Pursued By A Bear

Poo. Just...Poo.

Straight from Sass, who has over 13,000 tweets:

(THIR. TEEN. THOUSAND?!)

An FB friend just used the term "hubby wubby." Another friend and her husband regularly call each other "Lover." #ack #saveme

Ha! And here I thought I'd have NOTHING to write about today.

So...pet names.

Couples have them.

Fred and I have them. Well. One.

About a year ago, Fred read an online article that challenged couples to actually call each other by their real names for 30 days. Okay, we get it. The pet names are annoying. So we tried it. We failed. We failed so hard.

It was weird. It is weird!

I can't even express how SO WEIRD it is to hear the word "Erin" come out of Fred's mouth when he's addressing me directly. I've known him for seven years now and the only time he ever uses my name when he's talking to me is when he needs to alert me to trouble. When I hear "Erin" come out of his mouth, I'm on high alert. My mind immediately swirls with all sorts of ooky questions, like,

"Am I about to get hit by a taxi?"

"You...still have a job, right?"

"I'm sorry, did someone just die?"

These are the kinds of things I'm thinking when I hear my name come out of Fred's mouth. My heart skips a beat in a not-good way.

Of course, we use "Erin" and "Fred" when we are talking about each other to others. But alone? Just us, alone? ...We call each other Poo.

Yeah. Poo.

Like:

"Hey, Poo!"

"Wanna go running, Poo?"

"POO-OO-OO! I was watching that, gimme the remote."

Does it not fall trippingly off the tongue?

I don't even know how it started. I think it might have been from watching South Park; then we started calling the cats "The Poo Poos" because that's what they do - eat/sleep/poo. (Oh. They make a lot of poo.) From there, it just became a term of, well, endearment in our home.

Poo.

Hey, at least it's not "honey" or "baby" -- I don't hate very many things in this world, but, WHOO BOY, do I hate being called "baby". It's probably because I am the baby in my family. Baby. It's so dismissive:

"You sit in the back - you're the baby."

"She gets away with everything, just 'cause she's the baby."

I really hate "baby" as a couple-y nickname.

I don't know what we are going to do when we start a family. I think it's fun (and funny) that Fred and I call each other Poo. It's better than all the regular sappy nicknames and I think it comments nicely on the sense of humor that we share. However, I can't go around calling my kid "Poo" -- right? Can you just see me at the park:

"C'mon, Poo! Let's go!"

That would not be good. I mean, people would look askance.

Do you have any odd nicknames for your...Lovah (...no)

your...Partner (gurrrr)

your...

...SIGNIFICANT OTTER?

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Also, let's discuss a related topic: what do you think is the best term for those special folks that aren't a "Wife" or "Husband"?

I ask because I'm in my upper 30's now, as are a majority of my friends. Unmarried 30-somethings referring to their boyfriends and girlfriends as boyfriends and girlfriends: Yay or nay? What do you think of that? I feel like we might be too old for that? It's a little like, "Boy? Girl? Hardly." But I can't come up with a likeable alternative. Significant other is too formal. Partner and lover sound so squicky.

So what do we call them, folks?

What do you think?

Nicknames for the special people in your life - GO.

 

Rules for Life

Writing about vacation has inspired me to share another one of my Rules for Life.

Oh - I know - Magic 3 and Pencil Test already out there(**).  I just know y'all are gonna stop everything and gather at Mamma Gilbreth's feet for this newest nugget of wisdom, aren't cha naw?

Today's Rule for Life: Buffer Day

I can't truly take credit for this one. However, it is brilliant. I practice it religiously and so should you.

It started like this: a few years ago, my sister and her family were going to be at my parents house at the same time as me and Fredster. I was trying to coordinate all the flight times so my parents only had to make one trip to and from the airport.

Me: "So, we were thinking we'd fly home Sunday afternoon."

D: "No."

Me: "Wha...No?"

D: "Buffer day, Erin. We're flying home on Saturday because my husband requires a Buffer Day before going back the the office on Monday."

You guys? That is WISDOM right there.

Creating a Buffer Day between your last day of vacation and your first day back at work is, in my opinion, essential. It takes a big chunk out of the stress of traveling home. Lord knows the probablity of your flight getting delayed or cancelled these days is about 50/50. But it's okay -- Buffer Day!

Plus, I think it is just good for one to be able to unpack the bags, go thru the mail and mentally rest a bit before heading back to the old grind.

Buffer Day. Know it and love it.

"My life is hard. I require Buffer Days for my Buffer Days."

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**Okay. I know I've shared these. If not on the blog, then certainly in "real life" with some of you! Let's review.

Magic Three: Don't schedule more than three major happenings in a day.  If you try to squeeze to many things in, you'll just experience the Law of Diminishing Returns -- and that's a waste of everyone's time.

Pencil Test: Can you stick a pencil under your breast or butt cheek? DOES IT STAY THERE? If so, it's time to do some planks and squats. Sorry. I know it's harsh, but the truth will set you free.

 

 

 

The Pregnant Lady

....Nope. Not me.

It's the name of this sandwich:

From Peanut Butter & Co.

Who knew.

Pickles and peanut butter...? SO GOOD together!

 

 

Feel the Burn

I have two little "retreats" at the end of the summer in which I will be in a bathing suit in front of friends. Eek. Schlitterbahn with the family is one thing -- but the Hamptons? the Outer Banks? In front of people who are not required to love me as I am?

Hmmm.

I don't want to be horrified by the photos that will inevitably get posted on facebook, so I have taken to doing something that I have avoided for almost 20 years.

I'm tanning.

"But tanning isn't good for you!"

I KNOW. Here's how I am rationalizing it: 1) I'm getting old. I am turning thirty-cough-cough next month. I give myself an A- on conquering the aging process since I haven't been in the sun very much at all for most of my adult life. People often mistake me for being about 25 years old. However, my legs are getting a tad "vein-y" these days. Do you want to see my legs blue or brown? Because it's too hot for nylons and I hate self tanners, so you're getting 'em "as is" -- unfortunately. they aren't as cute as they used to be so I gotta do a little work here.

Do NOT put a self tanner recommendation in the comments.

Just -- stop yourself right now because I hate them all. I hate them all so much. Do you think I have gotten this far in my pale, pale life without trying hundreds of self tanning products? I've heard it all. I've tried it all. NO.

ahem.

2) My doctor said so. No, really! She was flipping through my files at my physical this past Spring and she saw some notes she had written in 2005.

Sidebar: I have always been a fainter. When I started experiencing some annoying and unexplainable exhaustion about 6 years ago, I had some blood work done. The result were inconclusive, so we're just "watching" my delicate state for now.

"How's the fainting and exhaustion these days, my little dramatist?"

"Actually, I'm pretty ok. I never sleep deeply, But I do sleep when I need to sleep. If I am up in the middle of the night because I napped from 7 - 9pm, so be it. I'm just focusing on letting go of stress and trying to get 8 hours however I can get it."

"And the fainting?"

"Only when I stand up too fast."

"Do you get out much? In the sun?"

"Oh gosh, no! ...MY FACE!"

"Well. You're very pale. It wouldn't kill you to get a little sun and fresh air. Put on some SPF 15 and try to get out more."

Then she closed the file and exited the room.

There you go. Straight from the doctor's mouth.

Good advice...?

 
 
This is what happens when I get "a little sun and fresh air" - hah!

For the record, I applied waterproof/sweatproof SPF 50 sunscreen every 2-3 hours --  look how pale the underside of my left arm is in comparison to the top of my right!

It's been a few weeks and now the burn has faded into a veeeeeery subtle touch of color. And I like it. I will never really have a tan, but a little color feels good. With that in mind, I have been letting myself sit in the park with a no-thinking book (as no-thinking books are the best Summer reading...) on Saturdays and Sundays.  Just for an hour or two. Of course I don't intend to singe myself every weekend like I did at Schlitterbahn!

 This vain little flower is more than happy to follow her doctor's advice.  I call it "The Quest for Vitamin D" but who are we kidding, right? A tan is slimming. The only thing worse than getting caught in a bathing suit on facebook is getting caught in a bathing suit on facebook looking...er...less cute than you thought.

 

 

Downhill Racer

Remember when I said the rides at Schlitterbahn are rough?

I've got photographic proof, y'all.

As I mentioned before, we decided not to pursue the alledgely "hard core" rides in the Blastenhoff (yes...Blastenhoff) section of the park because it was a holiday weekend and HOLY COW...a four hour wait to go on a ride that lasts a minute?

 
I mean, yeah, it goes uphill (and that's pretty cool) but it doesn't warrant a four hour wait.

D learned too late for the planning of this trip that the Schlitterbahn resort lets its guests go on the rides an hour before the park opens. We've decided that NEXT TIME we will rent a few cabins and bring a whole slew of noisy family members with us and THAT'S when we'll go on the uphill Master Blaster - only when we can cheat and go on it before the park opens.

THIS TIME, we played in the wave pools.

We went on almost every tube ride.

We went on the Downhill Racer.

  

Seems harmless, right?

I have to admit, I got a little scared at the top of the slide as I was waiting for the lifeguard to give me the "GO".  It's the only slide in the park that has you going down (a very steep) hill FACE FIRST.

D's husband, Big D, went first.  He f-l-e-w down the hill.

Then I went.

whoa!!

I flew, too! In fact - the above picture is off the Schlitterbahn website.  We couldn't get a decent picture of US going down the slide. Fast. I lost my water shoe and had to search for it in the "recombobulation pool" <-- that's what I call the area at the bottom of every slide.  You know, where it takes people about 20 seconds to get their bearings like, "Okay. Um. what just happened? Right. Now I should exit. Where are my legs?"

I found my shoe and raised it victoriously to the applause of all the on-lookers.

I got out of the pool and rejoined my family.  We were chatting excitedly about the ride and debating over what we ought to do next...when D suddenly called to our attention that Big D was not talking.  In fact, his face was white as a sheet.

"Dude, you okay?" I asked.

"No way. I hit my leg. I don't know how, but look" he replied.

 
 That lump is only 3 minutes old.

Big D was all,

"I broke my shin! I broke it! That lump is...shin shards. I HAVE SHIN SHARDS IN MY SHIN."

And D was all,

"Okay? But you are walking. So. Probably not."

Shin shards.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

 

 

Schlitterbaaaaaahn!

Over the 4th of July weekend, I went on a road trip in Texas with my sister and her family. We went to Schlitterbahn. Yeah, I know. I just got back from Germany and I go to a waterpark named Schlitterbahn in a town called New Braunfels. My sister was like, "Oh look at all the cute little German buildings. This town looks like Disney's "Beauty and the Beast" -- Oh, heeeeey, sorry, you're probably sick of this scene..."

The thing you need to know about my sister, D, is that she is FUN.  She's the kind of person that was always really popular in school without trying.  The irony, of course, is that she couldn't care less about popularity. She's just nice and happy and funny.  People want to be around nice, happy, funny people!

Wouldn't you want to go on a road trip with THESE PEOPLE?

That's my fam, y'all. That video is a perfect encapsulation of what we are all about. When Fred first met my family, he was like,

"Whoa! Y'all are so...loud."

...but now he fits in just fine. We missed him so much on this trip. His nursely services were desperately needed on more than one occasion - but more on that later.

FYI, the little girl in the video is my niece and the "urban community" reference in came into play just minutes before my sister started rolling the camera.  We were having a (rare) quite moment as we approached Dallas and suddenly Little D piped up with,

"Mom! Is that an Urban Community?"

And we were like,

"Wha...? Nice SAT words, Millenium Generation."

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But back to the Bahn!

 Most of the park uses water from the Comal river.

 

This is me before I ate it on a big downhill rapids situation and swallowed a bunch of Comal River and was sick for a week and a half. My second morning in New Braunfels was ROUGH, people. In the worst sense of that word. I was all,

"D- I was just so sick in the bathroom. Maybe I shouldn't go to the park today?"

She put two imodium tablets into my hand and was all,

"Suck it up. You're going to the park."

See? We're fun!

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Speaking of rough...? The rides at this park are rough! I know the water SEEMS really calm in these pictures, but I can't even tell you how many wedgies and water-up-the-nose experiences I had over the course of two days. I stopped counting. 'Twas NUMEROUS and we didn't even go on the "E ticket" rides. It was a holiday weekend and all the lines for the big rides were crazy. Like, four hours waiting crazy. We opted for the "baby" rides and I still felt slaughtered by a few of the slides!

There we very strong currents upon exiting almost every ride. Ungraceful dismounts for all. I got a "thumbs up" from a teenaged lifeguard as I picked my swimsuit out of my rear after going down a speed slide -- thanks, kid -- and I saw one sopping wet and shell-shocked family exiting a ride with their toddler in arms and they were all...

"Yay! Tube rides are fun!"

...in that super hyper fake-y way that parents do to keep a kid from melting down? 

The little toddler was all,

"NO, THEY'RE NOT."

 hah!

Fallout

So, when I left my story in the last entry, I had purchased a last-minute Air France ticket from Frankfurt to Germany.

Folks?

It's all in how you ask.

Since there were no tickets available for purchase at Delta, the ticketing agent directed me to a kiosk in the center of the terminal. The young woman working in the Kiosk was a travel agent. She did not work for Delta or Air France. She was sorta like what you see on "The Amazing Race" when the teams run up all frantic and "We need to go to such-and-such...and FAST!" In other words, a facilitator.

"I need to get to NYC today" -- was what I said.

"That will be 900 euros" -- is what she said.

This price seemed reasonable to me...after all, she was offering me ONE of THREE tickets available on this day to NYC.

Did you catch that?

Three tickets to NYC. Total. In the entire airport.

So she entered my info and I swiped my card.

She printed the manifest and that's when she explained that the round trip tickets she pulled up on the computer were way less expensive than the one-way ones. So, surprise! I had just purchased a round-trip ticket! Air France going home (FRA to NYC) and then an extra "leg" (NYC to FRA) to use with Delta at a later date.

"I just picked a date for you, you can change it later," she said.

WHAT.

If she had told me I was buying a roundtrip, I would have TOLD her my next date of travel. I know my next date of travel! Now, I would have to call Delta and change the date. And y'all already know I hate calling customer service. What are the odds that they are going to change that date for me FOR FREE?

--------------------------------------------------------------------

The answer to that is: depends on the customer service representative. If you are lucky, you get Randy in Dallas. The first customer service guy I spoke to (Don) was a rookie. Totally in over his head with my request. He was all, "....uh...lemme transfer you" (...awesome) and then I told the whole story again to Randy, who was obviously more senior and - beg your pardon - he sounded just like Monte on "Say Yes to the Dress: Atlanta" and aren't the Southern gays the most delicious people ever? I posit YES.

It took 43 minutes for Randy to cut through the red tape, but I was able to change the flight and not pay the 100 euro change fee.  

AND I DIDN'T EVEN HAVE TO PLAY THE DEPLOYMENT CARD*

(*yeeeeeah, occaisionally I use the "My husband is currently serving overseas" song-and-dance to get better service. Sorry. I do. It's true.)

Anyway - Gold Star for Randy! I got off that call with him and immediately sent a glowing review of his service to the corporate office through Delta.com, because Randy in Dallas is rad. Randy in Dallas makes things happen and I love that.

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Oh, but if only that was the end of it.

Oh, no.  

I still had to deal with the one-half of my buddy pass that I didn't use. You see, buddy passes aren't free, they are just ridiculously (ridiculously) cheaper than regular tickets.  Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think what you are paying for are mostly....taxes?

Unfortunately, I couldn't broker that myself. I had to reach out to our friend who works for Delta to do it for me. Which sucks for me because 1) he's a busy guy, 2) I hate to bother anyone to do a favor for me, 3) he was also on vacation during this whole debacle, 4) which meant he had to pull out his computer and tinker with the pass refund request on my behalf when he wasn't planning on working.

Ugh.

But he was so great about. He put it through. I got my refund within a week.

Yay, friend!  Yay, Delta!

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Oh, but if only THAT was the end of it.

But, NO.

Air France re-routed me onto a Lufthansa flight, remember?

So when I checked in at Lufthansa, the service agent was clicking through the computer and was all,

"What's you Miles & More number?"

and I was all,

"Gee, I can't remember, but I flew with you guy A LOT in 2006 and 2007."

and then she was all,

"Oh, well, your membership is cancelled if you don't fly within a calendar year. You can sign up again online when you get home and get retro credit for this flight."

Seriously? Seriously.

------------------------------------------------------------

I told Fred about that and he was all,

"Oh, I know that your account was cancelled. That's why I sent in a new application for you in February. I figured you'd fly Lufthansa a few times this year."

But then why didn't I ever get my new Miles & More card in the mail? Weird.

It was rather difficult logging into the website without my Miles & More card. I had a temporary Miles & More number that had been apparently emailed to me (and somehow I missed that? Oh. Found it! Yup, February), but no PIN to log in.  So I had to jump thru all sorts of hoops to get a temporary password. When I tried to change the temporary password once I was in to my profile, the website wouldn't let me.

Which meant - YAY - a call to customer service. Unfortunately, the only "help" number they list on the website is in Germany.

So I grugingly placed the call. The agent was a perfect stereotype of a German mid-level employee. Exactly what you would imagine. Quite stern and efficient:

""Um, yeah. Guten Tag! I am trying to change my password and--"

"You cannot change your password until you have a PIN."

"Well, I've had my temporary Miles & More number since February. How come my real card hasn't been mailed to me yet?"

"You cannot have a permanent card mailed to you until you have completed one round trip flight on Lufthansa."

"Okay, sweet! I just did that! (clickity, clickity, clickity)"

"Within the past 10 days?"

"No, just beyond that (clickity, clickity)"

"Oh, well then that is okay."

"Uh...Okay, I'm trying to enter my flight information and the website says it's not valid."

(Blah, blah, blah...I'm telling my whole story AGAIN)

"In that case, you'll need to send your boarding pass and your original manifest with the booking number to a Miles & More service center. We have an address in Germany or an address in Santa Clarita--"

"Oh! Give me the address for Santa Clarita. That's California. They're happy there."

"Yes. And they will process your flight."

"And then I'll get my real Miles & More card?"

"Yes."

"And then I'll have a PIN too?"

"Yes."

"And then I can assign myself a password and check on my miles whenever I want?"

"Yes."

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So I sent my stuff off - made copies first, I do not suffer fools - and now I'm waiting for Lufthansa to officially put me in their club.

I'm PIN-ding.

 

 

Are We There Yet?

H'okay.

I am finally ready to tell the harrowing tale of How I Got Home From Germany.

Here's the thing: my parents lived in The Netherlands for awhile and I never visited them in the Summer because my dad always said, "Oh, Summer travel over here just sucks.  Let's avoid it." NOW I KNOW WHY.  Everybody and their mother (and all those Midwestern band/choir/church/red-hat ladies touring groups) want to go to Europe in the Summer. And they all seem to neeeeed to go thru Heathrow, Charles De Gaulle or Frankfurt in order to do it.

I only agreed to a June visit to Germany this time because a friend who works for Delta scored me a buddy non-revenue traveler pass. Oh, HA. Hahahahahahahaa. I shall never use a buddy non-revenue traveler pass in the Summer ever again. Non-revenue = No leverage.

Flying to Frankfurt was awesome. Of course, it was only June 14 when I went - so early in the travel season. I got bumped up to BusinessElite, which, hello, I think shall be my new standard for flying overseas. I told Fred that I deserve to be upgraded from here on out because this is the second season in my life where I've gone back and forth between NYC and Germany for an extended period of time.  By the way, there's been talk about how he might extend an additional year over there? I'm not trying to be a snot. Just...come on. "Jetting" between NYC and Germany is not as glamorous as it sounds. It's not easy to be separated from my spouse. I'm breaking my life up into 8 - 10 week segments in NYC followed by 2 - 3 week segments in Germany for years of my life now -- think about that -- and basically my life revolves around setting up cat sitters while obsessing over the state of my uterus, as in "See? This is not a good time to have a baby! All this hither and thither."

But that's not the point here.

Coming home this time was a nightmare. My buddy non-revenue traveler pass was scheduled for June 28. I stood in line behind a group of 50 high schoolers from Nebraska that had just completed an orchestral tour in their tacky matching polo shirts (Sigh. Les Americans.) for an hour before checking in. Finally, the lady at the check-in counter took my bag, stamped my stand-by pass, and wrinkled her nose as she said,

"Good Luck."

Now, the problem here is that there are three other Delta flights that go out of Frankfurt (bound for the USA) prior to the one to NYC on a daily basis. The flights to Atlanta, Dallas and Detroit happen before the flight to NYC. And - guess what? - those flights were all oversold. Which meant revenue passengers that got bumped from those flights and omg-had-to-get-home-by-any-means-possible had priority over me in trying to get back to the States.

There is no other flight on Delta to NYC later in the day.

Just that one.

I was counting people as they boarded the plane. Once all the ticketing passengers had boarded, there were still THIRTY THREE of us waiting for THIRTEEN stand-by seats. 

Crap.

I didn't get a seat.

I collected my bag and called Fred, who was about an hour and a half away from me, at work. It was decided that I would get a hotel room in Frankfurt for the night and try again the next morning. 

---------------------------

The next morning I got to the airport at 7am. I really had to get on the NYC flight on this day because the next day, I had a flight scheduled out of NYC to Dallas. Why not try to stand-by directly to Dallas? Well, remember, there are a limited number of flights to the States. I would be competing with other bumped passengers who were truly-desperate-to-get-home-any-way-possible...

...not to mention how much I hate dealing with customer service.  If I got the Dallas flight, I was going to have to call American Airlines within 24 hours to get a refund on one half my NYC - DFW itinerary.  If I didn't call them before my flight the next day, they'd cancel my return flight automatically. No matter what, I'd get charged for making the change on my intinerary anyway. I can't abide by customer service on the phone. I just can't stand it. So, no. I did not try to get myself on the Dallas flight instead. It was going to involve more hoop jumping than I signed up for.

Moot point ANYWAY.

As I approached the Delta desk with about ten other standby passengers, we were stopped before we could even get into line. 

"No stand-by availability today. At all."

One young girl standing next to me burst into tears:

"I've been trying for four days! I'm going to lose my job! Yesterday, you told me I had a chance today."

The attendant shrugged and unsympathetically replied:

"That was yesterday."

Doh.

We were informed that a half-empty plane was going from Brussels to Atlanta at 3pm.  But, we would have to take the train to Brussels and hope for the best.  Besides, once (if) I got to Atlanta...?  I'd still have to find a way to get to NYC in less than 24 hours in order to catch my next flight.  Not the best choice for me.

I asked the ticketing agent if the Delta flight to NYC was available for purchase.

"No, Miss.  We have no flights to the United States available for purchase until after July 5."

This was June 29.

Sooooo. Hmmmm.

I called Fred and asked him if I could buy a one-way ticket on another airline.

"OR...you could stay here with me. SAD FACE." said Fred

Which, yeah, except I would miss my trip to see my sister. I only get to see her once or twice a year. Beyond that, I was supposed to be back at work on July 6. If Delta is really maxed out until July 5, what are the odds that I'd actually get on a flight on the 5th in order to get back to work on time?

"Oh OKAY. Buy your ticket. You spoiled!" teased Fred.

(...who just bought himself a BMW. Who's spoiled, now?)

(I mean, sure, it's a used car. Still.)

---------------------------------------------

So I bought a ticket on Air France - sadly, not a direct flight. I was scheduled to fly to Charles De Gaulle and then home to NYC.

EXCEPT.

Oh, you knew there would be an except.

In the mere minutes between buying the ticket and checking my baggage, the workers at Air France in Paris went on strike and everybody routed through CDG had to stand in line to be re-routed.

LORD. HAVE. MERCY.

I was about 20 people back -- so generally at the front of the line -- and it took me TWO HOURS to reach the front.  I feel awful for all the people who fell into line behind me. I hope they made it onto new flights. I always get to the airport 3 - 4 hours early. My anal-rententive ways hath served me well.

The silver lining in all this is that I was re-routed to a direct flight on Lufthansa. I love direct. I love flying on Lufthansa.

The bad thing was that I had to wait five more hours to board the 5pm flight.  Also, I had no idea what was in store for me on that flight.  Oh dear.  It was 7 hours of being stuck in the middle of a gaggle of middle-aged Greek women who were set on some sort of Sex And The City shopping adventure in NYC. They loudly chatted over me the entire flight. One of the women brought her surly teenage son as a translator for their group since their English was not good.  Well, their English was actually non-existent. They kept waking him up to ask him what the airline attendant was saying and he was delightful about that, of course.  Teenaged boys just love being repeatedly roused out of slumber by a nagging mom and her entourage.

 

Oh MY. If only I'd had the power to go home ALL ALONG. 

(come back on Friday for Are We There Yet, Part II: Fallout Boogaloo)

 

BRAT

I'm back in town after 3 weeks of travel and my poor nails got some TLC this morning:

Today's color is Niagara Falls by Opi.

My pick is inspired by another body of water, the Comal River...which accidentally ended up inside my body in copious amounts over the 4th of July holiday.

What happens when you ingest river water?

Bad News Bears.

So, technically, I've been home for the past week, but I have not been writing because I haven't been feeling well.  If you've seen me in person lately, I haven't said it out loud -- but since you are my captive blog audience and you elect to be here, I'll just flat out say it: whoa, gang, BRAT.

Dr. Google says I can have GI problems for up to two weeks before I need to see an actual doctor.  So I have six more days to literally "get my **** together".  I really hope I get better soon because I do not like going to the doctor!

BRAT diet for the win.

Sadly, the A in BRAT does not stand for Alcohol.