DO NOT join Curves

I am livid! 2005 was the year I was/am going to get into shape. It's not about numbers, but I plan to get back into off-the-rack clothes and not 20s in the Big Girl section of Target. I have got to get off my fat ass and work out for my heart, my bones, my health. So after many weeks of juggling between the 'Y," Curves, or taking yoga, I decided on Curves. I was so proud of myself. I went in last Friday and signed up for a year. I have gone 4 times already and am very proud of myself.

Then today, I got this news. I cannot, in good conscience, support this organization that donates millions of dollars to the anti-choice movement. Every article I read on the internet gets worse and worse. There are even articles from anti-choice websites defending Gary Heavin and his tactics. This man went bankrupt, divorced his wife, and lost custody of his children before marrying his second wife after meeting her from prison when he was convicted of not paying child support. Sleeeeeezoid!

I am trying to stay calm because I have a year membership, but I am looking into the facts. I am looking into a website called Curvers for Choice. It is helping me get the facts on what organizations Gary Heavin supports and how I can live with this contractural agreement. For now, I shall wear my purple bracelet. I may even begin to wear my Pro-faith, Pro-family, Pro-Choice button into the store while exercising. I will make a statement every time I enter and spread the word for others not to join. I will not give up the fight.

Wondering....

Why is it that no matter how old your children get they come to their mom's bed, cuddle up, and say, "I just threw up. I don't feel well. Ohhhh, I gotta go throw up again."?

Dorothy's not feeling well.

My van is sitting in the driveway

My van is sitting in the driveway with the windows down. I'm hoping it helps the intense smell that is in there. See, I had to take our dog to the vet today. I got the towel on the seat and got Gracie in the second seat as she whined ("Are you dumping me somewhere?") and wandered all over the middle and back seats. Before leaving the driveway, I remembered that the vet's office always needs a sample of well... scat...dog dirt... how do I saw... dog shit. What a job. So I got one of the pooper scooper plastic bags and purveyed the many piles in the backyard (that my husband usually scoops up on the weekends) and got one of the freshest samples (still steaming from the mid-day sun). I scooped it up and the smell was horrendous so I put it inside 2 Schnucks bags and tied the bag and threw it on the floor of the passenger seat. Off we went. The smell started wafting up through the van. Oh doggie shit.

So afterwards I couldn't help but whip by a little favorite restaurant that I never get to because it's not close to my house... THANK GOD. No finger waving. But since I was in South County, I whipped around the drive-thru at the White Castle and ordered 4 cheeseburgers. That's all. Give me credit for no French fries or onion rings! Also, at my age, I can't tolerate this very often, but I do consider it God's natural laxative (along with fig newtons). As I'm driving down the road, throwing belly bombers in my mouth so no one sees me, I sniff. Is that dog shit I smell or White Castle? If you've ever had White Castle, you know what I mean? The combination was enough to bring tears to my eyes. I stopped off at church to drop off some things, and when I got back in the car, the combination of dog shit (which had been locked into 2 bags) and the belly bombers (which were now just empty boxes) was enough to knock your socks off. I could barely drive home.

So I have left my van out in the driveway with the windows down. It is a sunny, dry, windy beautiful day in St. Louis, and I'm hoping God's natural air conditioner can eliminate the incredible, knock-your-freckles-off odor in my van.

Wanna take a ride with me?

A list of things my mother never told me

I went out last night with girlfriends and was very careful to apply lipstick before entering the celebration. I announced that I needed the lipstick because my lips had disappeared when I hit 40. I blame my mother for my shock when that happen. She did not warn me that my lips would disappear some day. I always wondered why she put on lipstick before walking to town or going to a meeting. I thought it was because she was a product of the Depression or WWII or the 50s or some strange decade that made lipstick mandatory. She also didn't warn me that

1) Sex was messy. (Not just emotionally, but physically. What is that stuff?)

2) Boobs droop to your navel after the second kid was born. (I had to roll mine up to put back in my nursing bra after the 2nd kid was born.)

3) Knees hurt whether you played soccer or ice skated in the Olympics or not. (I might have to go from being Episcopalian to being a Baptist for the kneeling alone.) Along with your knees, your back will hurt as you age, along with your ankles, shoulders, and other joints. Why didn't my mother bitch more. I would have been more prepared. And don't write to me about exercising. Aging happens to us all.

4) Your kids will not love you the way you love them. (And therefore, they will hurt you. Get over it.)

5) Don't marry a man unless he's trainable. (It's just not worth if even if the sex is great.)

6) Wallpaper or border a room with your partner before you are married. (If you can't cooperate with wallpaper paste and water nearby, don't bother with the ceremony.)

7) Despite valiant efforts not to, you will repeat some of the same things your parents said to you. (I used to cringe when my mother said, "I only have to feed you, clothe you, and put a roof over your head." That is my mantra now, especially during times when my children request a car, an MP3, a spring break in Mexico, or a cell phone. Not on the list of the things I have to do to be a good parent.) My mother is laughing long and hard over this one.

8) Your arms will grow shorter in your effort to read work close up. (I now own three pairs of reading glasses. What's up with that?)

9) You will embarrass your kids. And sometimes you even look forward to it.

10) Your lips will disappear. Always carry lipstick.

Don't Spend a Dime Day

Yesterday was the second inaurgaration day or what we like to call "OH MY GOD, How did that idiot get into office again?" Every time that moron opens his mouth, I expect "LIVE FROM NEW YORK, IT'S SATURDAY NIGHT" to fall out. I hope "Spend Not One Damn Dime" Day worked out well.

Ok, so I have this encounter with this woman at church who is the most frustrating, mean person I have ever met. She is single and lonely and needs friends, but she has so much baggage that no one wants to be with her. So offensive that everyone stops feeling sorry for her after 1 encounter. She has called everyone (and I mean EVERYONE) at church to arrange for people to bring goodies on Sundays. Everyone wants to get rid of her so they agree to bring things and then she calls them over and over to remind them. So Sunday is our big meeting at church, and I have been assigned the task of getting donuts or bagels or whatever carbo we can stuff in our mouths while enduring the mind-numbing boredom that is the annual church meeting. But first, I have to call this woman to see if she has assigned goodies for that Sunday and cancel them or complement them. How do I get these assignments? Because no one in the church office wants to deal with her. So I call her and present my case. RedheadEditor: "Hi, I have been asked to get the goodies for the annual meeting, and I'm just checking with you before I do. Do you have the list of people bringing goodies this Sunday?" Mean Obnoxious Woman: "I've asked (our priest) to tell me when there are special circumstances on Sundays, and he never does. I make my calls on Friday. I'll call you back." And she hangs up. She calls back minutes later. Me: Hello MOW: "I made my calls, but no one was home because they are all out earning a living. Bring what you want." And she hung up again. I don't even want to mention that this woman must weigh 500 lbs and is missing a her right arm and hand so you can't even pass the peace with her at church. Now I know that she is mean and gruff and have no doubts why she doesn't have friends. But I try to keep it amiable. She is one of God's children. I wanna hit the woman. Don't be hanging up on me.

Good bye Michael

A very dear friend died suddenly yesterday (or the night before). We are all still in shock as Michael was only 53. He was a diabetic, and without autopsy results, we are assuming that living alone, having the flu, and not having insulin in the house played a major role in his death. I never thought there would be no Michael in this world. He was such a pain in the ass if you really knew him like I did. But he mostly showed his flirtatious self who could charm the pants off ya to most people. When he attended the same church I did, he could sit across from me as a lay reader while I was in the choir loft and flirt with God's altar right in the middle. The twinkle in his eye is unforgettable. He was witty and loving and frustrating. You could count on him, and then he wouldn't show up. He marched to his own beat with little regard to others and with every regard to others. Anyone who ever worked with him could count the number of times he didn't show up or left you hanging and then the number of times he called out of the blue to check on you. He was commitment phobic but loved women. Oh, he loved women, but was probably friends with more of them than anything else. He hurt me so often and yet the twinkle in his eye could make me forgive him. I will miss him.

How does she find them?

Friday night found the Redhead Editor, daughter, sister, and brother-in-law at Dorothy's play to which she was working "fly," the position in backstage theater that brings things down from on high. It was a production of "Appointment with Death." The weather was cold, and this was the postponed play from October so not many people were in the theater. A middle-aged gentleman with a bouquet of roses said "excuse me" before squeezing past us, and my sister said hello to them. What a coincidence. They had gone to high school together 40 years ago (in "outstate" Missouri). He sat down a seat away from Mabel.

The play begins. Intermission. Starts up again. Mabel taps my arms to show me that father with flowers has nodded off. Pretty soon she started laughing, her body shaking with giggles. People started looking her direction, and I socked her with my elbow and told her to grow up or some such thing. More staring, and then I realized he was snoring so loudly and the stares weren't for her giggles, but for his hibernating bear-life noise coming from his orifices. His daughter had one of the leads in the play and I was embarrassed for her yet very sympathetic for this man, still in his suit from work nodding off on a Friday night. But for the grace of God go I, as my mother would remind me. The young woman in front of us, a sister of another cast member, kept jabbing his knee to wake him up and then whipping around so he didn't know who poked him. Wonder if he thought it was Mabel. Tears were rolling down her face in laughter.

Fast forward to Sunday afternoon while Dorothy is at the closing performance at the play while Redhead Editor's family attended Hotel Rwanda. If you have not seen this movie, drop everything and get there now. It is very difficult to watch, but you must. It's only showing in one theater in St. Louis so it was packed. Packed. Families separated by inconsiderate people who take their 2 seats in the middle of the rows. People shoulder deep. Probably 500 people. Ok, I exaggerate. I assured Mabel that the audience at this theater would not be the rude movie audience of Crestwood, Ronnies, or Des Peres because this was an artsy fartsy theater, and the movie-goers meant business. Within 20 minutes, the man next to Mabel must add something to the plot and with his face forward, instead of leaning next to the woman he was talking to (his mother, his wife, his hooker, as Mabel said), talked in a normal speaking voice as if we had invaded HIS livingroom. I BET HE'S DRIVING OVER BODIES. (He was.) I BET SHE WENT TO THE ROOF. (She hadn't.) LOOK UNDER THE BED. (They weren't there.) I wanted to tell him Shhhhhhh like my sister would have had she been there, but I was so afraid that as loud as he was in conversation, he would have attacked me, and I will admit that I was a little afraid of him. At one point, he belched... not a demure burp, but a fraternity beer belch. She, of course, started giggling like she had Friday evening with Mr. Snores-a-Lot. At 21, she can still be so immature.

Afterwards, we all headed to the bathroom and I saw Mr. I CAN TALK AS LOUD AS I CAN DURING A MOVIE and gave him the evil eye. I'm sure he knew what I was thinking.

Random wintery blogging

Random blogging today. I hate that I have to learn HTML coding to work this puppy. When I started the blog, my profile was to the side. Then it popped to the bottom and no matter what I did, I couldn't get it up. (An age-old problem) Then a friend with a blog showed me how to add other people's blogs and sites I like and they went to the bottom of the blog along with my profile. Then yesterday everything popped up to the top. I didn't do anything do make it move so I'm thinking that part of coding is telepathy. WANTING it makes it so!

After consulting with a friend, I'm not naming my second daughter "Bertha." I'll name her "Dorothy" instead. In real life, Mabel was Dorothy's mother, Dorothy being my grandmother. Bertha has too many cow-milking qualities and my friend doesn't want my daughter traumatized. Plus, if you know me, you'll know which daughter I'm talking about. Soon Mabel goes back to school, and I won't be talking about her much. Tonight is opening night for Dorothy's play. It was cancelled and then merely postponed from October when a student at the high school committed suicide the night before opening night. Even thought the play doesn't have anything to do with suicide, the title is "Appointment with Death" and the kids postponed it out of good taste. I was so proud of the kids. But that meant after 8 weeks of working on building the set and then working backstage, the play went POOF in one minute. I think it upset Dorothy more than she admitted. (She did not know the young man who died.) So they broke apart the set and stored it. Now they have rebuilt it and she is on fly, which means she is the one with the ropes who brings the things down from the ceiling. (Her arms are killing her.) But then the snow came. Who knows what's going to happen tonight?

Which brings me to my next random thought? If you are reading this from St. Louis, you will understand what I'm talking about. If you aren't from here (and I doubt that since I don't have that far-ranging fan base... yet), you will not believe this weather. Yesterday it was balmy. I mean it. April weather. A little cloudy and almost 70 degrees. Today? Big wet snow flakes that are clinging to the branches and signposts. Rumor (weather reports) say it will dive into the teens tonight turning any slush into ice. I love Missouri weather. I love January. I love the fact that I don't have to drive in this weather.

So Mabel and I ate in today. Fresceta pizza. Potato, bacon and onion. And since Ms. Fussy Pants is a quasi vegetarian who hates onions, she piled everything but the potatoes on my pieces and then we added globs of (Lite) sour cream. Delicious. Now I am going to make some hot chocolate and go read a book while watching the beautiful snow. One of these days I will actually figure out how to post pictures on this damn thing.

The basis of a good marriage

Mabel and I went to shoe shopping today and then off to Target for the umpteenth time. (How many is umpteen?) At SuperMartket of Shoes we looked at "tennis" shoes (although I don't even know how to play tennis). She found a pair of up-to-the-knees black boots that are hot and sexy and will make boys want to take calculus from her. She couldn't help herself. At Target, she has been lusting after a particular skirt and pair of pants on the sale rack. She got the flirty skirt. I got another watch. Both massively on sale. As we left this is what she said.

Mabel: I won't tell dad that you got a new watch if you don't tell him I got another pair of shoes. He thinks I'm a little out of control.
Redheadeditor: DUH! How do you think I made it to 25 years of marriage? Lies and deceit. It sure wasn't good looks and hot sex.
Mabel: Ok, you're done.
RHE: Don't kids want to know that their parents are hot sexual humans?
Mabel: I said YOU'RE DONE. Is it a promise?
RHE: Of course, it's our secret.

The testosterone in the family is not a mean, money-watching hawk. Matter of fact, he is oblivious to any money exchange, but the less he knows, the better. So this is an easy promise to keep.

recycled tee shirts

I am so doing this.

Help, she's throwing away my bows!

Mabel, that beotch, got a wild hair up her ass and decided to clean the hall closet. You know the one... the one with bags of bags (from Schnucks and Walgreens just in case the stock market crashes again), old coats from the 70s, every fanny pack ever made including one with a Batman logo on it, decades of tee-shirts being saved for a quilt, and every scarf, hat, and glove we have ever worn or received as gifts. I agreed, in part, that some things needed to be weeded out. But my bows?

When were those HUGE bows in style? Was it the 80s or 90s? I can't remember. But I got the genius idea to use an old belt I was no longer wearing as a holder and clipped all these humongous bows to it. I had long hair and used those bows daily. I had every color, every textures, ones for dress-up, ones for church, ones that matched just one outfit that I have long since outgrown. Bows bows bows bows bows. And Mabel thinks they have run their course and that someone at Goodwill would want them. And then she mentioned "Costume" closets.

God, she is mean. She tried to throw out an old denim jacket of her father's until I convinced her that it was from his high school days (the 70s) along with his scarf from Southwest High School that now looks as if it belongs to a classmate of Harry Potter's. (I can't remember which house at Hogwarts has yellow and green for their colors.) I had to throw my body in front of that one. He also has a lab coat from some class he took in college (also from the 70s) that we refuse to give up. Then she got ahold of my "track" suit. I use "track" so loosely because I can't count on 1 hand the number of times I have been on or NEAR a track, but this one is gorgeous. (Wish I knew how to attach photos to this blog! Words won't do it justice.) Ok, so its basic color is green, but it's patchwork with crushed velvet squares with green and brown nylon (that rustles when you walk) and gold lamé piping. A thing of beauty... in its day.

It's going to Goodwill... the one on Manchester if you want to run out and buy it next week. I gave away scarves that had lost fringe, gloves without pairs, purses that you could wash, denim jumpers that no one but teachers should be caught dead in. Gone is my bow collection and the satiny "track" suit. Thank God, the lab coat from college and the denim jacket and high school scarf were saved. Whew.

Mabel and the Air Band

When you're as funny as I am, you tend to produce funny children. They are in the environment of wit and humor so why wouldn't they be funny, too. Sometimes, they make me laugh very hard, and I almost don't make it to the bathroom. They also make fun of me for having to go pee all the time. But I remind them that it beats the alternative. Peeing my pants!

[Footnote: Should I have made-up names for my children so freaks out there don't stalk them? One blog out there renamed her daughters Matilda and Gert. I guess it would give me a chance to give my daughters names that I wouldn't have ordinarily given them. My luck, I would forget which one is which. How 'bout Mabel and Bertha? Those were my grandmothers.]

Anyway, Em (Mabel) and I were out shopping all over today from Sam's (the owner of the Evil Empire), Target, back to Sam's, Barnes & Noble, and Gordman's. And yes, I peed in every single store since we bought a "bladder buster" at Sams and refilled it when we went back for our photos. So sue me.

Mabel got a lot of $$ for B&N so she was looking at books while I looked at 50% off calendars. When I found her in the MATH section (Did you KNOW there was a MATH section?), I told her to hold my purse and the calendar I picked out because I had to go to the bathroom. She asked, "Bad bathroom?" and then gave that scrunched up face of, "Oh God, don't let me be the daughter of a woman who poops in public?" I asked, "As opposed to good bathroom?" Not to worry. I asked her what was the big deal. She said, "It just lets me know whether I'll be looking at books for 30 seconds or 30 minutes." Funny kid. At Gordman's we found choice shirts she could wear when she becomes a teacher like "I don't do nice."

We ended our shopping at Shop 'n Save where we got a routissiere chicken. We walked in and there was the display of Krispy Kremes. Now we don't live near a KK and so we rarely, if ever, frequent that joint (although the one in Fenton is right next to a McDonalds. Is that heaven or what?) so we both looked at each other like "What chicken?" It was as if we were rendered stupid for a second and forgot why we were here. And of course as we busted out laughing, we threw the box of doughnuts into the cart and moisied onto the chicken section. I remembered that we had spent the week eating leftover spinach and artichoke dip from my sister's NYE party and suggested we buy the ingredients (since we were already going to hell with the box of Krispy Kremes in the cart). Mabel's memory of the week we consumed the dip had a different twist, "Oh that would account for the air band in the house." And she was right. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea.

And I didn't even go potty at Shop 'n Save... but we did race to the bathroom when we got home.

New Year's Resolutions

In the spirit of Sarah Lynn who has listed some resolutions, I received these today from our church's newsletter. I like them.
* Spend twenty minutes every day with God, in silence.
* Take a two-mile walk every day.
* Write a letter each week to a distant friend or relative.
* Volunteer at a food bank or an after school tutorial program.
* Decline second helpings of food that aren't good for you.
* Say "I love you" to somebody every day.
* Give away every item of clothing you didn't wear last year.
* Sign up for an educational program at church.
* Memorize the text of a favorite hymn.
* Sing that hymn when you're driving along.
* Learn a new hymn; sing it, too.
* Say something kind to someone you don't care for.
* Keep a journal.
* If something bothers you, try to fix it. Then let God handle it.
* Give your best friend a copy of your favorite book.
* Pray for the church every day.
* When you feel inclined to criticize, don't.
* Meditate on a psalm every day.
* Every month do one thing you've never done before.

No long-term goals

I had yet another interview the other day for an administrative assistant position at St. Mary's. Bad pay, but I would get out of the house. Both she and the HR woman asked why I would want to leave the life I've been living for a job at the hospital. DUH? Benefits, why do you think? Sure, I love sleeping late, working till the wee hours of the night, not paying bills, and finding my own independent health insurance. It's all about the benefits.

But the nurse in charge of surgical services asked me "What are your long-term goals?" Oh my God, I don't have any. I wanted to say, "To pay my mortgage?" Question mark? As in, isn't that good enough? What do you want me to say, "Get a job on the ground level making $10 an hour and then owning the hospital one day?" I was born a teacher, taught for 6 1/2 years and never thought about anything more than being a teacher. I wasn't ever going to OWN the school district one day. When you're not in business, I don't think you think about the future. You just go to work and do your job. When I was an editor at a medical publisher, I never had a long-term goal of being CEO of the company one day. Who thinks like that?

I accidentally opened my mouth at the end of the interview and told my interviewer that my colleagues at my publishing company thought I worked well with surgeons because I had worked with freshmen in high school. I had to backtrack and say, "I think they meant that people are people. We're all human." But I know she knew I meant that surgeons sometimes act like adolescents. When I told one of my former surgeons whose book I worked on years ago what this interview might lead to, he said, "Good, you could keep those surgeons in line." See, he knows of what he speaks. Oh well, if I don't get the job, I don't really want to work in an environment with no sense of humor.

It's a cold rainy day in St. Louis, unlike the 70 degree weather from last week. Now it is truly January. After a phone call from the husband, I think I have done him proud by cramming a towel into the 2x4 of the closet to soak up the leak we found. The little Eagle Scout that he is had to give me detailed instructions on how to fold up the towel, pack it in between the wood slats and take the wet towel to the dryer. I'm a good do-bee.

Drip Drip Drip

Had an interview this morning at 9 which meant I had to wake up at 7:30. The bad news I didn't get to bed till 3 or 4 in the morning. The good news it was because D found the leak in the basement! Yah! Now, here is a bit of irony. When you discover that there is a leak in your basement, you have to find it. Makes sense. The Crack Team cannot perform their job until you have found the leak. They don't do baseboards, drywall or carpet, like I don't "do" dinner, mopping, or vacuuming. So you wait for it to rain for the leak to appear again. And wait. And wait. It has been over 6 weeks since it has rained in St. Louis. We know that because we have lived in our torn-up basement since Thanksgiving. Luckily, we have all of our crap like games (When was the last time we played Monopoly?), lightbulbs (Who needs this many 40 watt bulbs?), blankets (Have we actually had that ugly thing that we got as a wedding gift?), photo books (Do you wanna see the "birth" pictures?), pillow stuffing (I swear, I meant to make that pillow back in the 70s.), and beanie babies (I don't want to make my daughter have to replenish her supply like I had to when trolls came back into vogue.) in plastic tubs instead of cardboard boxes like we did when we were first married. So the heavens open up and it pours and you find the leak. Actually, my husband found the leak when he was playing games on the computer last night while I was trying to go to sleep for my interview this morning. So this time HE had to call The Crack Team and ask someone, in a straight face, to come look at his crack. (I had to do it in November!) The Crack Man appears and announces, "We can't fix that until it dries out." Now THAT's irony.

So that's why I only had 3 hours of sleep. I was allowed a nap.

Happy New Year 2005

This year, as every year, I vow to get in shape, exercise more, eat less, be physically fit. This is how 2005 started, or rather, how 2004 ended. We, the husband and teen daughter, had decided on a late dinner after D drove the college daughter downtown to Shannan's for NYE bash (so she wouldn't be behind the wheel, drunk or not drunk, in the craziness). When he got back, we went to Chili's on one of the many gift certificates I have received recently. After D ordered a sirloin, the server returned to report that they didn't have any sirloins left. So D, in the true style of his father, The Major, started badgering her to tell the manager that he deserved the same price as the sirloin no matter what he ordered to replace it with. He was so obnoxious, although in his right, that I wanted to crawl under the table (and not for the reason he wanted me to). The waitress came back to announce that he would get the steak he ordered at the price of the sirloin. Happiness abounded. When we got the bill, his entire dinner was comped. Maybe acting like "the major" gets you results.

On a whim, we decided to go to my sister's house for NYE. We never ever go anywhere, let alone for NYE so this was quite thrilling. She and her friends were playing Trivial Pursuit, but when we got there, they were playing a combination of Win/Lose/Draw and Charades. On the chalkboard was a house so as they welcomed us, I shouted, "CIDER HOUSE RULES." Damn, if I wasn't right. I was immediately on my sister's team, and we kicked chalk charade butt. D did amaze us all when his team, the opposition, had a 4-word movie/book. The drawer drew four lines _______ ________ _________ _______ and circled the last 2, indicating they were the same word and proceeded to draw a gun. While teammates were shouting all sorts of clues, gun, murder, bullet, D just waited and finally blurted out "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang." Not bad for a man who hates musicals and has never seen "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang" in his life. We watched Conan and toasted the New Year at midnight. Then everyone parted. Apparently, some people actually turn into toads at midnight while it's just the beginning of my evenings. Matter of fact, several people asked me when Conan is usually on, like they never stay up till 11:30. Then embarrassingly, I could recite the NBC line-up for the entire evening into the morning hours including a really bad show at 2:30 called "Stating Over."

So we left about 12:30 with the spinach and artichoke dip and bagels chips in hand and headed downtown to pick up our drunk daughter from her party. The traffic was nuts once we got downtown, and luckily we went down there from St. Charles (Hwy 70). (more later) We finally found Emily at the corner where Shannons is while her friends had already started out walking back to Drury Plaza. I don't think I have ever seen so many drunk girls walking barefooted or being carried on guys' back as I did that night. E got into the car reeking of booze and cigarettes. She was feeling no pain and had to pee like a royal Lippizoner. We managed to get her to the Drury Plaza where she squeezed in amongst the others to go pee in the lobby bathroom even though she was not a guest. Can you believe drunk kids actually ran into our van? With her back in the car and relieved of the "pressure," she wanted T Bell, her definition of Taco Bell and kept inquiring into the aluminum foil of T Rav's, her abbreviation for toasted ravioli. Despite the massive amounts of food she consumed, she wanted more, but we did not give into her requests. We drove home by way of Hwy 44 and witnessed more sirens, police, ambulance, firetrucks at 44 and Murdock than I have ever seen.