Grilled Wings:
Top honors go to Austin Grill. (The spice is unbeatable, and the house made Ranch dressing for dipping is perfection)
Second place is Hard Times Cafe. (Great flavoring and served smoking hot temp.)

Fried WIngs:
Top honors go to Buffalo Wild Wings. (OMFG … Asian Zing, Honey BBQ)
Second place is Cluck You. (Don’t let the cover of this book fool you, made to order. When they say “HOT”, believe it.)

Erin sprints from the couch the other evening, just making it to the kitchen sink, barf, yak, spew, yop. I know … kitchen sink. That was my first thought until I realized Erin’s stomach tsunami could have cascaded down on our fairly new Crate&Barrel couch, ouch. So why, after watching my poor little bunny throw up ALL of her carrots did I NOT deviate from my eating plans for the night? Major mistake.

Here’s a big f’in tip for you. IF you ever have another family member get the yops, change your eating plans IMMEDIATELY. Do not continue on with your plans of eating homemade chicken salad with bacon strips and a side of tortillas with spicy pico-de-gallo. Think of it as “what food can I live without for several years?” Because you know what, when you’re bent over your toilet a few scant hours later, the last thing you want to “taste” again is spicy pico-de-gallo with subtle hints of bacon. That stays with you, believe me.

As soon as the other person starts barking, get thee to crackers and water and live with it. And if you’re the unfortunate one to kick things off for your family, between hurls tell all that will listen, “crackers and water, crackers and water …”

So finally found Method Foaming Hand Wash and there ain’t no going back. Other pump hand soaps are too gooey, (Dial) or too anti-bacterially (Softsoap). BTW- If you ever want to see something funny, check out my wife when she has to use a shitty gas station bathroom. That alone is funny, but when she comes out with her hands held up like she’s getting robbed, its a good indicator the soap (if there is any) smells like ass.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not anti anti-bacterial. Oh no, I love me some antibiotics when me or my gals are sick. Problem with that is you’re reduced to lying like a bastard to get it. I just want some of dat pink stuff or maybe a little ol Z pak. Thats all.

Me, “Uh, yeah Doctor, uh, yeah, my uh, yeah … fever for 7 months now. Whassat? oh, uh … about 107 degrees … yeah shakes … vomiting? … oh yeah, big on that, big on that. Whassat? diarrhea? … oh yeah, pure squirts there, pure squirts … Whassat? throat? oh … (close eyed gulp for effect ) on FIRE, on FIRE“

I find that that kind of plea usually works. Be sure to mention your throat is on FIRE! That is critical to your success, it says BACTERIA writ large. You may want to spray some red dye in there to complete the illusion. What you DO NOT want to hear is the term “Viral”. Viral means you ain’t getting shit.

And that’s why I love Method Hand Soap.

Uh oh . . .

In the blink of an eye, the tabletop rag has morphed into the seat cleaning rag . . . or ass wipe rag. “Oh no, no, no, . . . nooooooooooooooooo,” she takes the newly morphed ass wipe rag and moves to the next table and  . . . yep . . . it’s now the tabletop rag again. Ass to mouth, mouth to ass, repeat and rinse. Man-o-man. Actually, this is nothing new, I’ve seen this scene repeated many times in many places . . . appetizing.

I do have one bright spot to report: Roy Rogers. I was in a Roy’s in Gaithersburg one fine day getting my Roast Beast on when I spied the ubiquitous bucket of blue. Only this time it had some lettering on it. The lettering said, “For Tabletops ONLY!”

Yes, that’s what I’m talking about. Someone somewhere gets it: “Oh, table wipes are table wipes, and ass wipes are ass wipes, and never the twain shall meet.” Apologies to Kipling.

When we get home Lisa takes a look at it and sez, “I think that’s broken, I’m going to take her to the pediatrician.” So she does, yep, x-ray confirms broken. We should see an ortho sez the peds. OK. So we do . . . or rather Erin and I do . . . Mommy has a dental appointment. I suspect nothing. Remember, Lisa’s dad was an ortho doc. Keep that in mind. See me and Erin laughing all the way to the Dr’s office. La de da. Sez me, “Oh they’ll just confirm it’s broken and change the splint to a nicer one, we shouldn’t be there long.” “Cool.” sez Erin. La de da.

“Yep, it’s broken,” sez the doc. Then he turns to unsuspecting me and sez under his breath, “We’re gonna have to set it.” I’m thinking, “By set it you mean . . .” Then I’m thinking, “Lisa = dentist appointment?” No way she could have set me up for this, how would she know Erin would break her pinkie . . . oh never mind. My thoughts were quickly interrupted by Erin who has sensed the shift of the wind, much like a scared antelope who smells a Tiger about but can’t quite see it . . . yet.  Sez the doctor, “Oh now don’t worry, we’ll give you some numbing medicine so you won’t feel anything . . . then I’ll just move your pinkie back to the way it was.” Erin sez, “What does the numbing medicine taste like?” That’s where I nearly cried. “Oh, it’s not medicine that you take by mouth, it’s a SHOT WE GIVE YOU IN YOUR HAND.”

“SHOT? . . . SHOT?, I DON’T LIKE SHOTS”, sez my innocent little bunny. Me neither. So we move to the “prep area” and I’m trying my best to: a) not cry myself, b) not look directly at her scared little face, c) feed her the, “it won’t be that bad” type shit. Erin WAS NOT buying it. She is up on the table, I’m sitting next to her when the doctor re-appears. “Can you move to the chair behind me dad?” They get her to lay down. Then she gets a spray of numbing cold stuff which makes her start crying. They let that sit for a while to start the numbing of the hand where the “SHOT” will go. Did I say “Shot?”, oh silly me, I meant, “Shots.” As in plural. As in dental appointment. As in where Lisa is.

Noon at the OK Corral arrives, and the nurse is all smiles as the doc gets the needle out, Erin of course is crying. They have to hold her arm and hand down. I can hardly stand it. I’m talking to her saying it will all be over soon when I spy the doctor pushing the needle right into the knuckle area of her little paw. She let out a scream as loud as she could. Doctor sez, “Oh we have a screamer.” Yeah, asswipe, she’s 7, she’s scared and you just plunged a needle into her bone and she CAN feel it. As soon as he pulls the needle out he turns to me and sez, “That’s 1.” Fortunately for us all, there were just 2. After everyone calmed down, the doctor comes back in and in 2 seconds has the finger back to where it should be and fortunately Erin this time feels nothing. They wrap it, x-ray it, and say she’s good to go. Don’t do this, don’t do that, we’ll see you in 2 weeks. Got it.

2 weeks is today, the 3rd. I’ll let you know what happens. Rather, Lisa will, I’ve scheduled a dental appointment.

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UPDATE:
Erin had the splint removed, now she’s down to just 2 taped fingers. Bending the pinkie is the new challenge. So far, so good!

Little Pal, “What happened to your finger?”
Erin, “Broke it playing dodgeball.”
Little Pal, “Well, at least you didn’t break your neck and get paralyzed.”

Enter RMSC practice swim group. The girls have never been part of a practice swim group, much less a swim team. This is a practice group to get one ready for summer swim teams, which I’ve been led to believe are fun affairs and not as serious as fall swim teams. Let’s hope so cuz I was ready to hurl after watching how many laps my gals went through on the first practice. Whoa, they ain’t playing these RMSCers!

After the third set of “give me 10 fifties, freestyle,” Lisa and I catch the attention of Austen as she is about to make the turn for another lap. She clearly mouths us this concise message, “I hate this.” Okay.

Austen is a junior, so she was swimming laps for a solid hour. Erin is a mini, she had a private half-hour lesson before the practice and swam about another half-hour. Having never done more than a few fun laps they impressed us. We were very proud of the effort those two gave today. Oh yes, they are very tired tonight. Hey, we get to do it all over again Wednesday, and Friday and Sunday at 8am if we want :-)

At dinner, Erin was talking about her experience today, “yeah, the lady said ‘just swim up and back 50 times.’ The way she said it made it sound SO EASY.”

Going to be tricky fitting softball and swimming together, but after all was said and done, the girls were pretty excited about swim practice. Once they get their wind it should get better. Hmmnn, now where did I put that flyer on rec league basketball?

Anyway, Camden Yard (even if the O’s play in it) is always a great place to see a game. We had to park on the other side of the Inner Harbor, but once again it was just gorgeous weather today so the walk was nice. The O’s had 2 separate ticket lines going for cash only $20 tiks on the upper level. It was a great deal, in and out of the ticket line in no time and our seats were in Sec. 348, right between home and third. Of course anytime you take kids to a ball game you feel like a mother bird because every time you look at your fledgling peeps their mouths are open. Tickets, parking, and food for 4 probably ended up being $160. I had 2 beers, my limit. Can’t miss on having Boog’s BBQ, and we didn’t. The Nats have Ben’s Chili Bowl, the O’s have Boog’s. Both are sure bets.

The Yankees hammered the O’s but good, 11-2. The newly minted Yankee, Mark “I’ll take the money and forget my hometown Baltimore” Texeira hit one out much to the dismay of the O’s faithful. It was a great old day at the ballpark. Now if my Natties will just come home.

As the van is skidding, the driver oversteers and the van flips over onto its top and is skidding toward the man walking. Fortunately the man was aware of what was coming and nimble enough to move out of the way. The van skidded to a halt, half in the street and half on the sidewalk.

Lisa immediately pulls her cellphone and starts to dial 911. I drive through the green light and pull over in front of the overturned van. I run up to the van and hope for the best. As I get around to the drivers side, the driver is already being pulled out by the guy that was walking on the sidewalk. The driver looked completely fine, shaken but fine. (As far as my non-medical eye could tell.)

I looked into the van to see if anyone else was in there. The walker told me the driver was the only one. I went back to Lisa to tell her that so far so good. She was on the phone with 911 and they gave her instructions for the guy, which I relayed to him. I don’t think he understood English, but he did understand my motion for him to stay seated on the curb.

The ambulance was there in a matter of minutes. We left him in their great care. Upon our return from bagels, incredibly we see the driver standing with a friend who had come to pick him up, the van still upside down. Jesus, this guy just flipped his van and he probably, don’t know for sure, refused a ride to the hospital and a much needed check-up.

Lisa was shaken pretty good. She said before we left the house she had a bad feeling. Whoa.

A little background. In MOCO the middle schools have something called Outdoor Ed. It’s a 2 day retreat where the kids learn team building skills, hike, check the health of streams etc. We were a little nervous about letting her go. The dorms are separated by gender, there are high school counselors and the teachers sleep in the same building.

How bad could it be? What could possibly happen? She’s not even that far away? Relax.

I went to all of the informational meetings at school and it seemed like it would be a great experience. One thing the teachers told us, expect little to no communication from our kids. Cellphones not allowed. IF they had time they might give us a prison-like 15 seconds of an update. Okay, I’m not all that worried. 

The first night we get the call.
D1, “Hey it’s me, just calling to say hi . . . well I gotta go.”
Lisa, “Wait . . . how are you are you having fun?”
D1, “Yeah, well I gotta go.”
Lisa, “Wait, talk to Dad.”
Me, “Hey sweetie, how are you are you having fun?.” (Brilliant questions on my part)
D1, “Yeah, well I gotta go.”

Me to Lisa, “Jesus, that was quick . . . did she really sound all right to you . . . her voice sounded funny . . .”
Lisa, “I think she’s fine, they only have a couple of seconds. It was the teachers cell so she’s making them keep it quick.”

Now I’m wondering all night was there really something in her voice? There wasn’t but it didn’t stop me from worrying. Which set me up well for the call the next night. Second night, Lisa and I are watching the phone like two hawks at a chicken-breast festival.

D1, “Hi Mommy it’s me.”
Lisa, “Hi sweetie, how’s it going?”
D1, “Well, there’s this girl that’s bi and she’s opening the curtains when girls are showering and we’re all afraid to go to sleep tonight.”
Lisa, “What? . . . what? . . .”
D1, “Well, I gotta go.”
Lisa, “No, no, no wait . . . have you told your teachers?”
D1, “Yeah, but they didn’t do anything, well bye.”
Lisa, “No . . . wait. Go back and talk to your teacher again.”
D1, “Okay”

At this point I’m dying a thousand deaths waiting to talk to her. I get the phone and basically repeat all of the above. Lisa and I look at each other and say the same exact thing: WTF? After several minutes of noodling it over, we decide to call the cell number of the teacher who lent her use of the phone.
Lisa does the talking.

Teacher, (answering the phone) “Is this the pizza people?”
Lisa, “No, it is not, I’m Austen’s mother and . . .”
Teacher, “Yes I’m aware there was some behavior problems. I’ve stopped it and am in the room right next door. I can hear everything that goes on so do not worry . . .”

That went a long way to calming us. And I found out that she was very good to her word. She talked to Austen right after hanging up with us, everyone calmed down that night. I picked Austen up the next day at school and she had plenty of funny and good times to relate. Of course we got into the big bi incident but that too had faded some, though she still thinks the girl is odd overall.

I can’t remember exactly what my problems were in 6th grade but worrying about bi or gay schoolmates wasn’t even on the radar. Jesus, dodging 8th grade assholes and trying not to look like the geek I was were about it. Man how things have changed.