I've Moved!

Testing ... Testing ... one-two ... Ahem. Anyone still out there? 

Well, if you are ... I love you. HOLY CRAP people, why are you still hanging around this abandoned shell of a blog?  

So yeah, sorry about that. I kind of fell off the life wagon. I had to move to the desert to get a grip on myself and now, now, I think I'm finally ready to pick it all up again. 

Thanks for hanging in there with me. You guys rule. 

Along with a new physical address, I've got a new webaddress.  

You can now find me at 

BarelyPassingMustard.com  

Go check it out. There's lots of good stuff coming there.  I wouldn't abandon you twice, amigos! 

PS: Mustard's coming too. And he found a girlfriend. It's so weird! 

Wherin I have a Broken Heart

Name: Charles
Description: Beloved stuffed penguin
Age: 24 years old
Last seen: the rumpled bed at a fine hotel in Scottsdale, AZ

He's lost! My most treasured and oldest possession is lost! I am beside myself.

I know you all think that my the only inanimate friend in my life is Mustard. But no. Long before Mustard there was Charles. And now ... Charles is LOST!! It's really probably the worst thing that has ever happened to me in my entire life. I'm NOT KIDDING.

Think of it like this: If my life were Toy Story (and let's face it, I really do secretly believe that all inanimate objects have secret lives when I'm not around), Charles is Woody and Mustard is Buzz. So while Buzz is funny and weird and oh so hilarious to write about in a blog, it's Woody that is the heart of the operation. Charles is like that. He's stable, and understanding, and lets me cry on his shoulder and use him as a neck pillow. He's cool like that. As long as I'm happy, his crinkly little eyes are still happy.

Since I was twelve, Charles has been there for it all. In the montage flashback, in addition to the sappy hugging and eskimo kisses that go without saying between a girl and her stuffed penguin, these are the images you'd see :

• Throwing him up in the air by his little wings doing flips and twists in the Penguin Olympics
• Performing "Electric Charles" - a static electricity light show that was popular during my college years
• Riding shotgun during many roadtrips, serving as Co-Pilot and Navigator
  
• Arriving in a cramped shoebox in Santiago, Chile. My Mom sent him to me because I was so home sick. He single-handedly saved me from a nervous break down.
• Listening patiently while I cry and rant about one thing or another ... men, or work, or well ok, mostly work.
  

When I started this three month hotel stay, I brought Charles with me as a little piece of home. I checked in and out of about 15 hotels as I bounced across the country. Yesterday I checked out of the last one and went to go get the keys to the home I have purchased. The journey was over! And as I was unpacking the 3 suitcases I've been living out of I suddenly realized that I hadn't packed him. He had been left in the bed. I HAD LEFT CHARLES!! No mother who left her child at a gas station has felt worse than I did. Well, I didn't even think twice before grabbing my keys and driving to the hotel. A phone call just wouldn't do.

But no luck. They couldn't find him. I'm still holding out hope, calling every day ... but you know know the stats. If they don't find missing people within 24 hours the chances diminish significantly. I'm sure that the maid just thought he was so damn cute she had to keep him.

I'm brokenhearted. And yeah, I'm too old to still have a stuffed animal. And you gotta cut the cord some time. But I can't believe I am starting over in a new city, and I don't have my most constant companion to begin my new adventure with me. I love that little guy.

I'm sad.

Mustard Resolves

"GRETCHEEEEEEEEEE - breath - EEENNNNNNN!!"

Mustard is yelling at me from the Living Room again.

I am trying to ignore him because he is watching one of the ubiquitous "Decade in Review" shows, and he's very concerned that A) my decade wasn't as productive as it should have been and B) that I start making preparations STAT to not waste the decade to come.

Personally, I think -- and I always think this, so there's nothing new here -- but I think he's full of crap. This decade was chock-a-block packed with excitement. Except for 2007 - that year was totally forgetable.

"GRETCHEN! Since you are too old and decrepit to join me when I call for you, you best be preparing yourself for my imminent arrival."

Oh great. He's coming upstairs to disturb my peace.

"Alright little miss. We've got to have a serious talk."

"I already know what you're going to say, so you might as well spare us both the lecture." I respond. Everyday its some new suggestion: Hey, you know what you should do? Bungee Jumping! or Stock Car Racing! or Cliff Diving in Buenos Aires. Mustard doesn't inhabit the same plane of reality that the rest of us do where there are such things as jobs and meals to prepare.

"Oh? You think you know, do you?" he counters.

"I think I have the general idea," I say while filing my nails. "Perhaps something along the lines of how my life would be so great if I would only start a fight club with the women at church. The details vary, of course, but the absurdity remains the same."

"A fight club at church!? THAT IS GENIUS!! Think of the scrunchies flying! The hymnal backhanding alone would be phenomenal! You know those ladies would love to claw each others eyes out every once in a while. Why, oh WHY don't you have the gumption to put into practice things like this?" He gets a sad, pleading look on his face, "You are wasting your natural talents, Gretchen. It. is. a. Tragedy."

I shrug and start filing the left hand.

"You pain me. You really do," Mustard whispered before pausing to collect himself. He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and stoically said, "Well. You are right. That is generally the kind of thing I would be PROUD to see you do. But after almost TEN years together I like to think that I have learned how to work within the confines of your timid little life. And so, I was not going to suggest something awesome like a Brazilian Rainforest Expedition or that amazing fight club idea, instead I was going to suggest that I help you set your New Years resolutions. Heaven knows you need help setting good goals."

"My goals are fine!" I say.

"Oh really? And what was your New Years Resolution last year?"

"Um. To meet straight men?" I smile hopefully.

"Exacty. To meet straight men. And how many straight men did you meet this year?"

"Like fift---"

"WITHOUT counting co-workers!" he cut in. "We're talking about eligbile for dating men."

"Oh. Probably like ... well there was ... and ..." I say while mentally counting and discarding. "Let's call it two."

"Two? Aren't you exaggerating a little bit? Yes. I thought so. You met ONE. One straight man. And he was a weirdo. Your specialty, so I'm not surprised. But the point remains. You had ONE goal this year and you failed. Miserably. Clearly, someone has to help you. And unfortunately, I, once again, am left holding the bag."

"Don't feel obliged to do me any favors, my dear Mustard. I'll have you know that I've already put together my New Years Resolutions. And they are quite good, if I say so myself."

"Really?" he raised an eyebrow. "Astonish me."

"Well, you know how I got this new job, right? And I've been working my booty off, and not getting anything else done?"

"Go on."

"Well I've decided that this year's theme will be Balance."

"Gretchen. PLEASE PLEASE PLEAAAAAASE say that you are getting a subscription at a trapeeze gym! That takes tons of balance!"

"No, moron. That's not the kind of balance I'm talking about." I shake my head. The lad never loses hope, you can say that for him. "I'm going to bring balance back into my life by, you know, having a life? Rather than working 24/7."

"Fine. Boring, but fine. I need specifics."

"Well, for one, I WILL be better about going to the gym. And I will make my food more often rather than eat out. And I might even start blogging on a regular basis. The key is to take baby steps. I can't be as involved in my hobbies as I used to be. But I'd imagine I could manage to blog about 52 times this year."

"Only 52 times? That's only once a week!"

"Yeah, but I also want to develop another hobby. And if I'm spending all of my time working and at the gym and making dinner there isn't very much time left for blogging and one other thing, now is there?"

"No. I guess not, but it all depends on what that other thing is going to be. What's it gonna be? What's it gonna BEEEEEE?!" Charming Mustard jumped up on my lap and put both hands on my cheeks while he waited to find out. And just like that, my inner resolve crumbled.

"Well, I'm not sure yet. I'd like to do something more exciting. Perhaps YOU can choose a safe not too time-consuming or travel requiring hobby for me to undertake."

A huge grin spread over Mustard's face and he planted a big smooch on my forehead before hopping off my lap and marching around the middle of the room punching the air and singing, "FIGHT CLUB! FIGHT CLUB! FIGHT CLUUUUB!"

Why am I such a softie? A fight club. Geez. Let's hope both Mustard and I get through this year in one piece. That SHOULD be my New Year's resolution.

My Itinerary

My life is about to be AWESOME.

Seriously.

Be jealous of me.

I deserve it.


You can be jealous of Mustard too. He's coming along. We will post updates if we are able.

Bon Voyage!

(PS. You can click on the picture to see it bigger.)

What's the Opposite of being too bored to blog?

So sometimes I'm not very good at posting because I'm totally boring and there is nothing of any interest happening AT ALL.

This hiatus has NOT been one of those times.

So much has been happening lately, I'm a little overwhelmed when I think about the 40 or so things I should be creating pithy posts about. I can't even deal with that kind of pressure!

So I post nothing.

But then I'm all in a quandry, because I don't want to forget it, either.

And if I know anything about myself it is that I am a Great Forgetter. I used to be a Great Rememberer, but I think my brain is full. There's no room in the Inn, but stuff keeps getting crammed in there. So now everything is all muddled up and I can't remember what year I did what, or who I was with, or if I've already shared such-n-such story with you twenty times. So I've got to just suck it up and jot it all down.

So really, this post is more for me than for you. Sorry world, I can't entertain you today. I got some 'membering to do.

Gave the funniest White Elephant present: Las Vegas in a Box! Each item had a luggage tag with a picture of the Fabulous Las Vegas sign and a clever little note about the present. Stuff like, "Know when to fold 'em" on the pack of cards. The box had the following stuff:

• a roulette game
• pack of cards
• bridal veil
• wig & dark glasses (I even got those old man dark glasses - so HOT)
• a champagne glass
• a trashy novel to read by the pool
• a lounge music CD
• a silk scarf to look the part

Clever, right? I was really excited about this present and thought it would be the toast of the party. But then someone brought a HUGE bottle of Vodka ... and obviously Vegas in a Box cannot possibly compete with vodka.

Christmas was great ... spent it here. The heat went out twice. Brrr-a-la-brrr-brrr.

New Year's was awesome. I went to two parties. I was conspicuous at the first party for two reasons: First, I was the only girl. Second, I was the only straight person. We had a great time, but I made sure to skedaddle before midnight. I wasn't sure what might happen, but I was pretty sure it'd be awkward.

Directly after New Year's the celebrations for my birthday began. I had expected it to be a very low-key year since my birthday was on a Sunday and everyone knows that Sunday birthdays are the Lamest Birthdays of them All. But it wasn't. Not low key at all.

The festivities began on Saturday and just kept on going, and going ...

Saturday

• Treated myself to a box of gourmet cupcakes from Hello, Cupcake
• Treated myself to a big bowl of Tangysweet FroYo
• Treated myself to the Broadway production of Legally Blonde at the Kennedy Center

Sunday

• Treated myself to a lazy day around the house
• Treated myself to a hot dog/chips/diet coke combo for lunch. (YUM!!)
• Maria made me a steak dinner
• Charlene made a riiiiiidiculous Rasperry-Lemon cheesecake

Happily Birthdayed I thought the fun was over.

Wrong. The fun was JUST BEGINNING!

Monday

• Work pals take me to lunch and make a big production with chocolate cake and singing.
• During lunch they try to convince me to go to drag bingo. "Sounds like fun, but will it help me with my New Year's Resolution to meet straight men?" I ask. Probably not, but still will be fun.

Tuesday

• Work pals tell the Drag Queens at drag bingo that A) its my birthday and B) I'm Mormon. (As such I was a tiny bit out of place at a gay sports bar).
• Sang Happy B with my new favorite ladies Shiqueeta Lee and Akasha Cassadine
• Forced to do a shot (of cranberry juice) to the stomping and cheering of an entire bar
  
• Being called to the front to call out the numbers
• Being generally Heckled and Celebritied all night long

All of us with the fabulous Shiqueeta Lee and Akasha Cassadine.



Friday
Camie wanted to through me a party because she hadn't been able to participate in any of the other parties. I was well and truly exhausted by this point, but thought it would be fun to have people over to make decorate cookies and have a quiet night in.

So we did. It wasn't that quiet. But it WAS super fun! Even Mustard decorated one or two.





I never thought turning 34 would be so action packed! I'm pooped.

Mustard and Gretchen Write a Chirstmas Letter

"Hey Mustard," I hollered, "Come in here. I need you!"

"WHHHHYYYY?" he hollered right back.

"We have to write our Christmas letter and I need your help!" I said, still hollering.

It took a minute but I soon heard him commentating as he sock-skated his way from the kitchen to the living room. "Woosh! Woosh! And its that Ice Devil Mustard coming in from the outside!" before he burst into the room and with a giant Risky Business Slide slammed into me on the couch.

"oooophhFFF, Get off me!" I said, pushing him off my lap and onto the seat next to me.

"So!" he settled in looking at the computer screen, "Whatcha got so far?"

"Not much. I can't really remember this year."

"Well, that makes sense. You're old and senile" he said matter of factly.

I gave him a look that said, Watch it mister. Sadly, idle threats don't really phase Mustard, so outloud I said, "I remember that it was a great year -- infinitely better than 2007 -- but what in the world did we do?"

"Well, we ... uh ... oh yeah! This Spring we went ... no, no, that was last year. .... Shoot! You're right! What DID we do this year?"

"Exactly" I said drily.

"This can't be right. We had a rockin year. At least I had a rockin year. Your life was probably pretty boring" he said. "Let's think about this. OK. For one thing we moved to Capitol Hill during that monsoon. That was awesome."

"Oh yeah! That move was crazy, but living here IS Totally Awesome. Mini high-five for moving!" And we high fived. "OK. What else did we do?"

"We went to the beach for that week long vacation in May" he said.

We looked at each other and said in unison: "BEST VACATION EVER!" And then sighed deeply as we remembered its amazingness. Then I said, "And then, remember going to the beach every weekend in August? Good times."

"True dat" he said. "And remember when you got your braces off? But then you put them back on two weeks later cuz you were a super fussy-pants and then had to have them on for six more months?" He laughed while I glared, "You weren't expecting to look like a doofus for ALL of 2008, were you?!"

"Oh Yeah? Well shut up, cuz I'm getting them off -- FOR REAL THIS TIME -- on the 29th!"

He grinned and said, "Suuuuure you are. I'll believe it when I see it."

"ANYWAAAAAAAY. It wasn't the biggest mover-and-shaker of a year. We've established that. But it was still a fun year, true?"

"Very true, Jeeves, very true" he said.

"What was your favorite part?" I asked him.

"Oh, that has to be when you went to Las Vegas and that -- "

"STOP!!"

"And you were like, 'Bathtub???!?! WTF? Who ASKS that?' and --"

"Mustard! For real!!!! We are NOT talking about that."

"Sorry I'm laughing so hard! But your face was so classic!"

"Its not my fault people say stupid stuff to me! Will you please stop laughing? Really. Its not that funny."

"Hoooo! Sorry!" he said wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes.

"You are really not helping with this Christmas letter. You're just bringing up all of the things I'd rather NOT remember about 2008" I said.

"Sorry, sorry. What would you rather remember? Lame stuff like your favorite movie?" he asked a touch scornfully.

"Sure! That's the kind of stuff you look back on and laugh about. Not embarrassing things that should STAY IN VEGAS."

"Alright, fine, little Miss Boring Face. My favorite movie was Tropic Thunder. That retarded scene? Classic!! What was yours?"

I rolled my eyes. Of course that would be his favorite.

"Mmmm" I said while I mentally thumbed through the movies I saw this year. "I have no idea. There were a bunch I liked."

"Listen Missy, you gotta pick. That's the whole point. Otherwise, its no fun, and I get to tell another embarrassing story from 2008 that you'd rather not remember."

"OK!!! Geez. You play dirty! My favorite movie was probably TheDarkKnightWall-ESex&TheCityWanted."

"Um-hum." I could tell he wasn't very thrilled with that cop-out answer. But they were all REALLY good! "Favorite song?" he asked.

I effected a Family Feud voice and said, "iTunes SAYS! White Winter Hymnal by Fleet Foxes. Good choice iTunes - I do really like that song! Yours?"

And he busted out singing:
"She got them Apple-bottom jeans"

I promptly joined in, "Boots with the fur! The whole club was lookin at her!"

Simultaneously we both got off the couch and dancing we sang, "She hit the floor. Next Thing you know. Shawty got Low Low Low Low Low Low Low!!"

And that's pretty much where the letter writing ended, and the dance party began. It was a great year for us! We hope you had a fantastic time too!

Wherein Mustard's Effort to Make Trouble Makes Good

Let me set the scene for you. It's evening. I'm chillin' in one corner of the couch watching E!. Mustard is in the other, rolling his eyes. Camie comes home after another long, busy day, and proceeds to do her homework.

When Camie came in and surveyed the scene, Mustard perked up. He looked from me, to her, and slowly started to get that squinty-no-good look in his eye that he gets when he's thought of a way to make my life hell. After she went upstairs he nudged my butt with his foot and said, "Hey, do you remember that roommate you had in college? Amanda or whatever her name was?"

"Yeah. What about her?"

"Remember how she watched TV 24/7?"

"Yeah, I remember that. What about it?"

"You guys thought she was a total loser cuz she was always watching TV. Remember?"

"Weeellll, I wouldn't say we thought she was a total loser. But she sure did watch a lot of TV."

"Don't kid yourself, sister. You thought you were SO fancy with your busy schedule and crowd of buddies. As far as you were concerned she was practically toxic from all of that TV" he smirked.

"What's your point?" I asked.

"My point is this." And he paused to fix his I'm-a-total-jerk-and-I'm-about-to-punk-you-GOOD expression on his little face before saying, "The shoe's on the other foot now, my dear."

"WHAT?! What are you even talking about? I don't watch nearly as much TV as Amanda did," I cry outraged.

Mustard just raised his eyebrows. (Damn those damning eyebrows!!)

"Seriously! I don't!" I can feel myself backpedaling.

Mustard looked pointedly from me, and my well-worn spot on the couch, to the TV, and back at me again. And then he said, "Have you, or have you NOT already seen this episode of Keeping Up with the Kardashians" pause ... pause ... pause (While I squirm ... squirm ... squirm) "THREE TIMES?"

"FINE! FINE! You're Right! I'm a loser! Are you happy now? A loser who watches way more TV than is good for me. Sob!" And I stormed off the couch, throwing my TV Watching Blanket over Mustard's head to show him what a little poo he is, and stomped upstairs to find something productive to do.

And that's how I ended up volunteering at the DC Central Kitchen twice this month. And even though I was slightly coerced into doing it, and I've only gone once so far (next time is on Christmas Day, hello Super Fun!) volunteering there is turning out to be the BEST THING I've done ALL YEAR LONG!

So there Mustard! You Prince of Poo-ville. You can take your attempts to make me feel like a loser and cram them in your little twist-top face. I am now officially NOT a loser. AND ALSO officilally a lover of the community. Nyah!! [yes I AM sticking my tongue out at you.]

Mustard Moves House

Saturday Mustard and I packed our bags and moved to our awesome new apartment in Capitol Hill.

It was hands down the most complicated move I have ever been a part of, and I don't mind telling you I stayed up late several nights fretting about how we were going to keep all of the cogs moving. Foolishly, I didn't give myself any overlap days, so I had to do the entire move from top to bottom in one day. The entire process was pretty damn stressful.

Here was the basic plan:

1. Go to U-Haul, pick up the truck.
2. Drive it around back to load up all of Camie's stuff that has been in storage for 4 weeks.
3. Take it to the new apartment to be dropped off
4. Maneuver everything up one really skinny set of stairs, and for bedroom items up a tight spiral staircase.
   
5. Drive to Silver Spring, to load my apartment
6. Load my apartment
7. Drive back to Capitol Hill to unload my stuff
8. Take truck back
9. Pass out

At each stage we had to make sure we had a crew of people (read: men) who would be able to help. Not as easy to arrange as I'd hoped since there was apparently some sort of out of town Man Convention that all of my men friends claimed they were attending. For those I could get, some could only stay for so long, or arrive at a certain time, so there was a lot of coordinating to do. Plus I needed to make sure every one was fed, had addresses and directions for the multiple locations, and had our cell phones so they could meet up with us en route if need be. An event planner would have been proud!

As I sat there strategizing all of the ins and outs of this move I thought to myself, "You know what? This seems TOO easy. I need something that would make this move more exciting. Kick it up a notch. How about a Tropical Storm? Nothing like torrential rains and hurricane force winds to really motivate your movers!"

So I dialed up Tropical Storm Hanna and said, "Yo, Hanna! Babe! DC has been having the most amazing Summer in the history of the world. I really want to give my friends a treat on my moving day. Do you want to come over and spice things up for us? .... YOU DO?! Excellent. Let's see, I'm scheduled to move at 9. Would 8 AM work for you? Great. See you then!"

And so it was.

My awesome friends took all of the challenges of this move in stride, and were AMAZING! From my point of view it went really well! We all got really, really, and I DO mean REALLY WET. But nothing was ruined and no one got hurt or a cold, so in my book that counts as a resounding success! With any luck they'll stop cursing my name after I take them all out for a battery of very expensive lunches.

P.S. If you want to read the death-defying story of how the box springs were magicked up to our bedrooms, then check this out. There were at least 3 times when I thought for SURE someone was going to the hospital. Or the morgue.

P.P.S. Pictures of the new house will be coming soon. And BEST OF ALL, we have already christened it with the most perfect name.

ADHD of the Heart

"Hey!" Mustard said as I walked in the door. "I've got a surprise for you."

"Oh goody! I love surprises," I said before remembering that a Mustard-style surprise might be as welcome as a monster zit on your wedding day. "What'd you do? Reprogram the cable box so that every channel shows nothing but Sabado Gigante?"

"No, I didn't. But that's not a bad idea," he said getting that far away look in his eye that I've come to distrust deeply.

"So?" I prompted, "My surprise?"

"Oh riiiiiiiight. THE SURPRISE!" he said, adding with a mischievous little grin, "I've written you a song."

"A song?"

"Yes! A song, a ballad, a little ditty. To cheer your ugly mug up. I'm sort of sorry that online dating was such a bust. You know, as sorry as I get about anything, that is. I know you've been really sad about it."

"No I haven't."

"Uh-huh. You can't lie to me. I know. I have to live with you."

"I'm not lying. Really. I couldn't be happier that I'm done with the online dating. You didn't need to write me a cheer up song."

"Oh, but I did. I really did." When he gets this smug expression, there's no arguing with him. I sighed.

"So do I get to hear it or what? I didn't think you were very musical."

"I have many talents that you don't know anything about," he sniffed. "But I'll admit, I only provided new lyrics to Bonnie Tyler's most excellent Power Ballad, Total Eclipse of the Heart," he said, sinking down onto one knee to pay homage to the 80s classic.

"Put that lighter away before you melt yourself," I said.

"OK. Now, since this is sort of a duet, I'm going to need you to sing the "Turn Around" part. Can you handle that?"

"I think I can probably manage it." I said dryly.

"Great. Instead of saying "Turn Around" you're going to say, "Click Around." Got it?"

"Got it."

"Good," he said, all business. "And I only did one verse and the dramatic middle part - I don't have all day to focus my energy on your stupid problems. Here are the lyrics. Don't mess up."

"Ok. I'll try."

He stared at me.

"What?" I asked.

"You have to start," he whispered. Oh right. So after a rousing piano intro I started ....

click around
Every now and then you get a little bit lonely and you think you should see who's online
click around
Every now and then you're trolling profiles like a skanky cougar hoochiemama way past her prime
CLICK AROUND!
Every now and then you meet a guy who seems like he's perfect and everything he does looks right
Click around
Every now and then you picture your bright future sharing his kids with him and his shrewish ex-wife
Click AROUND, weird guys(?!)
Every now and then they're freaking tards!
Click around, weird guys
Every now and then they're freaking tards!!

And he's sending you weird texts
And he says you'd look good in leather
And if you'd only agree to be next
He'd buy a wedding dress made of pleather
And in only one date you'd be vexed
But to him that wouldn't matter.
Desperate just to meet you, he'd cross all the state lines
In your heart your sorry cuz he's weird and fifty-nine!
You don't know what to do, he's just so damn bizarre
Does he really think you want to spend your time talkin bout cars?!
You've gotta dump him tonight!
Being single's gonna start tonight!
Being single's gonna start tonight!

Once upon a time you would tolerate fools
Now it seems you don't have the art
Nothing you can do
You've ADHD of the Heart

ADHD of the Heart .... Click around, weird guys .... Click around, weird guys, Click arouuuuund

I hope you imagined him singing it with all of the hand-clasping, dramatic stopping, and knee-drops that belong in a Power Ballad. He did every one of them. It really amped up the emotion.

Gotta hand it to him though, I've got a regular Alan Menken on my hands over here. I know you are all WAY BEYOND jealous.

Baby Glam

Look at Cute Bridgette. Already bored with her illustrious career as a High Fashion Muse.



Poor thing. Not everyone is born the niece of a world-famous Baby Onesie designer. I keep assuring her that all of her hard work being drop dead gorgeous will be worth it when she hits the Gymboree sporting one of her fabulous new designer baby fashions. Any baby would be thrilled, simply thrilled (!) to wear any one of these from my "Vocabulous Onesie" collection:



A Zoom, please ....

So darling! And perfect for helping convey your every mood. Plus, its never too early to start building your vocabulary. No?

Of course, being the thoughtful Aunt that I am, I realized right away that being so glamorous and being related to moi would naturally throw sweet Bridgette into the harsh media spotlight. We all know how bad for your temperament, not to mention your complexion, running from the paparazzi can be. Simply dreadful!

So I made her this. A girl must have some down-time, after all.


Alas, there will still be some people -- like Grammas and Pop-Pops -- that WILL insist on doing all sorts of inappropriate things like pinching cheeks, nibbling baby toes, and giving zerberts on her little diva belly. These people have no shame. They think that they can just PLAY with an International Super Baby Model? Its shocking.

Fortunately, Mustard agrees with me that this kind of thing is completely unacceptable and has offered sweet Bridgette the protection she deserves from these thugs. To strike fear into the heart of these ne'er-do-wells, Bridgette now has this little graphic tee to let people know exactly who they're messing with if they just can't resist giving her tummy a little tickle-tickle.

"Mustard offers you his protection"

These people have to learn that you can't just go around man-handling the talent. You're just going to have to resist the irresistible! Consider yourself warned.

The rest of you can join me in thinking Bridgette is Absolutely Fabulous!



(Ok you guys. Confession time. I'm not really a famous baby onesie designer - but I DID make these baby onesies for my niece all by myself. And personally, I think they're crazy cute! I don't craft, obviously, so no one is more impressed that I successfully made these than me! I'll admit that I ripped the idea off from my Master-Craft-Blaster friend Erin. She's so clever. And crafty. And cute.)

Mustard's Guide to Beach Fashions

Mustard and I went to Ocean City, MD on Saturday for Maria's birthday bash. The day was hot. The waves were amazing. The chocolate-banana shake I got was out of this world! I'm a Pro-Beach Goer, so I know a spectacular beach experience when I see one. And THIS was a spectacular beach experience.

As a PBG, one of my sacred duties is to make sure that you, fair readers, make the most of your beach trips. By and large this is a pretty easy duty since simply being at the beach will guarantee that your quality of life just went up around 300%. But still, I want to do what I can to make sure you really relish your time there. And I'm sure you'll agree with me that if you're not dressed appropriately for the occasion ... well, it kinda ruins the whole thing.

So, Mustard, being the philanthropic guy that he is agreed to help me model some of the most stunning beach fashions.

Here I am, in a Whoops-I-Ate-Too-Many-Cheeseburgers-This-Week One Piece bathing suit and matching board shorts. All jiggly parts should be restrained if at all possible. Double-knit Lyrca is your friend, ladies.


Mustard caught a ride with me as we cruised the Boardwalk seeking the best fashions The OC has to offer.



We were certainly not disappointed.

Perhaps you'll recognize the designer ripped jeans below from the Spring Fashion Show in Milan? They were all the rage there, and now they've come here for us to covet. So chic! So trashy! So in love!


Haute Couture isn't for everyone though, I understand. So here are some perennial beach fashions that even the most fashionably backward of us can easily don:

The Shell Necklace (Shark tooth can be substituted for the shells, if you want to convey a tough-guy image):


The Beach Hair Wrap:

Both are completely ESSENTIAL to proper beach accessorizing. Don't leave your beach mat with out them.

Some people just have an innate sense of Beach Fashion. Don't you just hate them!??! This fellow has got the whole package working for him: Flowing shirt, fanny pack, glasses dangling artfully from their lanyard, almost concealed knee-brace, fishing hat dangling casually from that gorgeous fanny pack, and socks pulled up as high as they can go? YES! And PLEASE! C'est Magnifique! Iloveyou! MUAH!


One of the great things about the beach is that if you only have clothes from the 80s you'll fit RIGHT IN! This is the land that time forgot. So pull out that banana clip and wear it with pride. You'll feel right at home surrounded by the 80s fashions below:

Here we've got some v. fashionable sunglasses.

For him:

And for her:




Wish you had somewhere to wear your terry cloth sweatband? What about your day glow footwear? Check, and Check.



And of course, no beach wardrobe is complete without an evening look. Sophisticated, glamorous, sparkley, laced up, AND coordinates with your beer cup? Perfection!


I need hardly mention that the one thing you should always be wearing at the beach is a smile! A perma-grin, like the one Maria is modeling here is your best option.


Now go out there and get your Beach on with confidence, my little fashionistas!

WWMD?

Earlier this evening my cellphone beeped to tell me I'd gotten a text message. I automatically groaned. Mustard looked up from the model plane he's building and said, "What was that for?"

"It's my text message stalker. He sends me the most pointless texts. I Haaaaaate it." I replied. Mustard just shrugged and turned back to his model, but it occurred to me that I need a little bit of advice on how to squelch this stalker. Ruthless advice would be best. And who better to give ruthless advice than our own dear Mustard?

"Listen," I said, "you're a guy, er ... sort of. Maybe you can help. This is the fourth text I've gotten from him today. Every single one of them said, 'Morning' - even the one I got at 8:45 at night. What am I supposed to do with that?"

"Did you respond?" he asked.

"No. He doesn't give me anything to respond to! What am I supposed to say back? Hi? I have to pay 10 cents a text, and I don't want to say hi to him at all, let alone pay 10 cents to say hi. In fact, ALL of his texts are a greeting of some sort: 'Hey', 'Yo girl', 'What's up?' A couple of times I tried to get some conversation going by responding back with 'Hey, what are you up to?' and do you want to know what he said to me? '6 2 200!' Which took me about 5 minutes to figure out means 6'2" 200lbs."

Mustard raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, I know. RETARDED, right?"

"Mentally" he agreed.

"I finally started being mean to him and saying things like, 'Do you ever say anything beside different variants of hello?' and do you know what he wrote back? 'Yes.' That was it! Just 'Yes.' And he's still sending these hello-style texts. Its been about two weeks now. I don't respond and he won't stop!" I concluded.

"Well, Gretchen, I'm glad you've come to me for advice." and he drew up a little closer. "You think you're being mean by sending a nicely worded message subtly highlighting that his texting style is irritating, but what you don't understand is that giant morons don't understand subtle. You're essentially saying, 'tee-hee-hee, silly boy, you say hi a lot.' but what his giant moron ears hear is, 'You are clever and charming and I love it that you say hi all the time because I'm as needy as you are!' This form of female-male conversation is pretty common. I'm surprised you don't speak idiot-man fluently by now."

I grinned. This is exactly what I needed to hear.

"But it looks like what you've got on your hands here is actually pretty rare. Looks like you've got a genuine ass face loser. Can I say ass face? No? Well sorry. You might need to get a little more comfortable with profanity if you want my advice in the future. Anyway, the point is that this guy seems like he's a real tool. A doofus. An idiotic twit. A ..."

"Right, I get it. How do I get rid of him?"

"You've got to spell it out for him. Don't let there be any room for confusion or misunderstanding. You've got to idiot proof it. Obviously.... Because he is an idiot." he clarified, in case he hadn't spelled it out well enough for me.

"I see." and I did. His logic is irrefutable. "And what if he keeps texting me?" I asked not relishing the idea of the straightforward message I would have to send.

"If that fails then you think, What Would Mustard Do?"

I looked at him expectantly. What would Mustard do?

He looked back with a "no-duh" look on his face and said, "Swear at him. Then block him. Then swear again, for emphasis. Man! It's like you don't know me at all!" And he turned back with a humph to glue the propeller onto his plane.

I sighed, picked up my phone, and chanting "WWMD, WWMD" sent a VERY straightforward text.

Blogging at Sword Point

I've been in the habit of taking a nice little snooze on my sofa after work for the past couple of days. Tonight I was heartily snoozing away, when I felt a little prickle at the end of my nose. I peeled a eyelid open to see Mustard sitting on my chest poking his sword-shaped sandwich toothpick into my nose region.


(He's been hauling this sword around with him everywhere ever since he got it at last week's Peep Show. He pokes anything that comes within a 6 inch radius of him.)

"Quit it." I said. And closed my eyes again.

Poke.

"Go ahead. Keep it up." I threatened sleepily.

POKE.

"Seriously, Mustard. I'm napping here. Don't you know that my naps are nothing to trifle with?"

POKE! POKE! POKE!

"Alright." I said, giving up. "WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

"You've been promising to post my Peep Show pictures for a week now." He said testily. "And here you are, SLEEPING. Which you know, is exactly the opposite of POSTING."

I groaned. "You're right, you're right. I know you're right. But I don't think you understand how time consuming my hobbies have gotten lately. The online dating, and the real dating, and then having a job that actually requires me to work at it!? And don't even get me started on the gym."

"Blah, blah, blah. So what if you're spending 2 hours at the gym every night? Sure, you need it, but I don't see why your fat ass should have to come between me and my fans." He snorted.

"Fans? What fans? Need I remind you that you, dear Mustard, are a glorified condiment? Don't be giving me a hard time for being dedicated." I snorted right back.

"Pshish." He waved his sword in an irritating la-di-da kind of way, and said, "Honey, I may be a condiment, but without me you'd be one of those run of the mill middle-aged single girl rant blogs. Talk about overdone! AND ... need I remind you how many times people say to you, 'Hey, what's up with Mustard?' So don't go acting like you're ALL THAT. We both know where the talent lies in this operation."

"You," I grumbled, "are such an irritating little .... "

"Yes," he cut in with his winning little smile, "But you know you love me anyway. You are my Number One fan! And of course, I am totally like YOUR Number One fan. So will you pleeeeaaase post my pictures now?" he wheedled.

I sighed and said, "Fine. But only because I do owe it to MY fans. Now get off of my chest. And never stick that sword anywhere near my face again."

He grinned, hopped down, and said, "Okay, Okay. It's a deal. NOW! Less talking! More Typing!"

So now, I present you with some highlights of the Peep Show. Camie does a much better job chronicling the event.

Ok here is Mustard, Rockin the Socks off his "Fans" with an Axel Rose inspired scarf, a princess crown (cuz he's kind of a diva), some metallic pants (which he hated!), and his sandwich sword (which he has not set down once.)



Mustard is backed up by some peep bunny back up dancers ... but really, this is just a place for him to be his regular exhibitionist self.

When he wasn't Rockin the Mic, Mustard was swapping trade secrets with this Viet Cong Chook, in the Peep Ode to Torture and the Vietnam Prison Camp.



While the rest of us were laughing and chatting, I walked over to where Mustard and the Viet Cong Chook were whispering, and I swear to you I heard Mustard say, "Really? So you just drip water on their foreheads for hours and that classifies as torture? Huh. I wouldn't have EVER imagined such a thing." That was when I knew it was time to go before he got any more ideas.

Later in the car, Mustard expressed his disappointment in me that I hadn't chosen this theme to portray him in all of his manly manlitude. I told him I didn't care. I like rock concerts. Deal with it.

And actually, since he's practicing dealing with things, he's going to have to deal with the fact that those are all of the pictures I'm going to post. What can I say? Lazy is the new Pink.

Not Sure What To Write About

I've written four draft posts tonight. I just can't settle on what pointless drivel I want to share with you today. Here are your choices ... what's catching your fancy?

Would you rather hear about the Fire Sale I'm holding in my new work cubicle? (Anyone need Gregorian Chant records to play on their Victrola? But one of the rare finds available.)

Or perhaps you'd rather get the low-down on the mustard festival happening in California. Mustard is dying to go.

It's Lent tomorrow. What am I gonna do about that? Hmmm??

Oh wait, what am I thinking, I'm sure what you REALLY want to know is which 'Britney Spears Are You?' (choices: Mouseketeer, Wild Child, Sexpot, Mommy. Anyone wanna place a bet?)

It's hard to choose, isn't it? Welcome to my world.

I (hate) Vitamins

I am the worlds worst vitamin taker. I know this because I have a trucker hat with the words World's Worst Vitamin Taker on it.

I haaaaaaate taking vitamins. It is one of those things that I decide I should do and so I buy a bottle take about 2 of them, and then fall out of the routine. About four years later I'll pick up the bottle only to find that it expired in 2001. I'm not exaggerating about that. Last fall I had to teach a young women lesson on "being healthy" and taking vitamins was one of the suggestions. So I said, "Well, I better practice what I preach" and went to the medicine cabinet and pulled out a full bottle of vitamins that expired in 2001. Meaning that it, like Mustard, came along for the ride on at least 4 moves. Unlike Mustard, I threw these nasty vitamins into the trash with a glint of triumph in my eye. Nasty vitamins!

The thing is, I should really be taking vitamins. I'm not known for being the most ... er ... nutritious eater. I didn't drink milk throughout my entire 20s, so unless there's a LOT of calcium in cheese pizza I think I'm in trouble.

Hi there, Osteoporosis. I'm Gretchen. I'm introducing myself now because we're gonna be good friends.

What I want to know why they can't make vitamins more fun to take? I think I'd be much more excited about it if they had Flintstone's vitamins for adults. Don't adults need to be bribed with purple Dinos and pink Wilmas too? (yes, they do.)

This vitamin problem is just one example of how getting old and having to take better care of your body is completely devoid of joy.

The Best of A Quiet Year

In no particular order ...

Berkeley Springs Water Festival

A new side career as a writer

Chocolate Banana shakes at the Beach

Cancun (even though I left Camie for dead when she fell in the shower. Sorry 'bout that!)

Antics with Mustard

Finally achieving Full-Fledged American status by going to the Grand Canyon.


Got an iPod and NetFlix. (Maybe next year I'll join the modern world and get TiVo.)

Bashing around DC. I really do love this city!

Blogging (don't think I'm pathetic if I tell you that it can be the highlight of my day!)

Looking forward to being Great-In-O-Eight! (I'm cringing a little bit right now that I actually wrote that. Could I be any more cheesy? eeek.)

Happy Bloggiversary!

One year old! My blog is One Year old today!

Since Mustard and I are friends only because of this blog we thought it would be appropriate to celebrate together. So we went to The Ultimate Birthday Place, Chuck-E-Cheese Pizza, and had a pizza-eating and skee-ball contest. I gave it a valiant try, but Mustard ate me under the table with a disgusting One and a HALF pizzas. I don't know where he puts it all.

But. Justice was served when I completely schooled him at skee-ball. And won some flippin sweet jelly bracelets for my trouble.

It's been a good year, Blog dear. I thought I was going to get a little emotional, thinking back over the year and all of the good times we had. But I didn't. Oh well. Maybe next year.

Thanks, internets, for all of the fun times this year! Shall we go for two?

7 Things About Mustard

Julie tagged Mustard to tell us 7 things we don't know about him. Since Mustard doesn't have any fingers with which to type, I agreed to be his scribe. Here is the transcript:

"Ok, Mustard, we need 7 things that people don't know about you yet."

"Hmm. Let me think. Ok. Well, first of all, I'm AWESOME. And then there's number two in which I am AWESOME. And Thirdly, some friends are apt to describe me as Totally Freaking Awesome."

"No, no, none of those are going to work. You've got to be serious about this. You can't just say that you are awesome for all seven things. Try again."

"Well I think that's limiting my creative output."

"Too bad. Think of something else."

"Fine. .... Alright, here's one. I like Kung Fu movies."

"My, my. That's a surprise."

"Are you being sarcastic? Just write it down."

"No, that's a good one. Keep your pants on, I'm writing it down."

1. I like Kung Fu movies

"OK, what's number 2?"

"Well, I love racing. Racing is my favorite."

"Racing? Like car racing?"

"Sure, cars, running, eating, drinking whatever. I like to win and the best way to win is to race."

2. I love racing to win at anything.

"OK, that's a pretty good one. Think of another."

"OH! Here's one. When you're at work I like to print out pictures of trees and nests and stuff and then prop them up on the window sill and see if I can trick any birds to try to land there. It's hilarious when they smack into the window going full speed. hahaha!"

"Are you kidding me?!"

"No, it's SO funny. Next time you have a sick day we'll do it. I can teach you how to do some wicked good bird calls."

"You're a little bit of a sick-o, you know that, right?"

"What? They don't get hurt. It gets boring here all day. Besides they like it. It's like a wake up call."

3. I spend my days taunting birds so they'll run into the windows.

"What's next Hannibal Lecter? Maybe think of something less violent. Like your favorite music or color or something."

"Ok. Let's see. My favorite music is smooth jazz. And my fav- "

"WHAT? You're favorite music is SMOOTH JAZZ?"

"Yeah, what's wrong with that?"

"Everything. Everything is wrong with that. Smooth Jazz is like the opposite of good music. Where did you even hear any smooth jazz?"

4. Inexplicably, I like Smooth Jazz.

"Hey! I didn't say 'inexplicably'. Erase that. Don't be such a hater. ANYWAY, as I was saying, my favorite color is blue. Like the blue on my label. I think it complements my skin tone very well. Don't you?"

"Oh yes, you're ravishing, dahling. Ravishing!"

5. My favorite color is royal blue.

"Alright, you have five. You're in the home stretch. Try to think of two more."

"Hmmm. This is kind of hard. Any more suggestions?"

"Er, Boxers or Briefs? Ewww - strike that, I can't even think about that. Let's stick with pet peeves. Got any of those?"

"Do I have pet peeves? I am entirely comprised of pet peeves. Let's see. My worst pet peeve is when people put the toilet paper roll in so it drapes behind rather than over the top. May the Hammer of Thor protect you if you ever take to installing it that way."

6. I hate it when the TP roll is put in backwards.

"Ok, but what are you doing worrying about toilet paper?"

"I use it as a jungle vine when I'm playing Tarzan in the bathroom. When it drapes from behind there's no traction, so the roll just unrolls and I can't get a good swing in. It's totally annoying."

"Uh-huh. I see. Ok. Let's finish this up. I think I've learned just about enough about you for one day."

"Alright. My seventh thing is that I'm totally AWESOME!"

"Didn't I tell you that you couldn't use that one?"

"You said I couldn't use it for ALL of them. Not that I couldn't use it for one of them. And besides it's the truth."

"Man, I hate it when you are right."

7. I am totally AWESOME!!

And there you have it. 7 things you may not have known about Mustard, and frankly probably never wanted to know about him. Boy, am I glad we're done with that exercise. I think I like him better when he's entertaining himself by strutting around the apartment practicing wrestling poses.

Introducing Mustard Skywalker

Last week when Mustard and I were in Arizona, I sat my slacker family down and said, "Listen. I've been to all of the malls here. Arizona no longer holds any mystery for me. There's only one thing left in this state that I need to see. Tomorrow morning, we're all getting up early and we're going to the Grand Canyon."

"But it's really far!" they cried.

"No matter." I responded coolly. "I've made an executive decision. Mustard, prepare yourself. Tomorrow we're going to the Sky Walk. It's this cool glass bridge that extends, unsupported mind you, out over the Grand Canyon. And it's got a glass floor so you can look down like 4000 feet. It's going to totally freak us out!"

Mustard's little head whipped around so fast he almost twisted off his safety seal, "Did you say Sky Walk?" I nodded. "So once we go on this thing, we will be 'Sky Walkers'?"

"Yeah, I suppose so."

"This is going to be so awesome! Road Trip! .... Star Wars style." And he skated off singing the Imperial March.

"Whatever you say, little dude." I said, rolling my eyes.

Accordingly, we got up bright and early and started out on our trek. Mustard hasn't gone on a road trip before and he enjoyed it. He played the license plate game, and slug bug, but most of all he liked sitting up in the front "with the men".



He loved to watch the GPS navigation map and say, "Stay on target! Stay on target!" And then my brother would chime in with, "UH! But I was going to go down to Tosche Station to pick up some power converters!"

I guess it's because he's only had me to hang out with (and heaven knows I'm no male role model) but he really bonded with my dad and brother. They had all kinds of man talk going on up in the front seat. Football, yard work, power tools. That kind of junk. It was good for him. And I was happy to let them jabber away up there, while I chatted with my mom in the back seat about sophisticated topics such as books and the rockin swing coat I got in Mexico.

Mustard especially took to my dad. Here they are when we stopped for sodas having a veritable father-son talk.


It really was a long drive, and the last TWENTY MILES on a dirt road didn't help any. But we finally arrived at Grand Canyon West.

The Hualapai Tribe runs the show charging a pretty penny, but ultimately delivering an enjoyable experience.

Mustard enjoyed the entertainment provided by this native dancer and flute dude. But he was disappointed that they wouldn't play "Freebird". I had to let him pick out a Dream Catcher from the gift shop before he perked up again.


We boarded a bus to take us to the various vista points: Eagle Point, the Sky Walk, and Guano Point.


For some reason Mustard kept saying "Guano" over and over again. "Guano. Guano. Haha. Guaaanoooo." He is such an idiot.

We arrived at the Sky Walk and had to relinquish ALL of our personal effects before being allowed to go out onto the bridge. But it was seriously cool! It was hard to realize just how high we were, with no cars or people below to put it all into perspective. But occasionally a hawk would be sailing around below and then I'd grip the rail a little tighter and say, "Damn kids, we're like crazy high! If we fell from here we'd definitely die." They don't call me Captain Obvious for nothing.

Here's the Sky Walk ...


It was all very peaceful as we enjoyed the canyon winds and the raw power of the nature below us. Peaceful, that is, until Mustard got out there.

"YOU ARE NOT MY FATHER!!!!" he cried making light saber noises and thrashing around all over the bridge.

"Mustard, what are you doing?"

"I'm fighting the Dark Side, woman!" more thrashing and saber thrusts. "And HELLO!" he paused his slide tackles to tell me sincerely, "My name is now Mustard SKYWALKER!"

Wherin Thanksgiving Inspires Me to Give Thanks

Thanksgiving Vacation is sadly, so sadly, coming to a close. Le sigh.

In a way I'm sort of happy to see it go. As far as Thanksgivings go it was a bit of a rough one for me.

It all started at about 3AM on Thursday morning when I woke up and said to myself, "You know, I could really go for a nice vomit right about now. That would really hit the spot."

This is weird for two reasons. First, it is against my religion to wake up in the middle of the night. Once I'm down, I'm down for the count. Second, puking my guts out isn't really my idea of a great way to spend, well, any amount of time really. And if it must be done, it should be done at a convenient time like when I'm at work or something. ("No, I will NOT rewrite that project proposal -- Baaaarrrfff! -- So there!") Puking should under no circumstances interrupt my precious sleep time.

So I was surprised at how nonplussed I was to trot down the hall to worship at the porcelain throne. I practically skipped there.

But even though the first trip was sort of my idea, my body took over after that and thought it was Great Fun to send me running, and I mean RUNNING whenever it thought I wasn't paying attention. The element of surprise was its favorite tactic, it seemed. From 3AM to 9AM my brother's house was turned into a track meet as I sprinted around corners and hurtled over couches in and effort to avert disaster.

So I spent much of the day in bed. It was essentially the Thanksgiving that was the opposite of all that Thanksgiving should be. No playing Mayflower with the kids that came over, no nonchalant picking in the stuffing, no decorative napkin folding. And most heart wrenching of all, no desire to eat so much I wanted to puke. Which is just wrong. So wrong.

And yet, oddly, I gave thanks. Many thanks, as a matter of fact.

I was thankful to be at my brother and sister-in-law's house for several reasons, but foremost among them was that since my SIL has been combating morning sickness they were well stocked with saltines and ginger ale. The closest thing I have at my house to invalid food is penne pasta and Diet Coke. I have no jello, no juice, no bread, not even any medicines that haven't passed their 'Use By' date. So I was thankful that I wasn't at my house where I would have ended up a dessicated husk of a person.

I was also extremely thankful to have so many hands on deck. I had a steady stream of people coming in to check on me. And I'm here to tell you, I may talk a big game about being a sassy independent single chick, but in the face of illness I'm a total wuss. I felt no shame about blatantly using my Mom to do the simplest things for me. I'd just lay there and yell, "Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!" until she'd come check on me. And then I'd ask her to pass me my juice box. It's been a long time since I've been sick and had my Mom around to fuss over me (in that perfect not-too-fussy way that Moms have) and I took full advantage. I appreciated it so much I told her that I'd forgiven her for calling me the "weirdest of all of her weird children." And yes, I've forgiven her. But I have not forgotten. I will never forget. You hear me, Mother? Never! (Mostly because it's totally NOT TRUE! My brothers and sisters are so much weirder than I have ever been.)

So, all in all, it was a thankful Thanksgiving. Even though I wasn't thankful for normal things like a turkey leg and mountains of mashed potatoes and had to settle to be thankful for stupid stuff like 'good health' and a 'loving family'. Sheesh. Is that the lamest thing you've ever heard or what? Like I said, it was a rough Thanksgiving.

FYI, you'll be pleased to hear that Mustard wasn't put out by my illness. I caught him trying to make off with this pie while everyone was watching football.


Oh he tried to backpedal by telling me he was "bringing it to me because I didn't get any." I wasn't buying it, however. He wouldn't bring me pie if I were on my death bed. Fortunately for him, I didn't have the energy to stay mad at him, the little stinker.

I hope you all had just as Thankful if much less Pukey Thanksgiving as I did!