We try to do one outing a weekend. The other day, we rest or fold laundry. We all have different ideas on where to go. We have the luxury of living near Orlando, so Snarkboy loves going to Disney. He says it makes him happy. The other place that makes him happy is Costco.
I prefer running around town and eating. The kids are easy as long as it doesn't involve grocery shopping or going to Costco. I admit, I use that weekend outing to bribe my kids to behave. Bad mother!
This weekend, the youngest asked when we were going to a corn maze. We went last year, and I guess the torture of it stuck with her. I jumped on that idea and after convincing Snarkboy I'd take him to Magic Kingdom the next week, I got on the "net" to find one.
I found one in Zellwood. It was a six-acre maze cut into the shape of an American soldier. We got directions and off we went.
Cars were already lined up to go in. From there you went to the ticket desk and got wristbands. I plopped down $28.00 for the four of us to lose ourselves. About 30 strangers crowded together to see a short video on maze etiquette. NO cursing, no running and no cutting through the corn. Stay on the path. If you got lost, you hoisted your flag pole and shouted "For the love of God and country get me out."
I added the last bit. You were supposed to yell "Help me."
We were given questionnaires with 18 questions and 12 rubbings to seek out throughout the maze. All the questions were pertaining to U.S. military history. Snarkboy loved that, being a patriotic kinda guy. The girls weren't so thrilled. They were hoping for a questionnaire on Disney.
For the record we never hoisted the flag. It took us two hours to find all the stations in the maze. In the process we all learned some military history. We had a great time, and there is nothing like getting lost that makes you extra friendly to strangers. We all gave directions and giggled when we passed each other several times. If you would like to try a maze here is a website to see if there is one in your area.
Monday, October 31, 2005
Friday, October 28, 2005
Pursenal Problem
I know this will shock many of you, but I am a frivolous person. After the Chinese food post, Snarkboy suggested that I reveal that I too am human and not queen of the world. So in order to keep the three people that read this blog from leaving, I have to admit I have an expensive handbag fetish.
Now, wait. This is definitely not like people with a foot fetish. They are indiscriminate. I think their only criteria is that the feet be clean and corn-free.
No, my fetish is worse. Feet-watching is free, purse-buying is not. I have a taste for Kate, Tods and Gucci. For everyday, Kate or Tods is the choice. I have ten shades of black and five shades of brown. I do not buy pink, blue or lilac. I might be convinced to buy a light tan, but I have not graduated to red yet.
I am a purse snob. I can afford the above-mentioned. I have not upgraded to anything more expensive ... yet. It's affecting gift giving, also. My mother bought me a perfectly beautiful Coach once. It is still sitting in my closet with the tags on. I might put it on eBay when she isn't looking.
You might wonder, "isn't a purse a purse?"
Oh no, it is so much more. You might get the occasional woman who might not know (shudder) or might not care what they are seen toting. They are few and far between (and not worth knowing). But it is pure joy when you meet a fellow addict who strokes the leather of your Tods media bag and murmurs that she always loved that color, and, "where did you get it?"
I went to a luncheon at a country club a few months ago. I noticed that the standard mode of greeting was catching someone by their ring finger to see if they were worth sitting by. The next step was to save your seat by plunking down your purse on the table so your tablemates could glance over and make sure you were up to date. I have seen a few bags surreptitiously moved aside to make way for this year's model.
I did not perform this particular dance because I was someone's guest, so I hung my purse (Kate Spade) on the back of my seat. I did get to sit with the in-crowd because my hostess brought her Gucci leather hobo which is always in style.
As anyone knows, The holy grail is the Hermes Birkin bag. I am not in the realm of such a bag, I just dream of the day when Snarkboy strikes it rich and puts my name on the waiting list. He informs me that this will happen with Husband No. 2. If a man buys me a Birkin, I am prepared to move to Utah and be a bigamist. Why not divorce Snarkboy, you ask? Because you can't divorce someone who cooks like a dream.
Yes, you may look at my feet ... if and when you buy me that expensive purse.
Now, wait. This is definitely not like people with a foot fetish. They are indiscriminate. I think their only criteria is that the feet be clean and corn-free.
No, my fetish is worse. Feet-watching is free, purse-buying is not. I have a taste for Kate, Tods and Gucci. For everyday, Kate or Tods is the choice. I have ten shades of black and five shades of brown. I do not buy pink, blue or lilac. I might be convinced to buy a light tan, but I have not graduated to red yet.
I am a purse snob. I can afford the above-mentioned. I have not upgraded to anything more expensive ... yet. It's affecting gift giving, also. My mother bought me a perfectly beautiful Coach once. It is still sitting in my closet with the tags on. I might put it on eBay when she isn't looking.
You might wonder, "isn't a purse a purse?"
Oh no, it is so much more. You might get the occasional woman who might not know (shudder) or might not care what they are seen toting. They are few and far between (and not worth knowing). But it is pure joy when you meet a fellow addict who strokes the leather of your Tods media bag and murmurs that she always loved that color, and, "where did you get it?"
I went to a luncheon at a country club a few months ago. I noticed that the standard mode of greeting was catching someone by their ring finger to see if they were worth sitting by. The next step was to save your seat by plunking down your purse on the table so your tablemates could glance over and make sure you were up to date. I have seen a few bags surreptitiously moved aside to make way for this year's model.
I did not perform this particular dance because I was someone's guest, so I hung my purse (Kate Spade) on the back of my seat. I did get to sit with the in-crowd because my hostess brought her Gucci leather hobo which is always in style.
As anyone knows, The holy grail is the Hermes Birkin bag. I am not in the realm of such a bag, I just dream of the day when Snarkboy strikes it rich and puts my name on the waiting list. He informs me that this will happen with Husband No. 2. If a man buys me a Birkin, I am prepared to move to Utah and be a bigamist. Why not divorce Snarkboy, you ask? Because you can't divorce someone who cooks like a dream.
Yes, you may look at my feet ... if and when you buy me that expensive purse.
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