Riding the Bike with One Pedal.
We had our company party this afternoon, and I went as a Yip Yip from Sesame Street. You can be the judge of how accurately it turned out….
Big thanks to my husband for trouble-shooting, problem-solving & helping out in general. I didn’t win the big prize, alas, but I enjoyed the memories of doing the yip-yip patter with my dad when I was a kid. Not everyone knew who/what I was, either, but no matter. Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope…..
annnnd 6.
I will admit, I had planned to get Mimi Murano’s official MO Safety Inspection earlier than today. It’s just been a bit… chaotic. So after my morning of meetings, I took off about 2, and headed out to get the inspection, with plans to continue on to get new plates at the DMV, as well as exchange the faulty DVR remote at the cable store.
Stop #1. I am greeted by a hefty man who looks like he’s walked out of a small-town movie set, shot by Clint Eastwood. When I ask if they can fit an inspection in today, he sorrowfully shakes his head, adjusts his glasses, and prepares to write me in for tomorrow. Sorry, buddy. I’ve got a limited window here, so I’m going to try someplace else.
Stop #2. I am greeted by a burly man who looks like he could be cast as one of numerous State Troopers in a straight-to-DVD Dukes of Hazzard movie. I repeat my inquiry. He shakes his head. Tells me they’re scheduling inspections after Tuesday of next week. Obviously, that’s a bit too late for me. I am starting to worry a little bit about my afternoon’s plans.
Stop #3. I spy an inspection sign on a muffler and brake place, and veer into their parking lot, thinking they might be a little less busy. The waiting area is spartan, and I apparently startled a customer out a deep stupor. I am greeted by a skinny man who looks like he was an extra in Deliverance. It wasn’t so much his disheveled appearance – greasy, unkempt hair seemingly trying to escape its own destiny and owner by spiraling outward in various directions – nor was it the various-sized nodules studding his neck and face, but it was his eyes, vacant and staring, while he intoned they had no time, and astutely observed that this was the end of the month. I exited quickly.
Stop #4. Actually, it was a drive-by. I started noticing that all these places have their phone numbers on their signs, and as I passed another hole-in-the-wall, I shouted out the phone number to myself. No luck, they, too, were busy.
Stop #5. I pull into the parking lot, and immediately find myself in a sticky cluster fuck of cars, as suddenly three vehicles are trying to exit. I park. And call the number on the side of their building. No again. Their inspector hurt himself and is out for a week.
I am starting to get a little panicky at this point.
Stop #6. I pull into another little garage’s lot, and see a woman swiffering the floor to the waiting room. Having made eye contact, I think it will be a little odd for me to call from 5 feet away. I walk in, she gestures towards the back, and a man comes around to ask me what I need. I repeat my request for an inspection. He tells me to come back tomorrow. I think my shoulders slumped a good four inches. I started to succumb to what seemed to be the inevitable, and asked what time they opened. 8 a.m. How long will it take? The guy asks what kind of car I have. I start to flail. I’m feeling defeated, and frustrated, because I have a 2006 Murano that has just over 17,000 miles on it, for pete’s sake, and I can’t believe I even have to HAVE an inspection, and I’m saying all of this while flapping my arms like a flightless bird, spiraling on his freshly-swiffered floor. He pauses, and says, “Come here. Write down your name and address. I do it right now.”
At one point, while I waited, I’m pretty sure I uttered an audible, fervent blessing upon this man. This wasn’t the most comprehensive inspection, I’d wager, but frankly, my car doesn’t warrant a fine-tooth comb. It’s still under warranty!! The bill was $12? I gave him $20, with heartfelt thanks. And he blessed me, at that point! It was a win-win, in my book.
So, finally, I have new plates (that are grammatically incorrect, but yours truly & a Sharpie are gonna fix that), a new remote, and I dropped off a lemon-berry slush for my husband, who’s having parent-teacher conferences all day today. I’ve got to get my halloween costume pulled together tonight, and I must say, I’m ready for the weekend! I’ll get some pics of the costume up tomorrow, and hopefully (fingers crossed!) get back to slightly more regular blogging! I’ve missed it – and while the blogs I write in my head are undeniably awesome, they’re also super-easy to forget.
Polly had a multitude of toys. Soft toys that she loved, with squeakers in them. Which in turn led to her having a bit of a CHOMP CHOMP CHOMP effect when doing actual retriever work. So when Tripper happened along into our lives, we put all the softy toys up, to avoid repeating the behavior.
Watching him grow up (or not grow up, as the case may be) has been entertaining. He still loves ice cubes, which is that phase they grow out of, eventually, and I secretly love it so. He charges in at the sound of a tray of ice being cracked (yes, we are old-school) and sits on his butt with his ears up and eyes huge, waiting for you to toss him a cube. He is the most persistently stubborn and into-things-he-shouldn’t-be dog I’ve had; he is not content to chew on bones, but goes in search of tissues, toilet paper, trash, and has a peculiar penchant for Q-tips. They don’t even have to be used to be appealing to him; the other night he went into James’ duffle bag & ate half a travel-sized container of them. I didn’t know the container was only half-full until the next morning, and at the rate Tripper’d been going, he seemed fine. All I could say was (shrug) “Good thing they’re made of paper!” Let him outside and you can expect to see any number of things go from their original state to shredded or destroyed. Plastic flower pots. Milk jugs we’ve saved for watering. Large piece of cardboard from a label. A random goose decoy head.
One of the things Polly used to do that cracked me up was her work in Toy Management and Distribution. She was really trying to get fast-tracked to be promoted in the industry, as she would race up and down the stairs to move various toys to rooms around the house. Every morning this happened. But then Tripper came along, the toy supplies dried up and she had to give up that career path.
James has a door to his workshop that’s by the greenhouse, and since it can be blown open (and won’t return to shut itself), he attached a bungee cord to it so it will stay shut unless you push it open. And this door? Is Tripper’s favorite thing to do. He LOVES to open it with his head and prance through, sometimes at full-tilt speed. When Suzy does it? She just nudges it open and walks on through. But Tripper goes through with a BANG and I’ve taken to saying any number of phrases when I see it happen. “Busy day, people, all sorts of meetings, please, take a message, I’ll be back after lunch, I’ve GOTTA GO.” Somehow in my mind, he’s the head of security at the casino, and he just saw something on the cameras that concerned him and he’s headed out to the tables to investigate before another dollar is lost.
I’ve got to find him a little green visor.
And yes, I’ve been very busy myself. Sorry for the quietude. I have two good-sized projects to get through & then, hopefully, things will mellow out a bit. Which is the same thing I’m hoping for in Tripper. :)
I feel like Earl, I’ve got a big ol’ list going. I’m taking tomorrow (almost today) today yesterday off, and originally had planned for the day to be filled with nothing. Except a couple hours at a local day spa. Unfortunately, said day spa? Had a water line break and they are delaying their re-opening by at least another week, so all appointments are canceled. Disappointed doesn’t even cover it. So instead, I thought I’d seize the day & get stuff done. We’ll see how that goes. I made a list, I’m going to intersperse doing things on it with just enjoying the r&r, and clearing off the DVR. I’ve gotten whipped into a political frenzy all over again and I need to take a break from it, because I get really riled up. I know, your imaginations just had to stretch so far on that one.
Obviously, it’s taken me some time to even get this written, since I started it Thursday night & it’s now Saturday midday! I did get some things crossed off my list, but my main project is still in-progress, filling the latest Loopy Ewe order for more DPN holders. This will be the last of the monsters, it seems – I’d gotten them on clearance a couple of times, and now they’re nowhere to be found. However, Sheri did add monkeys to the order, so they may be the new monster. :) The devil duckies will certainly continue to be a staple. My fingers are sore from all the elastic stringing, and I need to print off more labels & cut them up.
In other news, I had THE most phenomenal experience at Bath & Body Works, the same place I witnessed a near race war last year (I knew, just KNEW, I’d blogged about something wonky there last Thanksgiving). I’m not linking because I’m lazy and it’s not terribly pertinent to the story. It turns out, I was being helped by the store manager, but she had the grand idea to allow me to split my purchases up into smaller purchases, so i could get a proffered free item (which I was buying multiples of) more than once. For sake of storytelling, let’s say it’s a tube of lotion. If you spend $15, the lotion is free. (And it puts the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again!) Well, I wanted lots of lotion, and lots of presents and lots of antibacterial soap. So she broke my purchases up into smaller groups, and I ended up having, um, quite a few transactions! I was clever enough to use several charge cards, as I figured any credit card company seeing multiple, under-$20 purchases would immediately put my card on lockdown. Add to all of this an additional 15% off with my Back in the Swing card. I sent an email last night to B&BW corporate because she was truly that great. However, I am on the verge of OD’ing on “Creamy Nutmeg Home Fragrance.” Actually, anything that can obscure the scent of Tripper’s farts is ok in my book…. he’s lethal today.
Now I’m trying to find a new skin for my Firefox, because whatever in hell I’ve done to the fonts on this computer are totally fubarred. They are legible, but they look kind of fuzzy and make me feel like I used to before I had Lasik. Only now if I squint, the type makes me feel drunk, instead of becoming clearer. GAH. I just tried to download one and it’s yelling at me that the file is corrupt. Drunk, angry stupid computer. Did you know there’s a “Pimpzilla” theme? And as entranced as I can get by all the shiny fun images and icons and buttons, there’s this cranky 92-year old in my head that’s barking, “Just give me the damn thing so I CAN SEE IT!” I don’t want to have to decipher what a curved bumblebee actually means in my fucking toolbar! Oh Joy. I just refreshed & have “Camifox” installed, and I can see that this is an overall Windows setting I fubarred, not FF. FUCK. You know, it’s not the major stuff that melts the glue in our seams, it’s the small, higgledy-piggledy stuff, the little pieces that are like midges or gnats, circling and moving just out of range while we flail wildly, appearing to the casual observer that we’ve completely gone off our rockers and are channeling Hunter S. Thompson on a mesculine binge. A quick help search turns up this page, which I immediately notice has a typo, and it only makes me crazier. You’d think Microsoft would figure out “Widows” might be a common screw up, and a search/replace might be a good thing. (let’s insert another crazy yelp right here, shall we? The damned dog is still farting.) OMG, I might have fixed it. It’s not perfect, but it’s not blurry, either.
I might need a nap. Or a drink. Or both. Definitely an oxygen mask. SHEESH, Tripper.
Pictures & whatnot later. I can’t handle much more wrasslin’ right now….
one of my dad’s most favorite songs… though rather drenched in irony, since the man bought himself virtually anything he DID want, and his famous quote was, “It’s better to have, than to want…”
Anyway, that’s my way of saying, “Yes, it would be lovely if I posted pictures of finished knits, or my friend Shelley’s absolutely adorable baby Kara, or the photo of me with the Yarn Harlot from Monday night, or even a post that was remotely interesting, but you aren’t necessarily going to get that today!”
Let’s see – all the photos are on the camera and need to be off-loaded. That’s probably not going to happen for a couple more days. Because then there’s the editing. Cropping, whatever. It takes time. And to quote my beloved 80’s duo, Hall & Oates, “I’m outta time….” Sure, I could skip playing sixteen games of Scramble a night, or stop reading all the bitching on Facebook about the new Packrat (omg, does it ever BLOW CHUNKS. I am keeping with the 80’s lingo, something has to be entertaining here.) I could also do some laundry, I could get some holiday shopping done, yes, I said holiday shopping, because this week is “Back in the Swing” week here in Kansas City, and it’s a pretty cool charity effort – participating shops give you 20% discount, and all the card proceeds go to services for breast cancer survivors here in KC. But it’s only for a week, and I gotta get to using my card. We did get the discount on our pre-Harlot meal Monday night, which was nice. Hathaway Shoes, you’re in my scope & next on my list!
Plus I’m trying to take Friday off, so my time-space continuum has been short-sheeted! I’m just all very whack-a-mole, which, oddly enough, was used in an article to describe the financial crisis. I’m glad they’re finally boiling it down to terms we can all grasp.
So, I’ll keep plurking, and serving up rather banal, frenetic posts here and there, and then, there’ll be some pictures…and some ranting…. and some deep thoughts…. speaking of – best wishes to my friend Carmen and her trials & tribulations with her mom, we certainly missed her company on Monday. (You know how Dear Abby would always do that “Private to CG in KC” thing? Well, not-so-privately, Carmen, COME HOME. NO MORE RUNNING FOR THE BORDER, and you KNOW what I mean!)
And now, off to whack more moles.
I’m enclosing today’s Hazelden email below. Sometimes, I get these and they’re – meh. Too much God, too much 12-step, too much addiction, and yet I still stay subscribed, because there are days when they resonate like a clear bell above still water. I’ve grappled off and on internally with some things I don’t feel I can write about so publicly, partly because some people will think it’s about them, others won’t realize it IS about them – ha – and who needs that pressure when you’re already grappling?! I started subscribing to these about 8 years ago, when my mother nearly died from alcohol poisoning (0.48 is a rather high number, eh?) and my efforts to get her into treatment at Hazelden failed. Wow, just typing that I saw the parallels to when I got my father into Mayo before he died. Sometimes I’m astonished by how much I grew up when I wasn’t paying attention.
Anyway, her birthday was Friday, and a co-worker was puzzled when I was getting advice on a birthday gift – “You haven’t seen her, you don’t talk, but you still send her gifts for Mother’s Day and her birthday? I don’t get it.”
I do it for me. There will always be part of me that loves her and wishes things were different. Instead of trying to change it, I’m letting it be. I take the actions that I want to take, send gifts because it’s what I want to do. Cutting someone out of your life is much easier in its definitive-ness; it’s a black & white world, much like rehab. You drink or you don’t, you have a relationship or you don’t. For me, that choice doesn’t work. Unfortunately, that gray area bears a lot of parallels to other friendships – things have changed enormously in two years. People I fought for and defended have turned their backs on me. Others who feel they gave me everything think I turned my back on them. Because whenever there’s another person involved? Your ability to influence, work on or control things still only equals half. And when the proportion of effort is out of whack, resentment builds. It gets easier to retreat, draw the line, say fuck-off, go away. As someone who chooses not to live in a black & white world, I still do love labels and resolution. But I’ve learned, unlike a moth to the flame, that seeking it doesn’t always work. So I am letting it all just be. It’s awkward and uncomfortable, yet I’m finding there’s peace in letting go. Not seeking. Not tugging. In standing still, we can actually find and create direction. Peace.
Today’s thought from Hazelden is:
Stop playing tug-of-war.
Letting go can be like a tug-of-war with God.
Have you ever played tug-of-war with a puppy and an old sock or a toy? He pulls. You pull it out of his mouth. He grabs hold again and shakes and shakes and says grrrrrr. The harder you tug, the harder the puppy tugs. Finally, you just let go. Then he comes right back again, for more.
I have never successfully treated or solved one problem in my life by obsessing or controlling. I’ve yet to accomplish anything by worrying. And manipulation has not wrought one successful outcome. But I forget that from time to time.
The best possible outcomes happen when I let go. That doesn’t mean I always get my way. But things work out and, ultimately, the lesson becomes clear. If we want to play tug-of-war, we can, but it’s not an efficient problem-solving skill.
I pulled up to the Panera on the Plaza this morning, and noted this odd-lookin’ dude pacing back and forth on the sidewalk. Not odd in the sense of “By-Night-I-Live-Under-The-Bridge”, but I just don’t see a lot of professional men in sweater vests and Dutch Boy haircuts, and this one had his earbud-cellphone thing going on so he was talking while pacing. I wasn’t sure if there was much of an accent, mostly because I was trying to contain my surprise at hearing, “I just hope that getting off the SlrrrrrXicrrrrr is easier than getting off methadone.”
Well, I certainly hope so, too.
And once again, proving how the world is shrinking, I ran into a couple of co-workers. I marveled at how fantastically well (and fast) our brains can work, you know? I just glanced sideways into the seating area as I set my bag down, waiting for my breakfast sammie, and I saw my two friends. Chatting with them turned into a longer-than-expected delay, but was lovely and worth it. And didn’t require a smidgen of methadone!
I have a lot of things to catch up on, one being a huge shout-out (they’re all the rage, homies, y’all can even do it while debating for the second-highest office in the country! /sarcasm) to our friend Amanda, who ever-so-graciously stopped and offered us a ride while we were waiting for the shuttle on Sunday. Actually, before I knew it was her, I could tell from the car slowing down and pulling over that someone was going to stop, and I told JWo, “We don’t accept rides from strangers!” Well, hellz-no, but this wasn’t a stranger! She’d just dropped her fiance’ off for judging, and was nice enough to swing back around & drop us off as well. I swear, this town, it just get smaller & smaller each year!
So, back to the story, as we were leaving the judging on Saturday, we were once again asked by the local newspaper if we were subscribers. (We were asked that morning as well, and on hearing we were subscribers, they thanked us for our support.) This time there was someone new, and JWo said, “Yep, matter-of-fact, it’s on our doorstep as we speak.” The representative? Said, “Yeah, riiiiight”, ever-so-sarcastically. Wha? Huh? That was no put-off lie, jackass. James, who RARELY seeks confrontation marched back and asked him to repeat what he’d said. And the guy continued his jack-assery, and sneered his name when asked, wanting to know why we’d want it. “So when I call and cancel our subscription of 9 years, I can give them your name!” I was doing the oh-hell-there’s-gonna-be-a-fight dance watching all this, and the jackass basically said, “FINE! Go ahead and do that.”And continued to make faces and gestures as JWo walked back towards me.
Customer service at its finest! And as we walked away, all I could think was, “Motherfucker. It’s not over!” Because I’m not a big shot, I’m not fancy pants with city council members at my beck and call, nobody rushes when they hear it’s me on the phone, I don’t qualify for private banking. But remember that thing about this town getting smaller? I’ve worked at several places, and have connections at most every media outlet in town, including the paper. And I happen to have a salesperson at said paper who takes his job, and his company, VERY seriously, who can zip right through the channels and get to the supervisor of a jackass who decides to mouth off at the husband of a small agency media director. And mind you, I didn’t go about this to try and get the guy fired. My point was that as someone who places ads, and as a subscriber myself, I WANT people to stay subscribers. Yes, newspaper is berated as a “dying medium” – in some markets, circulation has declined drastically. It’s down about 10% in Kansas City over the past three years. But in many smaller cities, circulation, especially Sunday circulation – is flat or up. The baby boomers that comprise the majority of the population haven’t embraced the internet as their sole source of information. OK, I’m wandering. The essence of my message was simple. Customer service is paramount at all times. If you want to believe someone’s lying to get out of talking to you about subscribing to the paper, keep your lip buttoned. And for all I knew, they outsourced hiring these people, and if that was the case, they definitely needed to be alerted to the behavior. The last thing they need is someone driving off the people who are already on board!
Within thirty minutes of sending my email to my rep, I received a call from The Person who supervises the person responsible for our incident. With apologies and reassurance that this was not acceptable behavior, and that it would be addressed. Hopefully we won’t get a dead rat delivered with the paper tomorrow, but again, at least I know who to call….
….because right now, I feel hungover. A meat, smoke, rub, sauce hangover.
It is an unbelievable weekend, and this year, we took our learnings from last year, and had our act together. Apart from one small hiccup, which could have been disastrous – the weekend was an unmitigated success. We saw some folks we’d met last year, and made new friends this year. It’s really a lot of fun, and has been the Christmas gift that keeps on giving!
The hiccup was at the very start of the judging, when we arrived at 11:05 for the Invitational Meats judging. One woman working the entry to the judges’ tables barked at us, “You’re LATE!” I was all, “Surely she is speaking to someone else!” Because our paperwork said we were to check in between 11 & 11:30. So we got our aprons & pins, and stood in line. They called out if there were any husbands & wives together (we raised our hands), and I got accelerated to the front of the line. Again, nothing alarming or unusual; we’re not allowed to sit together. I get seated, greet my tablemates, and get out my book for signing. Then I see James come in with his group of 6, and I found out shortly thereafter that his table was the last table in the door.
Whoa. There was some screw-up with turn-in times and they seated the judges way earlier than announced. He would have been crushed if he’d missed the cut-off. (And mad at me, who was all, “WE DON’T NEED TO ARRIVE SO FLIPPIN’ EARLY”) As it was, we met numerous people who arrived after us who were turned away and were PISSED. So, I know two things – next year, we’ll be crazy early, and two, the KCBS folks are prolly gonna get some angry letters.
We judged chicken, ribs, pork shoulder & brisket. Wisely, we’d brought insulated coolers, ice, baggies and a wet washcloth in a separate baggie. (Which drew envious admiration both days…. a little trick we learned last year.) The chicken in general was outstanding; most of the meat was above average or better. Then we judged sides, and our table got three different potato dishes that were basically inedible. The first was beautifully presented, but sweet potatoes are more of a gamble in the ‘tater category, and if you overspice them and whip them to the consistency of baby food – eesh. The second was underdone. As in, raw. Ah, no. The third, another sweet potato, was sauced with pure cayenne pepper that left my mouth on fire for quite some time afterward. My seat mates and I were all in agreement, at least.
The big drama comes with desserts, and after the bad sides, we were getting a little pessimistic, joking that we were gonna end up with pudding, tapioca, jello and vanilla ice cream. And as we watched massive dessert after dessert come in, I think a little part of us inside hoped beyond hope that we, too, would get an elaborate three-tiered cheesecake, or a large torte. Our table captain didn’t even get in line until, well, she was last. (grumble, grumble.) So what did we get? Banana pudding. Strange slivers of fruit tart. Flavorless vanilla ice cream mixed with unripe peaches. And six measly grilled peach quarters. James, on the other hand, got large-scale productions (including one that had a solid chocolate cow from Annedores as GARNISH. FOR EACH PERSON.) My hope is that next year will be a different story, but I was definitely disappointed.
Today’s Open competition included sausage, which I was dreading. I don’t normally enjoy this category, on the heels of last year’s submissions (two were so spicy I thought my head might explode, and all of them made me burp unpleasantly.) Sorry for the overshare, but there it is. Again, the chicken was fantastic, we had one awful, almost inedible rib, I almost got a hand cramp trying to pull one piece of brisket (lawzy was it tough), and then…. along came the sausage. And the one entry I gave a “9” to for appearance? Was without a doubt the best sausage I have ever tasted in my life. It was the only thing I gave all 9’s to, and I am still rather blown away by how good it was. We swung by Culver’s for a palate-cooling cone, I put away our extra baggies of meat, and we promptly fell asleep.
The other crazy thing that parallels over-imbibing alcohol is how much water you ultimately consume. During judging, and then once you get home. I feel like I’ve been on some Atkins-cleansing diet for three days. The only thing that sounded remotely appealing tonight was some fruit, and I expect tomorrow will be a meatless day.
And, much like being drunk, I could only do one thing when we hit the radio to hear the Chiefs-Panthers score: laugh hysterically. (34-0. Oy.)
Tonight was the party night at the American Royal. We went to several tents – we always have a great time at the KCTV5/KSMO tent, and then, because we knew both an attender, and the cop working the “door”, we sorta crashed the Worth Harley-Davidson tent, which was pretty awesome. After a while, we went back to the KCTV5 tent, to make sure we thanked everyone & said our goodbyes, and on the way out, I saw my chance.
There was a young police officer working security there, as well, nice nice guy, and was doing an inordinate amount of texting. It’s not really major case squad down there at the Royal, though I’m sure as the night goes on, the drunk & disorderly rises. So I decide, now’s my chance. I started to tell him, then I stopped, imagining the worst, he told me to go ahead, just tell him, and I did it.
“Has anyone ever told you they’re afraid they’re going to lose their minds, lose utter control, and try and take your gun away from you?”
The answer? It’s a helluva lot more common than I ever imagined. (Yay! I am not alone in wanting to hurtle myself right into unmitigated stupidity!) And he continued to tell me just how aware he is, at all times, of where he is in proximity to other people, how he doesn’t want people behind him, and he’s always aware of where other people are in relationship to his weapon. As sorely tempted as I was to fake an attempt, HA HA, wouldn’t that be hilarious, I wisely chose not to. And I walked away, shouting to my husband and mother-in-law that I’d made the first step in ridding myself of this phobia.
Oddly enough, it didn’t even cross my mind when we met up with James’ former D.A.R.E. officer, someone I adored the minute I met her, and she gave us both hugs (talk about your perfect opportunity). She told me she’s got some great stories for me (I practically jumped with glee, except I was so tired by that point, I couldn’t have left the earth for a second). Can’t wait to plan that dinner, I love me some first-hand COPS. We then admired the drug-seizure vehicle her partner was driving – a souped-up Denali with spinner wheels and a DVD player system (in the front!), and then our jaws dropped when the trunk doors were opened. The entire cargo area was filled with the biggest speakers I have ever (EVER) seen in a car. I made a joke about how this kinda makes drug money look good, and she said she spins it the other way. I’m not sure exactly what that is, apart from the fact I think those speakers can actually sterilize you at 50 yards. Oh, well, yeah, JAIL. Duh.
The evening was great fun, and the big event is tomorrow – I’ll take pictures, and give you a full report on the day of judging. I know by the time Sunday rolls around, I’m going to have sauce & smoke coming out of my pores. …
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