Wine Trail

Once again, under the hashtag of #OtherPeopleGoOnTripsIGoOnAdventures I have hit upon another one of those moments that makes MyPoolBoy so glad that he didn't marry someone boring.

We decided that we needed a bottle of our favorite winery's blackberry / blueberry wine.  Alas, it was before the winery was open (because apparently civilized people don't start going to the winery before noon -- or they are going to "sell no wine before its time" or some bullsh1t).

That's ok, I think.  The liquor store downtown opens at 10 and they have it.  (Because white trash folks WILL go to the liquor store before noon.)
Alas, they were sold out. '

What to do, what to do?

Soooooo, I went to the winery website and found locations where it could be procured, and I tried to keep a straight face when I instructed MyPoolBoy that he needed to drive out to the deer processor.

Deer.

Processor.

I sent him in because HE would not look out of place in the deer processor shop.  He opened the door and turned right back around and motioned for me to come in.  Because while he does not look out of place IN the deer processor shop, he does seem out of place BUYING WINE at the deer processor shop.  Y'all.  We bought wine at the deer processor.

I am happy to report that as a result of our efforts, we successfully obtained not just one but THREE bottles of wine.

And a bag of jerky.

I Would Like to Thank...

First, thanks to the student who gave me the bag of Pepperidge Farm Milano cookies for Teacher Appreciation Week this morning. They are gone. Along with this week's efforts to lose weight.

Next, thanks to MyPoolBoy for the beautiful bottle of cheap Merlot that accompanied the box of dishwashing detergent back from your trip to the store. Unlike the cookies, it is not gone yet, but I'm working on it. Perhaps this will deter any further suffering that you might incur due to my current hormonal state, including the unfortunate play-by-play I related to you this morning concerning my menstrual cycle and its surrounding conditions and/or circumstances. (Sorry 'bout that!) BTW - the wine has been opened, the Cascade has not.

Finally, thanks to a Facebook friend for sharing the link to this clip. I must say that although nothing ever leaves ME completely speechless, this little gem left me scratching my head and barely managing to muster a "wow" from an already compromised state of semi-consciousness this evening (remember - Milano cookies + Merlot + hormones).



I hereby solemnly vow to Felix that this fabulous ditty will be our anthem for karaoke night at the coast this year since we always sleep together and there are plenty of stories to tell about THAT - Keebler Elf dreams, kicking, clothing arguments, David Hasselhoff dreams, and presumed phone sex. Pee-peeing the bed is about the ONLY thing that hasn't happened yet!

Anyway, I tracked through the related videos on the sidebar of this one and discovered that this effed-up little VonTrapp family actually were a big hit throughout Europe in the 80s and 90s. How did I miss this? Without a doubt, Moses/Gandalf/Father Time as your back-up singer is a pretty big score!

So, clicking on the sidebar videos led me to a fabulous video of a song of theirs called "One More Freaking Dollar." Which I hereby declare my undying, unadulterated, unabashed, and unsober (Merlot, remember?) love for. And the lead singer on the video is a cutie. Except at that point of his life he was also JAILBAIT and that would make me a sinner of some sort.

Upon further clicking I discovered that he cut off the Sebastian Bach hairstyle and grew into a legal-sized man and was still a cutie. And a monk. Like, a monk in a monastery, not the TV detective. That FOR SURE makes me a sinner.

How to Mortify Your Son at a Bar

I excitedly got two of Thunderduck's friends to go out the back door of our latest hangout and check out my new-to-me car (convertible Beemer = NOT a MOMCAR & I will try to post a pic later).

On the way out the door, some dude coming back from the bathroom saw us leaving together and said "Hey, two to one - that's kind of unfair"

I shot back: "It's ok - I'm TWICE their age so it evens out."

Another TMI Post Punctuated with Some WTHIWWY

MyPoorPoolBoy. He is enduring quite a bit of mouth-runneth-over syndrome this evening, and I'm really pretty sure it is because I have discovered this:

Deep Eddy Sweet Tea Vodka

Now, due to my effed-up precocious predisposition to developing kidney stones since the medically unrealistic age of 26, I am not supposed to have tea. So basically, I am risking my renal health to even be in the same room with this shi+.

It's iced tea with Imperial Pure Cane Sugar, so it's pretty much the mostest absolutely perfectest Texas beverage ever made.

Ever.

Because someone who is obviously a freakin' genius put VODKA in it.

If that genius is a man, he can get in line to be my 3rd husband.

Anyway, here are my epiphanies for the evening -

1) While watching the Gene Simmons episode where Shannon has a taser party (basically it was about like it seems like it would be - a Tupperware party but without the trademark burping noises and more like a lot of buzzing and resulting screaming, so you know, like a dark and serious sex toy party) - I remarked that you really wouldn't want to get one of those and just toss it into your vibrator drawer.

2) I reminded him that I am more or less branded as his property with my tramp stamp because the wording includes an APOSTROPHE and an S after his name. Like a white trash luggage tag or something.

3) Then I got a horrific case of projectile diarrhea and I tried to explain the severity of the situation to MyPoolBoy by describing its force and magnitude to him with Richter scale measurements and tornadic F-force ratings. I included the comment that it was a good thing that toilet bowl sides go up kind of far (for obvious reasons) and I was reminded about a German word that I concocted at the beach - bierschitz - in honor of the 2 straight nights of Lone Star consumption and the 2 subsequent days of unfortunate bowel circumstances that I incurred.

4) Not only that but I also came back from the coast with a fever blister on my lower lip. And of course I KNOW where I got it.

Because the study of reptiles is called herpetology, y'all.

That's right.

The a$$hole beer-hostage-taking SNAKE gave me herpes.

WTHIWWY

After my post this past weekend about one-legged birds and safe words, MyPoolBoy expressed his usual mortification at my unusual spin on life with his usual "What The Hell Is Wrong With You?" comment. He pointed out that I can't even use my "VodkaMakesMeSayStuff" label for these sorts of posts because I am just sick enough to come up with this shi+ when I am stone-a$$ sober. So he assumes there is no explanation for why my brain is working that way other than I must have some sort of mental defect.

Therefore, I have added "WTHIWWY" to my labels for future posting, and I will be adjusting some of my former posts to include this label.

Suh-Weet!

KY has these new sensational body syrups or wtf ever advertised on tv right now - chocolate for her and strawberry for him. And it's supposed to make everything about my marital relations be more than I ever could have hoped for. Or something like that.

I told MyPoorGulliblePoolBoy that we should get some and he, being a boy, got all excited and is like "yeah, yeah, we should."

And then I told him I thought it would taste really good on ice cream.