Bonzai Wine Jump

 So, didn’t know this before; But, apparently, there are wineries in Ohio. Being born here and having gone to school off/on here, you’d think I would have stumbled upon this -at least, serendipitously- at some point. But nah, my grape just grappled with it. Grape grappling… new sport?  Maybe this is the, “at some point,” to which I was referring? Hmmm… food for thought. I like food. And wine. And grapes. And grapes make wine.

First, we roamed into the Debonne Winery. They’re tasting room was closed, but it was still such a beautiful drive through the grapevines.  The wild child in me wanted to scream bonzai from the vehicle as I bounced out into the fuity-fields and run through them. Naked. But my mom said no before I could even get my hand on the door handle. How about, just the bra and underwear? No go. Her exact words were, “Don’t, even think about it.” I still don’t know, how she ALWAYS knows. Crazy mom mind-reader. Maybe I can just ditch the flip-flops? No. Keep everything on your person. Fine… As I deviously dip a naked toe onto the deck, overlooking the harvest scuttlebutt.  Even though the tasting room itself was closed, we were still able to order a couple of flights to taste,so she got the sweet ones and I ordered the dry ones. There were a couple winners in those airborne tasters. So, we grabbed a bottle of her choosing to go. Hey! Wine dealer!  Bottle of silly juice, STAT!
 After driving through Amish country, we finally hit the Firehouse Winery in Geneva. Don’t get too excited girls, I was looking, but didn’t see one hot fireman sans shirt. *sniff sniff Did find one in the rafters though. This was pretty cool winery-ish spot, because there was a big body of water. And wine. Did not see a field of grapes anywhere. But, got wine. So,  I did order a flight and had a salmon burger. Yummy, with wine. Oh, and this time, I dive rolled out of the car toward the lake before my mother could stop me…  But the gravel parking lot did a doosy on my soft and supple epidermis. Dammit. Ok, so not all my ideas are good ones. But, at least I won’t need to exfoliate for a while!

humor, Uncategorized

Pajamma Mamma

Pretty sure this is the jammies trying to kill me… #diaperfabulous

I tend to travel light. I bring as little as possible. Mostly because I know I will be buying crap I don’t need and want to bring back. Shoved and crammed into my suitcase. And for the simple fact that paying for luggage after paying an arm and a leg to travel already is not on my list of favorite things. Which brings me to my pajammas. Or, my mamma’s pajammas.

pickle-grande feet peek

I didn’t bring any sleepy time wear on our trip, so I borrowed. No biggie. If I were alone, I’d sleep in the buff. But, I’m not alone. And buff-sleeping isn’t probable. Sigh. Bummery.  Now, since I’m not one to complain -*cough, ha ha, what… I had a tickle in my throat- I realize that out of all of the options of nighties, I chose the pair that wants to jump off my body. Literally. When I’m walking around the house. The jammies want to dive off me to the floor. When I’m sleeping, the cozy creepy sleepies tries to strangle me in my sleep. Yes, over my head. They only get about diaper fabulous; But, they try. They try hard. When I go to tinkle, my fuzzy pant legs get twisted up. I think they’re trying to escape down the toilet. Or the booby hatch. Either way, these damn jammies don’t want to stay on my mammy fanny.
Moral of the story, folks? Bring pajammas when you travel. Or at the very least, some underwear. And not of the granny-panty variety either. Otherwise you could end up swimming upstream a pair of flood pants. Too big for you. And too pickle-grande for your mammy.