If it's brown, flush it down....

Another weekend, another trip to the Land of Cheese. Get your bikini ready!

We are headed north--AGAIN--to hang out with members of the LLL. Seems I just can’t stay away from the construction-zone-nightmare-of-a-tollway. Why stay home when you can sit in your car, idling along with five miles worth of traveling companions? It's almost an integral part of the summertime to be stuck in construction traffic....  

The traffic wasn't too unbearable but I did have to stop and have a Frappaccino --it's stressful to weave in and out of all those people from Wisconsin who don't EVER move out of the left lane. HEY! GET A CLUE! Learn to drive! Get out of the damn left lane. It's a PASSING lane and the only thing passing are the cars on your right! The wife is a cheesehead, so she's used to my Wisconsin-drivers-need-to-get-out-of-the left-lane-so-us-flatlanders-can-blow-by" whining. RIGHT LANE! RIGHT LANE! MOVE OVER INTO THE GODDAMNED RIGHT LANE, YOU CHEESEHEAD! 

(Apologies to persons of Wisconsin origin. I get crazed over this thing and do not mean to stereotype all Wisconsin drivers. Just the morons in the left lane.) 

Let's not even get me started about the gas prices these days. How do the LLL members get back and forth from the lake on a regular basis without taking a second mortgage?

Only part of our illustrious LLL group was present, as it’s a busy time of year and choices must be made. We went a day late…why? Because Freckles has eye boogers the size of Alaska and because I just can’t bring myself to put the grrrlz back in the kennel only four days after they got out. (The boogers, I am hoping, are allergy-related. Freckles also has developed red spots on her belly, probably from slithering around the front lawn like a G.I. Joe-snake. At least she doesn’t eat her eye boogers. I can’t say the same for two of my clients.) 

The theme of the weekend was, “If it’s yellow, let it mellow. If it’s brown, flush it down.” I’m not kidding. There is only so much room in that septic tank of theirs, so we only flush when it’s absolutely necessary. It’s all good—we’re friends. I can take a little pee-pee peeking. Except…

my ovaries heard the word “PONTOON” and went into overdrive. “Let’s shoot that egg out there so we can complicate the toilet situation at the cottage!” There is NO WAY I was able to follow the yellow-mellow rule during such troubling conditions. I mean, you can't drop a clot the size of Cuba and not do something about that. Ugh! I probably took up all the spare room in the septic tank, everything will overflow and Lake Velveeta will be contaminated by LLL e. coli. 

I spent part of the weekend in a fetal ball due to cramps from hell. I also went over my legal limits of "flushes per weekend," but it seemed the only proper thing to do. I left no blobs of liver for any of my pals. They understand my pain--almost all of them are older than me and can relate to the joys of peri-menopause. They were NOT helpful, though--they told tales of horror and woe. I wanted to rip my ovaries out with my teeth by the time they were done with their stories....

The other theme of the weekend will be, “Eat ‘til you barf.” That’s what so’s good about all our friends: they love food and they love to cook and they love to eat and they love to talk about food and about eating. Of course, all this eating and sitting like a blob on a pontoon does not a bikini body make. We are all okay with added more cheesy wiblets to the existing ones, as long as it’s tasty along the way. 

Okay, so one of the participants took a photo of my butt. (Don't ask.) You should NEVER look see your own butt. It's just wrong on so many levels. It is back there for a reason: so you don't have to see it. I'm in no way a cheesy wiblet-covered heffer, but let me tell you, that photo of my butt showed more dimples and wiblets than I EVER want to think about again. I'm going to start walking 30 miles a day and give up once-a-day Blizzards. I'm also going to need therapy after that photo shoot.

When we are not eating or peeing and not flushing, we’ll be riding the waves of Lake Velveeta. Einsteina Vagina and Pee Pee Peeker, our lovely hostesses, have lots of toys besides the pontoon to keep us feeling sporty. Being that we are getting old, we will fight for the shade under the canopy on the pontoon. Is life good or what? 

Pee Pee Peeker has a new nickname: Rot de la Crotch. She got this horrific rash on the inside of her thighs. Those poor things were puffing up like puffer fish on steroids. They were red and swollen and awful-looking. She went to the ER--I would have, too, if my inner thighs looked like that--the doctor was little help..."it's hives. Take some Benadryl." Duh. She could have known that without paying him a zillion dollars. Anyway, she took Benadryl and slept through the remainder of the weekend...but, at least her legs got less red and puffy by the end of the event.

VE and PPP generously offered to let us bring the dogs, but that sounded like a disaster in the making. Can’t you just see Lucy falling off the side of the pontoon and Freckles biting the hostesses’ dog? I’m gaseous just thinking about it. And, I don't want to spend my free weekend staring at eye boogers. Instead, they will be staying home with a dog sitter and I'll pay her to stare at Freckles eye boogers. Lucy's bitter, because she's got her bikini all ready to go, but she'll get over it, as I've left word for the dog sitter to feed them unlimited treats....I figure it's only fair, as I'll be eating unlimited amounts of treats. I just hope Lucy doesn't ruin that girlish figure she's so fond of...

 The poor dog sitter, Kenny Chesney, ended up locking herself out of the house, with dogs standing at her side. We have our house keys scattered all over the universe but Kenny was unable to access any of the three million keys because her cell phone was INSIDE the house...the phone had the contact numbers. Isn't that how life always goes? Thankfully, I recently taught my neighbor how to break in to her own house using a credit card. (That is one use of credit cards the wife does not mind.) She thus helped the Kenny break into our house. Boy, do you feel safe with that locked door? I'd like to add that the eye boogers are much better, so don't throw up thinking about it. By the way, did you know that the official word for eye booger is MAGMUS? Indeed! Those of you LLL ladies not in attendance: we missed you. Pout. Pout. Pout.

And so went our final trip north for the season. Next stop: LLL in Lake Geneva. I feel a new tattoo in my future. All aboard! Now, if I could only get that picture of my cheesy butt out of my head...