horny driver from hell.

The Fugly

Ok, I have to provide some back-story here. Especially since I promised to tell another tale of my trip to the big city.

My Mom has become a senior-citizenish coupon cultist. And then some.

Some months ago, me and the boys were up visiting and she was able to lasso a time when both my brothers would be available for a family lunch. I'd never had that particular pleasure, because I live a couple of hours away.

Usually when we're there, it's for a holiday, or a birthday, so we have big family breakfasts, or dinners (and sometimes she lets us grab the check if it's not at her house, where we all pitch in and cook the meal ourselves). I'd never actually gone out to lunch with her---at least not for YEARS (the last time I remember she offered to take me to the doc and get me on the pill---so it was like back in the dark ages).

Before we decided where to go to lunch, my older brother looked a bit glum. My younger brother looked a bit glum. Mom was tooling around in another part of the house, so I asked them what was up, and they said:

"She won't let us treat her to lunch, so since it's on her dime, she's going to pull out a coupon to some really crappy place and insist we drink water."


Now mind you, although my mom is widowed and retired, it's not like 4 bucks in soda or ice tea is going to make a difference on whether or not she's going to have to eat Alpo for the last week of the month. She's ok. And if she wasn't, she could let one of us treat her or let us pay our own way.

But that's how it went down. LOL She had coupons and insisted that water was good for us. It was weird.

Anyhoo, when the boys and I were up there a few weeks ago, we went out to dinner (my younger brother couldn't make it), so it was Mom, my older brother, me and my two boys. We went to a "really neat" Cajun/American restaurant that she and her lady friends had discovered, which was about a block from our hotel, so it was perfect.

Plus, I discreetly told the woman who seated us to make sure the check came to me. Didn't want to wrestle with my mom over it, and didn't want the boys to complain. Although I did actually order water to drink. ;-)

Finally I figured out why my Mom liked this restaurant so much.

The service was slower than a snail with broken leg thingys. I mean if they had legs.

We ordered, and then the waiter brought out two huge bread baskets for the 5 of us. They contained a variety of breads. With whipped butter.

My mom only ordered from the "small bites" menu----I thought it was because she's been dieting sorta, and admired her restraint. Me? I was hungry, dammit, so I ordered a big-ass beef sandwich au jus with cole slaw. The kids ordered similarly, and my brother ordered jambalaya.

So while we were waiting, everybody attacked the bread baskets. There were baguettes of hot french bread, some kind of carrot cake bread, and some other sweet bread. With whipped butter.

I was surprised frankly to see Mom dig in. I had two pieces (waiting for dinner), and the guys and Mom demolished everything else.

About 15 minutes later, Mom flagged down a waiter and asked for more bread. They brought out two more huge baskets. With whipped butter.

Mom and the guys had a chance to take like one more piece each, and then our dinners came.

I ate my slaw and a half of my sandwich (it was cut in two). Then I was stuffed. My older brother was so full, he only ate half of his entree. Big Kid ate some of his fries and only half of HIS sandwich. Little Guy, of course (has sensory integration issues) ate everything on his plate, but felt a bit ill later.

Mom picked at her entree. She was already full of bread. LOL

Soooooo.....when it was all over.....Mom and my older brother (who lives with my mom) took home almost Mom's entire entree of salmon and some kind of pilaf, the other half of my brother's jambalaya, half of my roast beef sandwich (with the au jus in a little styrafoam container), half of Big Kid's sandwich and the rest of his fries, and the rest of the two bread baskets---which contained like 12 pieces of bread. And the rest of the whipped butter.


But back to the Fug.

The day after I got back, I went and visited Queen of Planet Hot Flash's blog.
I laughed so hard I almost peed myself. Not being cliche. I mean it.

Because no matter where we are, or what we do, I saw US in there. Now go here, and then here, and then there.

You think YOU have momster probs, then you have to check this out.

In my life, I can get down on my knees and feel grateful that I'm not related to Queen's MIL.

But damn, it's butt-fugly and funny as all get out. LOL