Overdue and Overpacked II: The LaLas Take on the World: EPILOGUE ON PAGE 58

[AUDramaQueen]

Chapter 2

According to some weird unspoken rule, he’s the only one in the house who is allowed to place suitcases anywhere near the minivan on departure day. If I so much as breathe in the general direction of the the back of the van while he’s loading it, the rule states that he must, MUST take the last three suitcases out that he just packed and repack them in a more orderly (to him) manner. And then the rule states that he must ban me from loitering in the garage and that he must tell me to “Git back in the house and do some women’s work!” I’m just kidding. Or am I?

We have that same rule at our house. He even says the same thing. Well almost. Is your husband an engineer??? That's the excuse I use for him, oh, and he has family who live near Ft. Payne so that might explain it too. You do know it's the Sock Capital of the World? How can you not have fun in the Sock Capital of the World?? Jeesh.

Anyway, great trip report...again. Can't wait for more. You and ZZUB are my car pool reading. Oh and the Whirlwind trippers, too. And UtahMam. (Yeah, I'm lame and have nothing better to do.)So keep it coming!

 

[mouseketeer_mom]

My husband is sitting about ten feet away and he thinks I've lost my mind at the way I'm laughing out loud at the computer.

 

[Yzma and Kronk]

Lalalalalalala: Thanks for the laughs, especially this:

If I so much as breathe in the general direction of the the back of the van while he’s loading it, the rule states that he must, MUST take the last three suitcases out that he just packed and repack them in a more orderly (to him) manner. And then the rule states that he must ban me from loitering in the garage and that he must tell me to “Git back in the house and do some women’s work!” I’m just kidding. Or am I?

I can relate, or can I??

 

[tink38]

We (I) get crafty with the construction paper (again) and it hangs on the refrigerator. Each night the kids take turns tearing off a chain. The only rule we have with that is that you have to giggle when you rip it off and then do the chicken dance afterwards. Not the polka chicken dance. The Joe Horn chicken dance. Yep, that’s the one. If you're not a Saints fan, feel free to Google. Anyway, you have to giggle and dance when you rip off a link or else you lose your turn the next night. Those are the rules.

Okay. I am DED. DH is a huge Saints fan but I'm not really into football. I've seen this dance before but could not recall it. I asked him to demonstrate it for me.

He did.

I am scared. But That was FOFF! (NOF)

 

[LaLa]

We have that same rule at our house. He even says the same thing. Well almost. Is your husband an engineer??? That's the excuse I use for him, oh, and he has family who live near Ft. Payne so that might explain it too. You do know it's the Sock Capital of the World? How can you not have fun in the Sock Capital of the World?? Jeesh.

No, he's not an engineer and the Sock Capital of the World thing killed me.
Partly because it was so random and partly because it's so true. Because where there are socks, there are bound to be sock puppets. And what's more fun than a sock puppet? Thanks for reading, even in the car pool line.

Now that's just a flat out good idea. Too bad I only have 20 DAYS to execute it!! Oh yeah, baybee!!!

Congrats NM! I'm so psyched for yall. I'll be looking for another TR from you soon, my girl.

The music is different - on our drive down it was either Elvis or extremely heavy metal (not the hair metal of the 80's-that would be me-but the kind where you have no idea what they are saying...or maybe they are just grunting!)

Loving the TR so far.

He likes Elvis too, and truthfully only liked one BSB song several years back (he told me to clear that up by the way) Third Day is mostly what he listens to now. Not so much the boy bands. Not that there's anything wrong with that. But thanks for reading and commenting.

Okay. I am DED. DH is a huge Saints fan but I'm not really into football. I've seen this dance before but could not recall it. I asked him to demonstrate it for me.

He did.

I am scared. But That was FOFF! (NOF)

Tink, I knew you would get the Joe Horn chicken dance thing, you NO Lady. For those of you that don't know, (lexmelinda) it's a "touchdown celebration". Basically, there's no rhyme or reason to it. You just bend your knees, shake your entire upper body separately and all at the same time and slow step around in the end zone. Or the living room. It's hilarious to watch and we have been know to break it out on Family Game Night as well.

In other words: it Does Exist

Or does it?

and YOU DID NOT WIN GOLD!

Or did I?


Yakkity Yak and Pongo : Nice to see ya my girls. What's up with men and suitcases? JP, stop breakin tha law.

kimwin8, megandbrandon, and monymony: Thanks for reading the first one. I appreciate your comments. It really was a lot of fun to write. This one is shaping up to be that way as well.

Thanks everybody for all your comments. I'm working on the next one now...

 

[LaLa]

Departure Day is always a flurry of activity.

There’s the packing of the suitcases, going over the checklists (yes, that’s plural), the last minute straightening of the house, and all the excitement and anticipation of everything that lies ahead.

Like the drive.

Which is not cool.

But still, it’s all good.

Our destination is Disneyworld so you won’t hear me complain one bit. Besides, we’re packin’ movies for the kids and lots of em so we’re covered.

I walk out the door and try to sneak one more tiny suitcase into the back without drawing any attention to myself. I thought I was slick, but apparently my husband is slicker. He’s got that whole cop thing going for him and I’m busted faster than James Brown on a Friday night.

DH: What was that?
Me: Uhm, another bag. Just some shoes that I forgot I needed. Until just now.
DH: Where did you put it?
Me: The only place I could fit anything else in. It’s back there on top of the cooler.

Apparently, according to Imaginary Suitcase Packing Rule 2798XYZ, nothing can ever be placed on top of the cooler in the cargo area. It hinders access. Because you never know when you might feel the need to hand your wife the wheel, climb over the kids in the backseat, shimmy across all those suitcases to the absolute back of the minivan, open up the cooler and grab a Yoo Hoo all while the van’s barreling down the interstate at 75 mph.

It’s all about the access. Or so he says.

Anyway, he hops out, reshuffles the stuff until he’s satisfied that everything is back up to code, hops back in and then we’re outta there.

Finally.

We take off down the driveway and squeal the tires really loud to tell the neighbors “Hey. Look at us. We’re goin’ to Disneyworld and yall ain’t. ”

They really do like us.

I mess around with the CD player until I find what I’m looking for. I crank up the song from Test Track and tell DH to close his eyes and use his imagination.

Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea because he was the one driving. And looking back on the incident, although the Cold Chamber can easily be explained, I have a sneaking suspicion that those “German blocks” may have been our neighbor’s now MIA cat.

Moving on.

We stop by the kids’ school to pick them up.

It feels funny to use that term. The kids’ school. It used to just be the boy’s school, but this was the year that our daughter started kindergarten. So now it’s the kids’ school. Just the thought of that has taken some getting used to for me.

Ask any of my friends and they will tell you that I had a hard time with my daughter starting school this year. It was tough on me. She’s growing up so fast it makes my head spin. The boy is as well, but she's the baby. The last one. And it’s a bittersweet emotion when you realize your baby is no longer a baby, but a little young lady instead.

And as hard as it was for me to loosen the apron strings, I honestly believe it was even harder for my husband. So we were really looking forward to having the kids all to ourselves with no interruptions for a full week in the place where no matter how grown up you get, you’re always still a kid at heart.

DH parks in front of the school and I head inside to pick them up. They come running up to me and almost knock me to the ground in their excitement. As I hug them, I notice that both of my babies smell like school. They smell like old books and papers and learning. And growing up.

Not to mention mystery meat.

They squeal a couple of excited “Disneyworld! We’re goin’ to Disneyworld!”s and hop into our blessedly overloaded minivan.

No matter where the destination, every road trip with us always has two constants.

We always say a family prayer at the beginning once everyone is situated and barring any physical injury, my husband always drives.

That’s just the way it is in our house.

My husband is the navigator. As opposed to the Navigator. Because there’s a big difference there.

Anyway, because he drives, it means he can’t also read the road atlas at the same time. Which really bugs him.

Well, technically he could, but I’d like to live to see twenty nine on my next birthday.

Heh Heh.

My husband is a very charming, funny, handsome man with skillz like you wouldn't believe. But the man has been known to exhibit slightly obsessive behavior about certain things. Maybe not quite to the point of OCD, but still.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Anyway, it's especially noticable on long trips.

As he is driving down the road, it’s not enough for him to rely on the signs that were placed along the roadway to guide him towards his destination. No, the road signs are not good enough. He’s gotta kick it up a notch. He must constantly have a visual as to where he is in relation to the map. He also must know, at all times, approximately how many miles away he is from his next turn.

Just so he’s not caught off guard. Two hours later.

I'm convinced the only reason he needs to know all of this boils down to two little words. The Time. It’s The Time that drives his obsessive thirst for knowledge on road trips. The Time. As in, making good time, beating last year’s time. The man has been known to fly into a rage at the mere thought of a traffic jam. Yep, it’s all about making good time with him.

Making good time and not hindering access to the cooler.

So what’s a slightly obsessive navigator to do when he has his hands full at the wheel?

If he were more like my Dad, he'd drive with his knees and spread the road atlas out in front of him on the dashboard while he casually lifted his pinkie to drink coffee from his thermos. And then he’d run off the road into that mindshatteringly (it’s a word) loud series of bumps that make your whole head vibrate and wake you up from a REM sleep for weeks afterwards just at the memory of it.

But thankfully, he’s not.

So he tells me to read the atlas for him instead.

That’s right. I am the Redneck version of GPS.

And although it’s debatable as to whether I am the more cost efficient of the two, I’m guessing it will only be a matter of time before he breaks down and gets a real one. Because every road trip, we have exchanges like this:

Him: Hey, how far away is Ocala?
Me: What state’s that in?
Him: What?
Me: I’m kidding. Ocala.. Ocala…we got a long way to go. And a short time to get there.
Him: That was a good movie. Okay, how far away is the next time zone? When do we cross over the line?
Me: Why do you need to know? You set the clock up two hours ago.
Him: Don’t give me any lip Woman. Just tell me.
Me: This is strictly on a need to know basis. We’re good with the clock. Forget about the little time zone line.
Him: I feel an attitude adjustment comin' on. Tell me. Seriously.
Me: Whatever. The little green dotted line crosses over the orange line about…..two inches away.
Him: Two inches. I’m asking you how much longer it’ll be before we cross over into the next time zone and you’re telling me two inches.
Me: Yeah, I measured it with my finger. It’s two inches. I’m sure of it. So it probably won’t be that much longer.
Him: Son, get up here and show your Mama how to read a map.


Anyway, you get the idea.

Because we were traveling on a Friday, it meant that there was a college football game going on the next day in Gainesville.

That’s right. It was the eve of the Florida/Alabama game.

And the closer we got to Gainesville, the more football fans we encountered on the road around us. At first, it was just a few here and there. But as time wore on, we noticed almost every other car that we passed was carrying a load of people headed to watch a bunch of guys in tight pants fight over a pigskin. And while the Gators were definitely accounted for, we were surprised by how many Alabama fans we passed on the road that night. They were everywhere.

It was a Crimson Tide invasion.

And they weren't playing around.

Each car had at least two flags flying from the windows, multiple bumper stickers, personalized Bama license plates, even the windshields had messages written on them in white shoe polish. We passed RVs decked out in Bama garb that just screamed "I’m packin’ ribs, chicken, and charcoal and plenty of it. Show me the way to the tailgate party and show me now!”

Everywhere we looked, we were surrounded by ZZUBs.

We honked our horn to say “Roll Tide”. They honked back to say “Mean it.”

Then we honked our horn twice more to say "Go State!"

Just to cleanse the palate.

Since the trip is kind of long and we didn’t get started until a little later in the day, we got a hotel room about an hour away from Orlando for the night.

The plan was to get in and get situated at a decent hour so we would be refreshed and ready for a full day at Typhoon Lagoon the next morning after our short drive and check in. It’s a pretty good plan, we’ve done it before, and we like being able to check into our resort first thing in the morning and have the entire day in Disney.

That was the plan anyway.

So we get to our hotel. We pull up, case the joint, and we all notice the same thing at the same time.

Our jaws drop.

Okay, mine drops. Nobody else’s. Just mine.

Almost every car in the parking lot was hauling Bama fans. I’m not exaggerating. The entire hotel was nothing but Bama people. I laughed really hard. Partly because I was tired and delirious at that point and partly because just the sight of it totally cracked me up. Every single person we encountered was sporting Alabama garb.

It was so weird.

My husband even said that. “This is so weird.”

If I didn't know any better, I'd think we were pulling up in front of a dorm in Tuscaloosa instead of a hotel in Ocala.

DH goes to check us in and then we walk inside (with a group of Bama people) and catch an elevator (with a group of Bama people).

Actually, it was just two girls. Two very nice girls.

They were wearing their nice, crisp Alabama Tshirts and pulling their little neat and tidy overnight sized Pullmans behind them. While we wore our nice wrinkled Disney Tshirts and pulled a Pullman roughly the size of Texas behind us.

We struck up a conversation and I asked them if they were rooting for the Gators.

They asked us if we were headed to Six Flags.

We talked with them for a little while. They were really sweet with the kids. Our daughter showed them the three Minnie dolls she was dragging around with her and they oohed and ahhed appropriately over them. We liked those girls. I guess maybe Bama can turn out some pretty decent people after all.

Oddly, neither one of them knew ZZUB.

I still find that hard to believe.

The elevator beeps to let us know we have arrived at our floor. We bid farewell to the Bama girls by throwing our fists in the air and yelling “Ramma Jamma Yella Hamma” at the top of our lungs as we make our way out into the hall.

We’re not really sure what it means but it sounded cool.

Which is all that matters anyway.

I think we scared the nice girls.

We find our room, open the door and are pleasantly surprised. It was pretty nice. Not Grand Floridian nice, but the room was pretty big and it seemed to be pretty clean. Which is always a plus with me.

The kids absolutely lose their minds anytime we stay in a hotel.

There’s just something about being in a hotel room that drives them out of their minds with excitement. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a Days Inn in Foley, Alabama or the Port Orleans at Disneyworld.

Hotel rooms are vacation to them, no matter where we are.

My son told me before we left that he couldn’t wait to check into our hotel room and kick his shoes off because he loved the carpeting they had in hotel rooms.

I said “Come again? It’s not even Berber, son.”

But I think that’s the whole idea behind it. It’s not Berber. It’s not plush. It’s not even hardwood. It’s something that we don’t have at home. It’s something different. It’s hard carpet. Industrial grade even. It’s patterned and often times dirty. But to him, that carpet just screams hotel room.

Hotel room just screams vacation. And vacation just screams fun.

So as soon as we settle into the room, the boy takes his shoes and socks off and walks around, sliding his feet on the hard, patterned carpet. He can’t contain his happiness. It’s written all over his face. He nods his head, smiles and says “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

Then he and the girl jump up and do the chest bump thing. You know the one.

Three times in a row.

They laugh like maniacs. I’ve never seen them do that before so I gotta admit it was pretty funny to watch. It was like a train wreck. My gut told me it was bad news but I just couldn’t look away.

But what I failed to take into account during their little Skittle induced celebration was the fact that the boy weighs slightly more than the girl.

And more than three jumping chest bumps in a row can wear out a tired five year old.

So on the fourth celebratory bump, the boy bumped the girl backwards, she lost her balance and smacked her head on the door.

And just like that, the fun’s over.

She screams bloody murder and immediately points the finger (and outstretched arm) of blame at him.

The boy screams “I didn’t do anything! You’re always trying to get me in trouble! Tattle Tell!”

I scream for ice cream.

Or, for everyone to keep it down.

One or the other.

I can’t remember which at this point.


Up next: Smack Me Three Times, We're in Disneyworld!



Click here for Chapter 4

 

[horsegirl]

I am here and have more to say in a minute.

Hi my La. I miss you.
Okay, back. Great installment sista! I especially liked this.

Him: Hey, how far away is Ocala?
Me: What state’s that in?
Him: What?
Me: I’m kidding. Ocala.. Ocala…we got a long way to go. And a short time to get there.
Him: That was a good movie. Okay, how far away is the next time zone? When do we cross over the line?
Me: Why do you need to know? You set the clock up two hours ago.
Him: Don’t give me any lip Woman. Just tell me.
Me: This is strictly on a need to know basis. We’re good with the clock. Forget about the little time zone line.
Him: I feel an attitude adjustment comin' on. Tell me. Seriously.
Me: Whatever. The little green dotted line crosses over the orange line about…..two inches away.
Him: Two inches. I’m asking you how much longer it’ll be before we cross over into the next time zone and you’re telling me two inches.
Me: Yeah, I measured it with my finger. It’s two inches. I’m sure of it. So it probably won’t be that much longer.
Him: Son, get up here and show your Mama how to read a map.

Redneck version of a gps?

Thanks for the laugh, La. I will be following your funny and charming tale as always.

 

[lexmelinda]

Ask any of my friends and they will tell you that I had a really hard time with my daughter starting school this year. It was tough on me. She’s growing up so fast it makes my head spin. The boy is as well, but she is the baby. The last one. And it’s a bittersweet emotion when you realize your baby is no longer a baby, but a little young lady instead.

I remember when my baby went to kindergarten just seven short years ago. I was sad but a little excited...both kids in school...free at last. Then that December I realized I was pregnant! So be careful how much you miss having a baby around...one might come your way! RE: Redneck GPS....LOVE IT! That's me in our car....where I'm prohibited from driving due to gender impairment.

 

[RunningthruDisney]

Great report! I do the same thing when reading a map - I measure with my fingers, maybe thats why I always get us lost, and - or miss an exit. And the reason I now fly to florida. Thank goodness for jetblue and southwest

 

[NAB]

Our kids say the same thing. Hotel rooms is a holiday....add a pool and they are really happy. And they have to check every drawer and closet.

Can't wait to hear more....


--

 

[monymony3471]

Perfect timing. I just finished the first one this morning (which was the bomb!) and now you give me this to read this evening. Thank you!!!

 

[nicolemarie]

LALA!!! You are scaring me, girlfriend!!

No matter where the destination, every road trip with us always has two constants.

We always say a family prayer at the beginning once everyone is situated and barring any physical injury, my husband always drives.

That’s just the way it is in our house.

We are the exact same way. We back out of the garage - my husband driving, of course - and turn around. We shift from reverse to drive, put on the brake, and hold hands and pray. After the "Amen's", there is much whooping and hollering - and the NMs are on vacation!

As I hug them, I notice that both of my babies smell like school. They smell like old books and papers and learning. And growing up.

I know that smell. And the look. Hair that's messed up from the playground, a stamp of music notes on their wrist from the music teacher, and pencil smudges on their hands. With big smiles that tell you they think - for now - that family vacation is as good as it gets.

So he tells me to read the atlas for him instead.

That’s right. I am the Redneck version of GPS.

But is it that pinnacle of Atlas's - DeLorme? Because if y'all don't have one, it would make a good Christmas gift. That's good map readin', there.

LaLa, my friend. Another installment that verifies the parallels between our families. That was a really good read. As always.

NM

 

[Frickles]

Anyway, because he drives, it means he can’t also read the road atlas at the same time. Which really bugs him.

Well, technically he could, but I’d like to live to see twenty nine on my next birthday.

Heh Heh.

[/B]

I hear 29 is pretty awesome. I wouldn't know.

LaLa! You are bringing it in a BIG way girlfriend!
That is sweet that you all do a family prayer before the start of the road trip!
I'm lovin it!

 

[LaLa]

But is it that pinnacle of Atlas's - DeLorme?

Girl, whatchu talkin' bout? You know we got the Rand McNally. This is the LaLas you're dealin' with. Not the Happyfreakinhaunts.

We back out of the garage - my husband driving, of course - and turn around. We shift from reverse to drive, put on the brake, and hold hands and pray. After the "Amen's", there is much whooping and hollering - and the NMs are on vacation!

We pretty much do the exact same thing. We sit in the driveway and say a prayer before we squeal the tires. Every time. Our van ain't gettin' on the road without that.

I hear 29 is pretty awesome. I wouldn't know.

Yeah, me either.

Horseymygirl: I miss you too! Where ya been?

NAB: When I was a little girl, the hotel pool was the ultimate for me. Didn't matter where it was. The Days Inn or Motel 6. Whatever. Getting to stay in a hotel was better than eatin' five boxes of Lemonheads or being invited to a sleepover. So I think it's funny to see that same excitement reflected in my kids. They love it just as much as I did. And still do. Although now, it's a little different. Motel 6 ain't leavin' the light on for me if you know what I mean.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

 

[Sneezie]

LaLa I'm so happy you're back with another trip report. Your first one was the first trippie I ever read. I've just copied and pasted all of your entries into a Word document and I'm going to read them in a minute. I know I'll enjoy them.

My internet usage is very limited, but I just had to come by and tell you "I'm happy you're back with another trippie!"

 

[mouseketeer_mom]

hello from one redneck GPS to another

 

[AUDramaQueen]

Apparently, according to Imaginary Suitcase Packing Rule 2798XYZ, nothing can ever be placed on top of the cooler in the cargo area. It hinders access. It’s all about the access. Or so he says.

Oh, it's not imaginary. It's another one of those man-laws. Just like trying to add a suitcase full of shoes at the last minute is a chick-law.

It feels funny to use that term. The kids’ school. It used to just be the boy’s school, but this was the year that our daughter started kindergarten. So now it’s the kids’ school. Just the thought of that has taken some getting used to for me.

Ask any of my friends and they will tell you that I had a hard time with my daughter starting school this year. It was tough on me. She’s growing up so fast it makes my head spin. The boy is as well, but she's the baby. The last one. And it’s a bittersweet emotion when you realize your baby is no longer a baby, but a little young lady instead. DH parks in front of the school and I head inside to pick them up. They come running up to me and almost knock me to the ground in their excitement. As I hug them, I notice that both of my babies smell like school. They smell like old books and papers and learning. And growing up.

Well said, or written, whatever. My oldest started K this year and my girl will start next year (don't ask). I'll still have one more at home, but still. Big school just changes everything.

As he is driving down the road, it’s not enough for him to rely on the signs that were placed along the roadway to guide him towards his destination. No, the road signs are not good enough. He’s gotta kick it up a notch. He must constantly have a visual as to where he is in relation to the map. He also must know, at all times, approximately how many miles away he is from his next turn.
Just so he’s not caught off guard. Two hours later.

I'm convinced the only reason he needs to know all of this boils down to two little words. The Time. It’s The Time that drives his obsessive thirst for knowledge on road trips. The Time. As in, making good time, beating last year’s time. The man has been known to fly into a rage at the mere thought of a traffic jam. Yep, it’s all about making good time with him.

OK, OK I confess, I'm with your husband on this one. I have to know exactly where we are and what time I will get somewhere. I HIGHLY recommend the GPS for Christmas. The real kind. Ours tells you what time you will reach your destination and will change occasionally according to your speed. Yes, I have OCD tendencies and if you're on the Dis, I bet you do too

Almost every car in the parking lot was hauling Bama fans. I’m not exaggerating. The entire hotel was nothing but Bama people. I laughed really hard. Partly because I was tired and delirious at that point and partly because just the sight of it totally cracked me up. Every single person we encountered was sporting Alabama garb.

OK, OK there's so much I can say here, but I'll refrain as to not upset anyone. Last Saturday's game was enough, I'm sure.

They asked us if we were headed to Six Flags.

Good one.

The elevator beeps to let us know we have arrived at our floor. We bid farewell to the Bama girls by throwing our fists in the air and yelling “Ramma Jamma Yella Hamma” at the top of our lungs as we make our way out into the hall.

We’re not really sure what it means but it sounded cool.

Yeah, I thought it was really wierd when I first moved to the South that the big college cheers make no sense whatsoever. What's up with that? They all have made up words and slight cuss words. Do all colleges have these cheers? It's very silly. Anyone up for "BodyGetta"? No really. READY! Ready!

Hotel rooms are vacation to them, no matter where we are.

I feel the same way, myself. Great installment. Although I read it while I should have been getting DD ready for pre-school. We were late and now I have nothing to read during car pool. Guess I'll rearrange our ADR's for our May trip

 

[samc]

we were surprised by how many Alabama fans we passed on the road that night. They were everywhere.

It was a Crimson Tide invasion.

Almost every car in the parking lot was hauling Bama fans. I’m not exaggerating. The entire hotel was nothing but Bama people.

you lucky ducks!!! I'll bet being surrounded by all that crimson made you feel yellow!!!

I guess maybe Bama can turn out some pretty decent people after all.

ummmmm, yeah I agree with that


great installment........count me in as another BAMA fan stalking your TR.

 

[ZZUB]

The shock and awe of losing to that crappy cow college from Starkville is still fresh in my mind. So I was mostly glad to read this update this morning.
All I could think of was how fortunate you were to be surrounded by a sea of Alabama Fans! You were feeling the love, weren't you?

Bama fans are good people. Even when we lose to clearly inferior schools.

That's Bama for you. Even though we lost. At home. To a school that had previously been unable to beat an SEC opponent, we're still arrogant.

Tradition. It's a tradition at the Capstone.

Theres a reason those gals didn't know who ZZUB was. You were probably not pronouncing it correctly. When I was in school, I was know as ZZUUUUUUUUUUUUUUB. You probably pronounced it Z Zub as so many people do.

I have a sneaking suspicion that those “German blocks” may have been our neighbor’s now MIA cat.

This is just full on funny. Funnier even than your claim to Olympic Gold. Loser. Liar. Junior senator from Massachusetts.

Ooops. I didn't mean to insult the troops. I just botched the joke.

Great update as always. That thing with your boy and the carpet cracks me up. I'd say he'll grow out of it, but I never did.

 

[pumba]

good report.......

get a Delorme......its not to far from my house either...good instructions....well almost good instructions.....HE gives the instructions and I find out where we are or have been.......