Butternut Squashed in Texas

It's weird what you take away from trips. It's never the thing you think you'll come home with.

I went to Texas for the first time for work this week. I had never been to the Lone Star state, and was seriously hoping for some Basement of the Alamo kind of environment. Sadly, I was in Houston and learned that just like there is no basement in the Alamo, Houston isn't the old west. Also the Alamo isn't there. I had forgotten where it was. Luckily I asked before I went.

The first thing that happened was that after our plane ride of about 2 hours, I stood up. My knee however decided it wasn't coming along. I could barely move. I hobbled off of the plane, got my bag and found my workmates to head to the hotel. The knee felt weirdly stiff, and a bit hurty. No big whup.

I was delighted to have gotten a big room, for no apparent reason. I think it's because I called the  800 number annoyed with the local desk for not giving me my discount and for being a doofus. My reward was a mini suite like room bigger than I actually needed.

It was pretty nice.

The other thing that was nice was the bathroom, which I failed to take a picture of. The bathroom was like every mother's dream HUGE fancy shower head, enormous garden bath, three feet deep and wide. SO wide I could've invited friends over.

But that would be inappropriate.

I decided on my first night, that a luxurious bath was just the ticket. I'd take a lovely bath, and then I would ice my knee. Warm then cold, that's a thing right? I don't know. It's a thing in my mind. 

It didn't occur to me though, that taking a bath would involve getting one leg over that bathtub wall. Did I mention it was like three feet deep? When one knee isn't quite up to par, you have to make a decision. WHICH KNEE WILL I USE FOR WHAT? Will I balance on the bad knee, step over with my good knee, risking falling backward onto the tile? Or will I step in with my bad knee, risking it wobbling out from under me and me slipping, hitting my head and drowning in the tub? I opened the stopper just in case and carefully stepped in, closing it once I was seated.

The water piled in around me, warm wonderful heat, sloshing around my self and making me weightless and my knee barely hurt. Well, it hurt a bit when I had to lean up to turn off the water. But barely.

I washed and conditioned my hair, and then broke out my new soap. I just got new fun soap at the pumpkin patch. Pumpkin/Butternut Squash all natural body soap stuff. I like all natural body soap stuff. That's good, right?

As I was slathering my form with copious amounts of this new product, I was thinking, "What does this smell like?" It wasn't like soap. It was disconcertingly like something else. It's not that it was unpleasant it just wasn't a SOAP smell. I have to confess, I do want my soap to smell a bit like soap. 

It was about that time I felt warm and dreamy and realized I was nearly breaking the rule of not swimming alone in this huge tub, so I pulled the drain to again minimize my risk of drowning and managed to find a way out of the tub, albeit quite painful and awkward. 

I got on pajamas, slippers, and hobbled down the hall for some ice for my knee.

But that smell. What was that smell?

I settled in on my sofa, found an episode of South Park I hadn't seen (not hard, haven't watched it in years) and put the ice pack on my knee. 

What I learned in Texas was two things.

1. That smell was the smell of Butternut Squash baby food. Who in gods green earth makes soap that smells like baby food?

2. I now know what the Human Centipede is, because of South Park. I've steadfastly avoided finding out what it was for all these years. Thanks Matt and Trey, you dicks.

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Butternut Squashed in Texas

It's weird what you take away from trips. It's never the thing you think you'll come home with.

I went to Texas for the first time for work this week. I had never been to the Lone Star state, and was seriously hoping for some Basement of the Alamo kind of environment. Sadly, I was in Houston and learned that just like there is no basement in the Alamo, Houston isn't the old west. Also the Alamo isn't there. I had forgotten where it was. Luckily I asked before I went.

The first thing that happened was that after our plane ride of about 2 hours, I stood up. My knee however decided it wasn't coming along. I could barely move. I hobbled off of the plane, got my bag and found my workmates to head to the hotel. The knee felt weirdly stiff, and a bit hurty. No big whup.

I was delighted to have gotten a big room, for no apparent reason. I think it's because I called the  800 number annoyed with the local desk for not giving me my discount and for being a doofus. My reward was a mini suite like room bigger than I actually needed.

It was pretty nice.

The other thing that was nice was the bathroom, which I failed to take a picture of. The bathroom was like every mother's dream HUGE fancy shower head, enormous garden bath, three feet deep and wide. SO wide I could've invited friends over.

But that would be inappropriate.

I decided on my first night, that a luxurious bath was just the ticket. I'd take a lovely bath, and then I would ice my knee. Warm then cold, that's a thing right? I don't know. It's a thing in my mind. 

It didn't occur to me though, that taking a bath would involve getting one leg over that bathtub wall. Did I mention it was like three feet deep? When one knee isn't quite up to par, you have to make a decision. WHICH KNEE WILL I USE FOR WHAT? Will I balance on the bad knee, step over with my good knee, risking falling backward onto the tile? Or will I step in with my bad knee, risking it wobbling out from under me and me slipping, hitting my head and drowning in the tub? I opened the stopper just in case and carefully stepped in, closing it once I was seated.

The water piled in around me, warm wonderful heat, sloshing around my self and making me weightless and my knee barely hurt. Well, it hurt a bit when I had to lean up to turn off the water. But barely.

I washed and conditioned my hair, and then broke out my new soap. I just got new fun soap at the pumpkin patch. Pumpkin/Butternut Squash all natural body soap stuff. I like all natural body soap stuff. That's good, right?

As I was slathering my form with copious amounts of this new product, I was thinking, "What does this smell like?" It wasn't like soap. It was disconcertingly like something else. It's not that it was unpleasant it just wasn't a SOAP smell. I have to confess, I do want my soap to smell a bit like soap. 

It was about that time I felt warm and dreamy and realized I was nearly breaking the rule of not swimming alone in this huge tub, so I pulled the drain to again minimize my risk of drowning and managed to find a way out of the tub, albeit quite painful and awkward. 

I got on pajamas, slippers, and hobbled down the hall for some ice for my knee.

But that smell. What was that smell?

I settled in on my sofa, found an episode of South Park I hadn't seen (not hard, haven't watched it in years) and put the ice pack on my knee. 

What I learned in Texas was two things.

1. That smell was the smell of Butternut Squash baby food. Who in gods green earth makes soap that smells like baby food?

2. I now know what the Human Centipede is, because of South Park. I've steadfastly avoided finding out what it was for all these years. Thanks Matt and Trey, you dicks.

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It Happened One Friday Night

On Saturday, Oct 18 1997 was my friend Lori's wedding. I was looking forward to it. You see, Lori had driven us batty for about a year, preparing for the wedding. She wasn't a bridezilla but to say she was excited might have been quite an understatement. We bought her one of those glass lamps that you can put collectibles or whatnot inside and started collecting stuff from her wedding plans. The main plot however, was to steal her cake topper and put it inside, after gathering various items from the wedding reception. Favors, silverware napkins, etc.

Nothing would be spared.

I was pretty excited about it.

But Friday night, there were no plans. My best friend and her boyfriend eventually talked me into going out with them. Because that's fun, hanging out with people on a date is always good times. We were all friends though, and they were going to BW3 so eventually I was talked into a night of beers and triva.

There was a guy there working and after I'd been there a while he waved me over to the food counter.

I walked over, and he said to me ,"You ever date a cook?"

As for the rest...

It's the story of how families are made.



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It Happened One Friday Night

On Saturday, Oct 18 1997 was my friend Lori's wedding. I was looking forward to it. You see, Lori had driven us batty for about a year, preparing for the wedding. She wasn't a bridezilla but to say she was excited might have been quite an understatement. We bought her one of those glass lamps that you can put collectibles or whatnot inside and started collecting stuff from her wedding plans. The main plot however, was to steal her cake topper and put it inside, after gathering various items from the wedding reception. Favors, silverware napkins, etc.

Nothing would be spared.

I was pretty excited about it.

But Friday night, there were no plans. My best friend and her boyfriend eventually talked me into going out with them. Because that's fun, hanging out with people on a date is always good times. We were all friends though, and they were going to BW3 so eventually I was talked into a night of beers and triva.

There was a guy there working and after I'd been there a while he waved me over to the food counter.

I walked over, and he said to me ,"You ever date a cook?"

As for the rest...

It's the story of how families are made.



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Switching Places

We went to the fair this past weekend, and I had this moment of transition with my oldest son that was so comforting, so telling of who he is, that I've been brooding over it for days now.

We traditionally ride the Himalaya which is also call the Nordic Bobsled or many other names just depends on what your carnies have named it I guess.

It looks something like this.

Carnies blast 80s hair bands or rap or something, and the ride goes forward and there are sirens and then it goes backwards and there are more sirens. Sometimes there are lights. It's fun, I don't know why. It's one of the first "big boy"rides I ever talked him into getting on though, so it's kind of a tradition.

When we ride it, we look exactly like this.

That's actually us on it this weekend. We kind of love it. We laugh and howl and cheer and try to raise our arms, and for about two minutes, I'm not riding with my son but with my best friend. And we're having the best time in the world. We can't stop laughing, both at each other and ourselves.

But after we rode that, I talked him into riding the ENTERPRISE which is a totally different animal. It goes upside down. He does NOT care for that.

I was so excited he agreed to ride it with me, that I nearly sang along with PORN STAR DANCING while in line, but I thought hmmm, my 11 year old might not much care for that. But I WANTED TO TO.

This thing happened though, when they opened up the line to let us board. 

He took my hand.

I'd left my glasses with his dad and the little ones, and am blind as a bat without them. His hand isn't the little one I used to hold, sometimes forcibly YOU WILL HOLD MY HAND YOUNG MAN - no, it's the size of mine. He took my hand and led me along, naturally and carefully. When the ride was over, he again took my hand led me off, whispering "Just follow me Mom, I've got you."

He then talked me into riding a ride HE likes, one that spins and flops. He again took my hand, carefully led me up the steps, and onto the ride and got me buckled in. I felt helpless, like this old lady whose son was caring for her. I also felt safe. It was the best foreshadowing I've ever felt. 

As the ride started he cackled "We call this ride REVENGE HAHAAHAHAAHAH" and as I focused on not throwing up I still laughed because we were definitely even for me talking him into the Enterprise. 

He's amazing. And he's only 11.

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Switching Places

We went to the fair this past weekend, and I had this moment of transition with my oldest son that was so comforting, so telling of who he is, that I've been brooding over it for days now.

We traditionally ride the Himalaya which is also call the Nordic Bobsled or many other names just depends on what your carnies have named it I guess.

It looks something like this.

Carnies blast 80s hair bands or rap or something, and the ride goes forward and there are sirens and then it goes backwards and there are more sirens. Sometimes there are lights. It's fun, I don't know why. It's one of the first "big boy"rides I ever talked him into getting on though, so it's kind of a tradition.

When we ride it, we look exactly like this.

That's actually us on it this weekend. We kind of love it. We laugh and howl and cheer and try to raise our arms, and for about two minutes, I'm not riding with my son but with my best friend. And we're having the best time in the world. We can't stop laughing, both at each other and ourselves.

But after we rode that, I talked him into riding the ENTERPRISE which is a totally different animal. It goes upside down. He does NOT care for that.

I was so excited he agreed to ride it with me, that I nearly sang along with PORN STAR DANCING while in line, but I thought hmmm, my 11 year old might not much care for that. But I WANTED TO TO.

This thing happened though, when they opened up the line to let us board. 

He took my hand.

I'd left my glasses with his dad and the little ones, and am blind as a bat without them. His hand isn't the little one I used to hold, sometimes forcibly YOU WILL HOLD MY HAND YOUNG MAN - no, it's the size of mine. He took my hand and led me along, naturally and carefully. When the ride was over, he again took my hand led me off, whispering "Just follow me Mom, I've got you."

He then talked me into riding a ride HE likes, one that spins and flops. He again took my hand, carefully led me up the steps, and onto the ride and got me buckled in. I felt helpless, like this old lady whose son was caring for her. I also felt safe. It was the best foreshadowing I've ever felt. 

As the ride started he cackled "We call this ride REVENGE HAHAAHAHAAHAH" and as I focused on not throwing up I still laughed because we were definitely even for me talking him into the Enterprise. 

He's amazing. And he's only 11.

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11 Years

I was telling my friend Christine today, how we brought him home, sat him down on the living room floor and stared at each other.
WHAT NOW we wondered.
The cats were annoyed. There were three cats then, where now there are two. There was only one baby then, but since then there have been three more.

We had a small family bowling party on Sunday, and there was cake. I watched him, not wondering where the years had gone, but wishing they were longer. 

We should move to Mars. 

Happy Birthday to my only first baby.

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11 Years

I was telling my friend Christine today, how we brought him home, sat him down on the living room floor and stared at each other.
WHAT NOW we wondered.
The cats were annoyed. There were three cats then, where now there are two. There was only one baby then, but since then there have been three more.

We had a small family bowling party on Sunday, and there was cake. I watched him, not wondering where the years had gone, but wishing they were longer. 

We should move to Mars. 

Happy Birthday to my only first baby.

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