Aren't I the naughty non-blogger these days? Face it, I'm too pooped to pop these days. Besides, I've been stunned into silence after seeing my butt last weekend. I'm whiny and broke and I'm in perirmenopause and I still don't look like Lisa Rinna and I'm pooped.
Man, I haven't even talked about poop or Madonna for weeks. I must be in a bad way.
I do have a funny work story, so that's good. The wife and I joined 40 of our closest chronically mentally ill friends and hopped a bus to Top Cheese Town Milwaukee to see a Brewers-Cubs Game. Being that the wife is a cheesehead by birth and I'm a Chicago Cubby, this made for good, clean fun. After a short tailgate (designed soley for the meat eating picinicer--the pickins were slim for this vegetarian--I had some Oreos & a bottle of water), we entered the ballpark to stake our claim in our nose-bleed seats on the first base line. At least I THINK it was the first base line--we were so high up there, I'm not sure we were even watching the Cubs and Brewers playing the game. It was rather disorienting (or, it might have been that I was so hungry that I was just dizzy with hunger). Once we got the clients settled, I wandered off to find some food products more to my palate. I purchased a million dollar pizza and a half million dollar pretzel. The bottle of water was only several hundred dollars. (Sheesh, it is mighty pricy to eat at a ballpark these days. I pine for the days I used to eat Wrigley Field hotdogs from the wandering vendors.) I walked carefully back to my seat and sat down to enjoy this culinary delight of a lunch. I ate half the pizza, half the pretzel and then decided to take a break. I put my food into the pizza box, put it on my seat and hopped down a few rows to visit with a few other clients. I was literally gone for five minutes. I decided to return to my seat and finish my lunch. I hop over the seats (why go to the aisle when you can hop the chairs?), get to my assigned space and....
.....look at the client to my left and see him shoving a piece of a pretzel in his mouth. I look to the client on my right....
......and see him wiping some pizza sauce off his face. I look at my pizza box on my chair and see that it is EMPTY. These two guys ate my lunch!!! They ATE MY LUNCH! Only a few crumbs of salt from the pretzel are left.
This puts me into a tail spin. I can't exactly yell at them--after all, they are chronically mentally ill and I DID leave the food behind without specific instructions not to eat it. Still, I am BITTER. The only answer was to go buy a chocolate sundae. Screw the game, I am here to eat!
The Cubs lost, the wife was happy, the clients were full of my food, I was out of money but happy to have sucked down more ice cream in my life.
One of my peers felt bad about the whole meat-filled-no-vegetarian-choices-tailgate and thus purchased me a giant vat of cheese fries.
Guess who ate that?
Let's just say it wasn't me wiping cheese sauce off my face.
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