Really important things that are on my mind.

Important thing number 1.

What does a $2.95 bottle of walmart Cabernet taste like. I'll find that out tonight. More later. It has a pretty label - does that count ?

Important thing number 2.
Two small people in this house are wearing diapers. Someone took a dump. Because both of these people are napping, I have to wait to see how it all turns out. More later.

Important thing number 3.

We are going out tonight to celebrate a new writing gig. I thought I was a featured blogger on a website, but today instead of being posted in the blog, it was posted as an article. With photos. I have no idea what's going on. I shall have to email my editor and ask what's going on. More later.

Important thing number 4.

For our celebratory dinner, we are going out for lobster - something I haven't eaten in a year. I love lobster. My husband's father used to have lobster traps, and I gorged myself on lobster during the lobstering season. Lobster salad, hot and cold lobster rolls, baked stuffed lobster, any and all lobster was welcome. But the pacific lobster SUUUUUUUCKS. So I have been lobsterless.

Very very sad.

But lo and behold, there is a place in Kona raising Maine lobsters. They call them "Maine Kona Lobsters" and that just makes me laugh, and then want to eat lobster. So lobster it is. I wonder if it will taste different then Maine Maine lobsters. In Maine. More later.

Important thing number 5.

Tomorrow, in celebration of Trouble's birthday, I am attending her spin class. I am petrified, but want to show my support of her status as certified spin instructor. Except I keep referring to it as "pedaling class" and I think she's getting pissed off. The detail weighing most heavily on my mind is "how bad is my crotch going to hurt after class ?" I am guessing it'll hurt a lot. More later.

Important thing number 6.

I am seriously contemplating selling the wagon, since everything still works great and I think I am pushing my luck by hanging on to it any longer. I mean, who am I kidding, driving a BMW. Yeah, it's used, yeah it has a ton of miles, yeah, the inside was destroyed by the previous owner's dog, yeah I got it for cheap......but let's be serious.

That said, I don't think I can do it. I love that car, and my heated seats, and the fact that when I hit the gas pedal that thing takes off like a shot. I just can't quit you, German mom mobile. Parting is such sweet, sweet sorrow. More later.

Important thing number 7.

My neighbor gave the kids a bag of home made cookies yesterday. Is it OK if I just go ahead and eat them all ? Because I am pretty sure that is what's going to happen........

................more later.

Itchy and Bitchy

I am having the most ridiculous weekend, and I am just so glad I didn't take my leave from this whirlwind and head off to BlogHer's festivities.

In short order, the shit I would have missed:
Girl's night which involved following directions that started with "OK, so head towards the jail, but right before you get there, make a left." Turns out, the prisoners in Maui live in a really nice neighborhood, surrounded by some hot real estate. Bastards.

Rollerskating on Friday, which launched with my getting completely hammered on one happy hour margarita during pre-skate dinner. Lethal.

Trying to buy a leash for Max's new-to-him surfboard, which was purchased in a tiny garage-come-storefront under the "Jesus, Coming Soon" sign. The shopkeeper was an enormous man who did not feel inclined to wear a shirt in his place of business. Also, showering ? Totally over rated.

Willow's tattoo party. I wore a short skirt and my city-livin, break 'em out for special occasions knee-high boots, and got me some ink in the master bedroom while festivities ensued in the living room. My ink was located on my right breast, fulfilling my "all tattoos must be covered by a bathing suit" guidelines. The location of the tatto also made the inking a very well-attended portion of the evening - and well documented. More on that later. I also mooned a car approaching the house, that I thought was driven by my friend. It was not my friend's car. It's a shame, that.

Opening the restaurant at 7am - AFTER the party. Not good. Not good at all. Spent the entire shift faking a smile and wincing every time I had boob to bra contact. And muttering things like "my tit hurts" as I made other people bloody marys that I needed pretty desperately for myownself.

So SEE ? It's good that I didn't go. If I had gone, I wouldn't have had this kick-ass Maui weekend.

BlogHurt

Here's my big BlogHer announcement.
I don't really know what BlogHer is, and I am not going to Chicago for their annual convention.

Which didn't bother me at all until a friend from college who lives in Chi-town had a baby 2 days ago and he looks like he smells good and would be nice to cuddle and now I am kicking myself for not planning to go to Chicago for a convention that I don't totally understand and completely intimidates me. And now of course, the ladies that ARE at BlogHer are posting pictures of all of the fun and swag and parties and I am devastated because seriously, there is nothing I like better then a hotel room party with lots of booze and giveaways. But I wouldn't know where to begin, and I don't know anyone who will be there and no one asked me to go and like I said, I am still a little unclear on what BlogHer is all about.

But all of the big names will be there, and they should be pretty drunk by now so if you are looking for a good time I would head for the Sheraton in Chicago and look for the hordes of drunk women wearing wigs.

When I read a blog, I just assume that the blogger has been blogging for years, and then I learn they started their blog on a whim 6 months ago and now they have 400 followers and multiple advertisers and they are on a panel at BlogHer and they have all of these bloggy friends and I am all "What the fuck am I doing wrong?" And the answer is "Not Going to BlogHer" apparently.

So next year I am totally going. Maybe.

Stoney Maloney and other tales of high adventure

So yesterday ? When I was obnoxiously, spazztically energetic, to the point that I gave myself the spins ?

THAT was yesterday.

Today, you'll be pleased to know, I reverted back to my usual "no plan, man" persona.

Ahhh. Reunited and it feels so gooooood. I got up, packed lunches and snacks and waters and went out to breakfast, then over to the west side to lie around for 4 hours in the sun with another mom and her boys. Good Times. I got a few calls in response to the ad I placed looking to buy a longboard, and connected with a guy who is selling me his board tomorrow which left me free to relax and not worry about meeting anyone today. Max borrowed one of the other kid's boards and caught his first solo wave - which was the most amazing thing I have ever experienced as a parent, watching my kid stand up on a wave and just FLY. Amazing is actually not the best word. I was enthralled, and also so excited FOR HIM that I had to just leap out of my seat and whoop and holler and scream and clap and dance around in a little circle because I could just FEEL how excited he was and I was so glad I was there for that moment because he was so fucking PROUD OF HIMSELF. It was awesome.

So we were all relaxed and lazy and getting a little burned but nothing crazy because we don't want to look all weathered and leathery you know, we were just kinda pink cheeked and there was a nice breeze and then
HOLY HELL SOME KID STARTED SCREAMING LIKE JAWS HAD JUST COME ASHORE.

Talk about buzz kill. Rumors flew that he had stepped on a sea urchin or gotten stung by a man-o-war and frankly, I didn't hang around long enough to get a straight story. We were up in a flash looking for the kids, and I was packing up to go home and herding the kids back to the car.

It was good that we left when we did because I had to drag my ass home and get a platter together for a party, and bake some cupcakes - which I did with great success, thankyouVERYmuch. We made it to the party on time with platter, cupcakes AND camera....and had a fine old time right up until the DJ showed up and the music got really loud and I overheard some guy say "no more for me, I'm Stoney Maloney" and you know what I just didn't even want to know. I tracked the kids down in a bedroom watching Alvin and the Chipmunks ((((shudder)))) and made our way out the front door, slowing down only to grap chocolate dipped strawberries and my Tupperware. We were so outta there. I don't think Stoney Maloney minded that we left, he had eaten all the cupcakes by then anyway.

We piled in the car giggling and lickiing our fingers, turned on our favorite song "Kick out the Jams" by MC5, and took off for home with the stars shining bright and the waves crashing in the distance as we sang along at the top of our lungs "ITS TIME TO KICK OUT THE JAMS, MOTHERFUCKERS" except Lucy doesn't know what the words are, or what motherfucker means anyway, so after she yells "JAMS" she just starts to shriek and shake her head violently. Max knows exactly what the words are, and sings them with gusto - but Lucy totally drowns him out so I think it's all good.

In retrospect, the best part of today is that while it was seriously a ZERO stress day, I remembered to do what I needed to do, brought what I needed to bring to the places I needed to go, and got a ton of stuff done between relaxin', which was awesome and such a relief.

So moral of the story is, you don't have to run around like a complete ass to get things accomplished. You can chill out, and enjoy your kids and your surroundings and your friends and family and STILL manage to get to the bank and make a sandwich platter. And you don't even HAVE to be Wonderwoman although you totally can be if you want because, well....that's fucking hot.

In which I am incredibly productive before 9am. Huzzah !

(after writing all of this I re-read it and it sounds like I am on speed but I AM NOT. Just sayin'.)

Today was one for the record books, where I woke up and actually cleaned the kitchen before I had even had a cup of COFFEE and dragged my stupidly huge vacuum across the house and then (hold on to your hats) I PLUGGED THAT FUCKER IN AND VACUUMED.

I did, swear to god.

And my mother wasn't even coming to visit. I just did it. (Because someone else was coming over, but that is beside the point, the point is that I was productive in relation to housework, before 8am. It truly boggles the mind.)

So, yay me ! After vacuuming, I was on some kind of motivational high (all-natural, of course) and I got really industrious. I sorted out all of our plastic grocery bags (because even with my handy-dandy ChicoBag I still end up with a shit-ton of plastic grocery bags which I despise). I sorted them and every bag that did not say Walmart or KMart or Foodland or have some other brand name printed on them was stuffed into a cloth shopping bag (Oh ! The IRONY !) and put in the car to be dropped off at the cafe for take-out orders. Because our town is technically "plastic bag free" but no one said anything about RECYCLED BAGS and so I think it's OK. It's probably not, but let's just say that it is.

And for the record, I don't get paid by Chico Bags to promote them, I just love them and think everyone should have them. You should. Have one. A Chico Bag, that is. Seriously. Go get one now. I'll wait. Choose a good color, m'kay ? "Cause the color of your Chico Bag says a lot about you ! No pressure !

OK, and we're back. After my great plastic bag adventure, I dragged the vacuum back down the hall (carefully avoiding eye contact with the rest of the house that also seriously (SERIOUSLY) needed a vacuum, because what am I, a fucking superhero ? Are you people never satisfied ? It's not even 9am and I vacuumed the kitchen and living room. I'm D O N E).

And then I went into my bedroom, stepping over a monstrous pile of clean laundry (all of my laundry issues revolve around clean laundry, by the way. I am HAPPY to wash the clothes, but put them away ? Not so much. And then I have a nasty habit of leaving wet clothes in the washing machine for days on end before I remember them because I have run out of underpants but again, do I look like Wonderwoman ? Really ? You think so ? I mean, I have noticed some similarities and I love her hair but - wait a minute, you're messing with me. Nice. Very nice.)

AS I WAS SAYING I stepped over a huge pile of clean laundry and then pulled a basket of folded clean clothes onto the floor and dumped it out and pulled out at least a half dozen bathing suits to be taken to the resale shop because even though my mother thinks it's gross and I can't actually handle it myself, lots of people buy used bathing suits. Apparently.

Then I put them in another tote bag and brought THAT down to the car to take with me to town.

I know, I am blowing MYSELF away with my efficiency and organization.

Then I got a champagne stopper for Marn and put that in my purse to be delivered later, and sorted out a bunch of clean laundry that was only sitting in the washer for about 23 hours and so had managable mildew-funk which I ignored and threw in the dryer anyway so that the clean laundry actually smelled kind of dirty but because it was technically clean I went with it. And if anyone has a problem they can SUCK IT.

THEN I screwed around on Facebook for 3 hours because MY GOD I was exhausted from doing so much so quickly.

And after all of that it was only 12:15 and I thought MY GOD I have the whole day ahead of me so I went right over to my friend's house and picked up her two boys because my house was clean and I just couldn't stand it for another minute so I needed to get at least two extra sets of dirty wet grass-covered feet in my house to make sure that there was NO SIGN OF CLEANLINESS. So I had 4 wet grassy sweaty kids drinking Gatorade and running around like they had just drank their weight in energy drinks and all was well.

I also managed to drop off the RECYCLED plastic bags at my work and my boss told me what a good job I had done yesterday and then right after that he farted while we were both in his very small office just the two of us and so I yelled at him for farting and he laughed like the sick fuck that he is and I stormed out and I am probably going to hear that story every day for the next 2 weeks because he thought it was so funny that he offended me and I stormed out.

And then all of a sudden it was late afternoon and the boys were going home and Max had tae kwon do and just to keep things interesting while he was at the dojo I went to the bank, the resale shop, and Walmart (where they gave me another plastic bag....CURSES !)

In the midst of all of this I also submitted a proposal to 2 magazines, chose a head shot, and read US magazine.

Tomorrow I am going to have a bloody mary at 8am and go straight to the beach so don't even thnk about asking me to vacuum because it's not going to happen.

It started out fine and ended with Miller time.

I just drank an MGD, y'all.

I don't think I have ever actually *had* a Miller Genuwine Draft Beer. (And yes, I DO spell it that way thankyouverymuch. Gen-You-Wine.)

I hadn't actually had one until tonight, that is. At the Crusty Crab. (Which is another long story.)

It turns out, MGD tastes like piss. Which makes sense, because it also LOOKS like piss. Not. Impressed.

So then, I ordered a roll - a tempura-ed California roll. Good GOD it was awful. The whole situation was just ridiculous. I'm sitting there in a sushi joint located in the middle of a parking lot, at 11pm, drinking MGD and eating crappy sushi and thinking "How the hell did THIS happen. And why am I the designated driver ?"

Luckily, I had *stunning* scarlet red lips (Bethany said so) and freshly trimmed bangs, which made everything much easier to bear.

And the sushi is not any better an hour later, cold, after a car ride in a styrofoam box.

I'm eating it anyway, but I'm just saying.

Are you there, Internet ? It's me, Daffodil.

The internet is a funny place. A wealth of information (and MISinformation, I might add) and a place where total strangers can connect.

Rife with possibilities.


Today, I went to write a new post, and there was a COMMENT ! To be MODERATED ! For the SECOND TIME THIS WEEK. It blew me off my seat. No one comments here at Adventures in Paradise. At least, not in a great long while....and even then, the comments were from my beloved Aunt, my darling sister in law, or far-flung friends. Even my brothers steer clear. (Have you noticed ? Ouch, I have. And yet, one brother links to his blog like, eleventy-billion times a week on Facebook. So hell yeah I noticed.) I wonder if it is because everyone is just sitting there, slowly shaking their heads at what I write and then saying "Fuck, she is out of her head" and backing slowly away from the site, hoping I haven't captured their ISP and that they can slip out under the radar.



Ain't nobody here but us chickens.

Until this week ! Oh, joy of joys, someone new ! Brittany has joined the flock, and she was willing to admit it publicly and I LOVE HER for it. *mwah* And Braja, who is someone I have read for a while, and feel so touched to have come to visit lil ol' me with all of her hundreds of followers, and world reknown. You can excuse me for feeling giddy.

And then I went to facebook and I had a Friend Request !

I know, I know....I couldn't believe it either - today is My Lucky Day. I must remember these underpants for future endeavors that call for an adoring fan base.

Can you feel the love ? I ask you.....CAN YOU FEEL THE LOVE TONIGHT ??????

So I click on my friend request, and it's......Bob. From England. 50-ish. He's in a relationship, moderates some health blogs, and he wants to be my friend. I'll just bet you do, Bob.


Because he does not meet either of my requirements:
1. I must know the person personally, or have mutual facebook friends so I can check your references; and
2. They cannot be old enough to be my parent
I responded to Bob's olive branch with the ignore button. While yes, technically Bob is sort of young to be my parent, he is definitely not my peer, and therefore has been disqualified on two counts. Sad but true.

It's for your own good Bob. I am obnoxious on facebook. You would fall out of love with me and my sexy profile picture in a hot minute. Let's keep the mystery alive, shall we ? Yes, let's do.

But here's where it all gets interesting, vis a vis "the mystery".

I blog semi-anonymously. My friends know who I am, but that's about it.

And I am contemplating busting this whole thing wide open.

I know ! Wouldn't that MAKE ABSOLUTELY NO DIFFERENCE TO YOU ?! But because I have so little to obsess over besides the emo-ness of my posts, and my lack of readership, I have got a new fixation. Whether to start really promoting this blog - and if so, to promote it as Daffodil, or as the real me.

Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain, he's just helping with the laundry. This is about me and mine. I write for fun here, but I write for money elsewhere. (Ooooh that sounds dirty - I like it !) So, could this blog gain a following if I actually attach it to my published writing ?

Meh. Probably not. Who knows how many people read my credited writing anyway.

And in an instant, the discussion is over. How about that. Hm.

Well, thanks for the help, good talk, have a great day, see ya later.

TonyAlice is trying to pick a fight with me.

Last week our fish died, both of them, within 24 hours. Tony died first, and then I think got the tank all nasty and killed Alice - which was very sad because I was *attached* to Alice. And then stupid old ugly Tony the algae eater had to screw everything up. Bastard.

So Tony got chucked in the garbage dosposal, and poor beloved Alice got buried in a gold coffin (and I would like to point out that WE started that trend - not Michael Jackson) with a funeral procession, a few tears, and a touching speech.

And while we were still searching for a coffin, through her tears, Lucy wanted to know when we were getting a new fish. Perhaps that afternoon ?

Yesterday, I finally completed my grief cycle and agreed that we could find a replacement. So we went out and got a Beta: TonyAlice.

TonyAlice is still live 24 hours later, but TonyAlice has a chip on his shoulder. He spends all day dodging back and forth in his bowl, aggressively fanning his fins and working his jaw like he's got a mouthful of tobacco.

I love him.

Last night, we had a little chat.

"Hi TonyAlice."
"Fuck You."
"Want some food ?"
"no."
"You seem a little grumpy."
"Oh YEAH ?" He pressed his little face against the glass. "WHY DON'T YOU COME ON IN HERE AND SAY THAT TO MY FACE ?" He worked his jaw up and down, with his underbite flashing.
"Wow. You are really angry."
"ANGRY ? YOU WANNA SEE ANGRY ?"
And then he took a huge crap.

I love fish.

I am just not that kind of girl

I wrote this big long reflective insightful emo-bullshit post 2 nights ago and posted it, and then had such overwhelming emo-bullshit post-related angst that I took it back down and I have been sitting and thinking about what, exactly, bothered me so much that I had to get out of bed at 2am and take it down from it's internet home all foggy-eyed and sleep-deprived.

I decided that while yes indeedy, I can be deep and insightful and almost (gasp) poetic, that just isn't the me I choose to put down on paper (onscreen), or share with others. I *never* had a journal where I wrote long teeth-gnashing haikus about boys and cars. I will never be able to participate in a Cringe unless it is reading entries from my yearbook. (OH ! Maybe I will do that. That idea is now copyrighted, bitches.)

So, I am going to share the Daffodil-approved version of events.

I wanted to watch a movie with my kids. Actually, THEY wanted ME to watch a movie with THEM which is a very different thing indeed. I just wanted to take a nap, for God's sake.

So I was on Netflix, wracking my brain trying to remember movies I had seen as a child that we could all enjoy together. I came up with Spaceballs.

The conversation went like this:
"Hey kids, want to watch Spaceballs ?"
"YEAH !" "No." "Great idea mom ! I love space ! AND I LOVE BALLS!"

All righty then.

So, we were watching Spaceballs, and about 10 minutes in, I realized that it was totally inappropriate, there was all sorts of sexual weirdness, and I had made a terrible error in judgement but it was far too late because the kids LOVED IT and they would not hear of turning it off or choosing something different, and since I had just finished telling them about how I had watched this movie when I was their age, and had loved it, I was sort of stuck.

Later on I called my brother, who basically summarized the plot, outlined the highlights, noted the inappropriate parts, and put me TO SHAME.

He was able to recall movie after movie we had seen as children, with remarkable detail, down to which theater we had seen it in, and who had taken us. And the YEAR we saw it.

Which is when I started to go all emo-angst-y.

Because dudes, I cannot remember a god-damned thing from my childhood.

Now, that may be OK, but I want to know why. WHY can't I remember? I mean, if I had spent my teen years in a cloud of pot, snacking on acid and washing it down with Rumplemintz, I would understand. But I didn't. I mean sure, a few beers and a couple of shots, maybe a bowl made out of an empty can of Busch... and an admitted penchant for Marlboro lights, but really....nothing that would have caused permanent damage. I don't even know how to use a bong. Do I cover the little hole while I inhale, or not ? What about the little thing-y holding the weed - do I lift that thing out ? And how much water is supposed to be in there, anyway ? Jesus, would someone just pass the girl a joint already ?

I have brief flashes of memories, so brief that I cannot be sure if they are actually MY memories, or stories that have been recounted to me with accompanying photographs. Because that is how I remember things...... A single picture, a smell, a sound. I don't remember conversations, events, trips, faces.....nothing. It's all a blank canvas, with a few moments scattered about.

Which makes me sad, as a person and as a parent. If I am not overflowing with happy childhood memories, what the HELL are my kids going to remember ? A half-crazed menopausal freak with chronic pain and a short fuse, with a penchant for napping ? Christ. I want my kids to have wonderful memories. Am I giving them enough wonderful worth remembering ?

And more importantly, if they aren't going to remember any of it ANYWAY, can I let go of the mommy guilt now and take a vacation without them ? Because that would be fucking awesome.

Catholic School girls and the Pizza Hut song

We made a big decision this week - we chose to enroll our preschooler in Catholic school.

We are not Catholic. In fact, we are not religious at all. But the school is at the end of our street, and they accept students who are not Catholic (which would be our daughter) so she is going to Catholic School.

We went on a visit beforehand, to get a feel for the teachers and the classroom. It seemed like such a nice space, the teachers were lovely, they had nice supplies and several play areas, and then we had circle time and it all went to shit and I am STILL feeling really unsure about the whole thing but decided to buck up and go forward anyway.

You'd think my hesitation would be focused on the prayer (no) or the statues of Jesus (nope) or the little things (like saying "God Bless" before they hung up the phone).

I freaked out and alomst stood up and walked out of the classroom because of the Pizza Hut Song.

"Pizza Hut Pizza Hut KFC McDoooonalds McDooooonalds. Pizza Hut Pizza Hut KFC McDoooonalds McDooooonalds. OK Faster now ! Pizza Hut Pizza Hut KFC McDoooonalds McDooooonalds. Pizza Hut Pizza Hut KFC McDoooonalds McDooooonalds." all accompanied by hand gestures and wild excitement.

Seriously, it's like Pepsi Co paid for a new gymnasium or something.

But I figure, if we had TV they would be singing "I'm Lovin' It" from the McDonald's commercials, so I am trying to chill out and not make it a bigger deal then it was/is. Maybe we can just learn some new, non-branded songs for next year !!!

The long awaited grand finale of my notorious photo blog

Alright. This is going to be very exciting.

You know how at the end of almost every fireworks display there is some version of a grand finale ?

Whether it is the uncle who lights the rest of the stuff on fire all at once so he can get back to his beer, or the carefully planned series of artistically conceptualized color-coordinated explosives that ignite in careful synchronicity with a musical soundtrack, or my neighbor who runs into the street with a blowtorch and a paper bag full of cetaline gas that he pilfered from his work as a welder which he manages to ignite with static against his hairy chest before he actually lights the torch or Puts Down The Bag......every 4th of July needs a big finish.

Here's mine. And we won't need an ambulance or the fire marshall.

Our Fourth of July started very early. 6am, to be precise.

At 6am, cars started arriving in our cul de sac, and then Harleys, and then trucks, until by 6:25 we had most of a 60-member motorcycle "gang" (a very cheerful, perky, friendly gang) next door having breakfast. At some point I went outside onto my porch to get a handle on the situation, and my neighbor who was hosting the get together spotted me out there in my bathrobe and invited me over. It was tempting, but I demurred. I had big plans to go over the local Hongwanji tag sale - a two day affair that is a small town version of this:


But before I could get over to the Buddhist bruhaha, I had to get out of my driveway.

That was going to be difficult due to the 2 tractor trailers that had appeared in front of my house moments earlier, blocking my driveway. Because they were trying to get the parade floats out of the way.

Yeah, floatS.
Two floats.

Two floats from the local Antique Caterpillar owners group - that were decorated late into the night just two houses down from me on a narrow lane. Two floats that were decorated under a spotlight, to the stereo blasting "She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy". On repeat.

I cannot make this shit up.





Once the street cleared, and remarkably with my stop sign still standing on the corner despite the extremely tight turn those flatbeds had to maneuver, I headed out to the tag sale. When we arrived, the parking lot and adjacent field were full. I got the last spot at the post office across the street, and considered myself lucky. Till I saw the line snaking around the temple waiting to get in to the sale.

I had to think fast, and act faster, all the while remaining Extremely Cool so as not to draw attention.

I led my 4 year old and Nana Lori around the back of the building, under the guise of "checking out the furniture" which is displayed for this sale in trailers out back. We poked around, oohed and ahhed, and then went Right In The Back Door of the auditorium come bloodbath. I mean tag sale. We blazed through the sale and made out like bandits in every way, from our undercover entrance to the major deals we snapped up to our beating out at least 100 people still in line when we sashayed out the front door and back to our car.

Hah.

So we got back to the house and it was about 8am. After a quick breakfast and a tension-filled round of Clue Jr. (procured in it's brand new condition for $.25 thankyouverymuch), we headed out once again for the parade.

Now, I took a lot of photos, and I am not going to bore you with all of them. So this is just The Highlights. The Creme do la Creme. The Best of the Best.

Best Mullet:


Best Freak Show:


Best Float (from the Harley Owners Group - some of whom were next door earlier):


Best shit that'll scare you- Float Category:


Best shit that'll scare you- Individual Category:


Best Audience Response:


And to summarize the true feeling of this parade, the essence, if you will, of my cowboy town and it's glorious traditions. Horsepower two ways:


OK, so after that parade, we went to the beach. No photo required, I live in Hawaii, the beach is beautiful, use your imagination. I took a nap.

Then we went back home to get ready for The Party.

If you have ever worked in a restaurant, you know that these are people who know how to party. The food is always top-notch, and a point of pride (and some competition). There is usually drinking and rowdiness. Point being, I had to go through these photographs VERY CAREFULLY to make sure they are suitable for public viewing. Luckily, I took about 75 pictures. Here's what I came up with to share:




Seriously, that was all I could come up with that was A. appropriate and B. still vaguely entertaining.

So this, in summary, is the final installment of my photo blog.
I certainly hope you enjoyed this little peek into paradise.
Peace.

Ride em, cowboy

Here's the thing with photo blogging. You have to take photos. Photos of something other then your kids. But when you HAVE kids, and you take out a camera, inevitably they jump IN FRONT of it, so as to be featured in each and every photo making stupid hand gestures or grinning painfully. Or is that just my kids.

Anyway.

This week has been light on the photos. Mostly because I forgot to put my camera back in my bag after downloading the latest set.

Fear not, my camera is going BACK in my bag, so as to record all the fun and excitement of the Independence Day holiday ! Because holy god you have been waiting so patiently for these photo journals.