97 Martini Playdate

Okay, so maybe it was more like Two Bottles of Wine and Countless Beers Playdate, but still. The ride to Ohio was a bitch, what with two babies needing to stop after three hours, then two hours, then one hour, and so on exponentially, until finally we were forced by those two little dictators to stop twenty minutes from Hausfrau's Haus to feed them Wendy's. Really now. Am I being unreasonable to expect them to can it until we hit Hausfrau's driveway? Please. I'm surprised we didn't have to stop at the gas station near their house for beer nuts and a diaper change. And did I mention that on this trip, I mastered the art of changing a diaper without unstrapping the child from the car seat??? Uh huh, that's right. I'm the Queen Momma of Roadtrips. All in all, it took us 10 hours to cover what most people can do in 6, so I was beat and I remember very little of our first night in Cincinnati. Except that Herr and Frau's Haus was mighty huge indeed.

The next day, after the usual five pots of coffee we all go through together, we headed out to Jungle Jim's. Please check out the link. I've tried to describe this place to other people, and I've failed miserably. Also, please take note of the Amish corpses in the buggy. The place had everything, and I drooled over so so much, especially the wine selection, but I remain deeply concerned about the sanity of Mr. Jungle Jim. Oh-- and as a side note, they also stock virtually every hot sauce known to man. Aisles and aisles of hot sauce. Listed alphabetically. Complete with an "adult oriented" hot sauce section. Use your imagination. I won't describe it here, at the risk of attracting every perv on Google to my blog.

Then we shipped ourselves and our millions of children back to the house. Can I just take a moment to gush over the mini Misfit Hausfrau's? Baby Girl and Peaches will certainly be my daughters-in-law, if I have anything to do with it. And yes, I realize one of my 3 sons will be left out, but every mother needs a gay son to take care of her in her old age, so I have no worries.

The kids went to bed, the guys watched football downstairs, and Hausfrau and I retired to her huge bedroom to snooze and watch "Guess Who's Coming to Dinner."

No, we did not spoon.

Please.

I don't remember a whole lot about the night, after the kids went to bed. Except the fab shrimp appetizers we had (massive shrimp wrapped in prosciutto and a basil leaf, topped with Tastefully Simple Balsamic/Basil oil and grilled). Holy God, they were good. And I remember the drinking, and talking about everything and nothing, and playing Shut the Box. And I remember losing miserably at that game, because my score was literally in the millions. I had a blast. I even remember laughing so hard at one point I had to sit on the floor to keep from peeing, or tooting, or whatever.

And now, the pictures. I'm sorry to say, there aren't as many as I had hoped, and they're not that exciting. And there was a FANTASTIC shot of my husband and Herr Hausfrau laying on a bed "watching football." I know it was all innocent, and our hubbies are so very straight,but DAMN it was a good picture. Alas, my husband doesn't want me to post it.

Hausfrau and Herr Hausfrau

Oh my.

Okay, actually, as you may have guessed, she NEVER looks like this. It's just a horrible picture taken mid-blink. And I know she's going to kick my ass for posting it, so last night I took these pictures of myself, so you know what I look like when I'm hammered:

Am I not fabulous at all times???? Just kidding. For you, Hausfrau, here's a crap-ass picture of me, taking one for the team:

Nice jammies, eh? Only the best from Costco for me. I consider this pair to be birth control. And what up with the nose? Damn camera.

Anyway, I'll do a better job with the camera when Hausfrau et. al. come up in March for one whole, fabulous week of Martini Playdates.

You'd better watch out, Sistah.