Screwed

That will be the overall theme of this post and I think you'll understand why shortly.

***My day started on the particularly pleasant note of Rolan, the 2-year-old, leaping up and down on my bed like one of those bizarre Olympic trampoline champions and then subsequently landing on my belly like one of those super bizarre professional wrestlers. Since I already bemoan freakin' love dragging my large caboose out of bed in the first damn place, you can imagine how much I enjoyed being awoke by a 30 pound cannonball of adorable mayhem crashing into my abdomen. I don't think I have had the breath knocked out of me since I was in grade school, so as you can imagine, I was probably a real peach today. This isn't really "screwed" in the traditional sense. Or maybe it is. I guess I don't know what the traditional sense of being screwed is. Whatever it is, this is the one that sucks, like when you get stuck on a airplane by my a screaming kid and a relentless gum smacker. Or screwed like when your car breaks down at your mother-in-law's over a holiday that's driven all the local mechanics out of their shops and you half crazy.

The other two little tidbits are over the other kind of screwed, the kind that I like to talk about at very inappropriate places, such as baby showers. That's just a random example. The "talking about sex while you are sitting next to at least a half dozen 80-year-old women of a Baptist persuasion" is completely random and has nothing to do with the fact that I went to a baby shower yesterday. It is a totally hypothetical example. Totally.

***Honestly, the day wasn't that bad, apart from the smackdown breakfast in bed little Rolan served up all warm and toasty. I wrote articles for the paper and scolded the boys about 400 times for head butting each other and scattering pictures as though they were Mardi Gras confetti, so it was basically business as usual. After Rowdy came in from bullshitting at the local convenience store/coffee shop/pizza parlor getting latest minute-to-minute deer season updates doing cowboy things, we ate super and he put the boys to bed. Just after I started my shower, he was there rapping on the door. He, apparently, was in the mood for husband and wife relations, things of which I am clearly far too ladylike to blog about here on the internet for all six of my faithful followers to read. Anyways, my big, strapping, masculine, handsome man smiled as he joined me and then starting squealing like a newborn, decrying the unbearable heat of my water. Of course my gut instinct was to badger him for being a tender skinned wuss, but then I remembered that Oprah told me that sort of chicken pecking tends to take the fellas out of the romantic mood and, let's face, Momma needed a little action before the unstoppable toddler invasion overtook the bedroom.

***When Rowdy and I were on our honeymoon in Cozumel, Mexico, a rather persistent local vendor was pulling out all the stops to convince my husband to buy a necklace for his new bride. After several sales pitches proved unsuccessful, the intuitive salesman whipped out a paper cup and Patron tequila and, well, the grapefruit-sized pendant has been in my jewelry box ever since. Now, the reason I mention this memory is because that is probably the first time I realized that Mexico is just my kind of country. I mean, any place that openly encourages intoxicating customers to boost profits is a country I can get behind. Team that with the nationwide nap they collectively take each day and I'm outside the house with silver duct tape writing out BIENVENIDO over WELCOME on the doormat.
But, while I love that and many other Mexican traditions, customs and laws, absolutely nothing could have prepared me for the absolute infatuation I would develop for the entire country to our south when I discovered that the mayor of Mexico City, some Einstein-level genius named Marcelo Ebrard, is now officially handing out few Viagra and other impotence drugs to men over 70. Now that's a stiff re-election platform if I've ever seen one. In the announcement that proved Mexico CIty is the most hard rockin' city on the globe, Ebrare said that sexuality "has a lot to do with quality of life and our happiness," which basically means I'm inching towards that goal post and I certainly want to score again.
However, I do have one question for Mr. Ebrard. If you are dolling out Viagra like their shots of Patron to half-drunk Americans, the best senior citizen service in history, for Mexico City's men, what are you doing for the ladies? If you will promise free laser hair removal for the chicas, consider my retirement bags packed. I mean, I'm barely 28 and I'm already starting to sprout those menacing little hairs under my chin, so I can imagine by the time I'm 70, I'll look like some creepy red-haired wolf man. You know the gentlemen just go crazy for that. And just who will be the biggest supporters of this plan? My guess is Mexico City's 70-year-old men.

Lost in Translation, so to speak

On the days we ported in Mexico while on our cruise, Sol seemed to be our beer of choice. I like Pacifico a little more, but honestly it wasn't as available and when it was, it wasn't quite as cheap. Of course, I've never been a big fan of the Corona, so Sol it was!

Now on the trip, Chad was soaking up this south-of-the-border cervasa with the rest of us and even made the comment that he was going to continue to drink it once he got back to the states. The last morning of the cruise, though, he said he had an upset stomach and credited to the Sol. I agreed that it could be the beer, but might be the quantity, not the quality, that was to blame for this mayhem.

As we drove through Texas on our way home from the trip. we both stopped and picked up a 12-pack of the Mexican brew. Naturally ours was gone within a few days of our return. I mean, Lyndi had been gracious enough to let us park our car at her home there in Norman, so it was only the neighborly thing to do to whip out a couple and share with her, right? Then each day I would have one, longing for the Yucatan.

Well, apparently Chad just now got into his. He called me two days ago and said, "Well, I think I've found out what Sol means in Spanish?

"Sun," I said.

"No, enema."
I thought that was really funny. I've been looking for a reason to post this photo. I thought it really says lazy days on the beach. I had figured it would be on a stressful day with the kids, like, a "Man, I need to be drinking Sol in Mexico," kind of day. But, with that funny phone call from Chad, this is as good a time as any.

In the Eye of the Beholder Contest

Carnival Cruises are well-known for many things and one of them happens to be the cute, cuddley towel creations left in your room. The quick and crafty stewards stalk your room for each and every opportunity to clean it up and yet you never seem to see one of them.

On our recent cruise to the Yucatan Penenisula, our sailing mates Chad and Jennifer found the most peculiar towel concotion in their room one evening. They came to our room, which was right next door to theirs, to get our opinion on it. Rowdy and I have been on one other cruise and the adorable towel animals, as simple as it might be, were a heart-warming addition to our trip. However, on our first watery excursion, we did not see this particular clothey pet.

Just like that black-and-white cut out photo of Jesus, everybody seems to see something different when they see the photo of the towel animal. You know, kind of like that picture that is a beauty queen when it is turned one way and an old woman when flipped the other. Now, I'm sure many of you will see what we saw, which is what made this thing so attention grabbing. Hell, who knows what you will see. But, post a comment with your guess. At the end of this week, next Tuesday night at 10 pm, a winner will decided. Now, if only one person guesses the right answer, they will win a lunch special and drink from the Hog Trough on South Main in Elk City. For more information on their finger-lickin' BBQ and down home sides, visit http://www.thehogtrough.com/. Swing by, I think you'll like it.

If, by chance, more than one person pegs it, I will draw the name of the lucky person. So, let me know what you think. Tell your friends. Let's hear it.