Deep Fried Love

I am SO over this whole hot flash thing. Sheesh! I think I woke up about every half hour last night sweating like a pig. Could I be any more gross? Then, this morning I had been out of the shower for about 10 minutes when I broke out into a sweat. (Whew! Putting on a shirt is some hard work, I tell ya.) Between the sleep deprivation and the general nastiness of it, I think this whole thing is making me crazy. And it’s definitely making me crabby. (After that description, you’re all wailing and gnashing your teeth because you don’t live with me, aren’t you?) I know you’re probably thinking, “But, Moody, you’re already crazy. After all, you are the person who lint rolled her head, and removed surgical marker from her body with a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser.” Yeah, but this isn’t *that* kind of crazy. This is the flip-out-and-have-an-episode-of-hot-flash-rage kind of crazy. Who’ll bail my out when I’m arrested for holding up Java Haute with the potato gun Hubster & Mini Me made for science last week? “Hand over the Iced Caramella with whipped cream or I’ll spud your eye out!”


Last night we went up to the Little Italy Festival with the Kx6. Okay, only half of the Kx6, but you know half of their family is equal to all of a regular family. The purpose of this jaunt was to secure some rosettes. Mmmm. If love could be deep fried and dusted with powdered sugar, this is what it would taste like. Hubster, Mini Me and I scarfed down 2 dozen in a very short amount of time. What made our visit to Clinton even better was running into our old friend Chris. Chris and I share the same sophisticated sense of humor, much to the dismay of our long-suffering spouses. It’s no wonder that we haven’t all gotten together for a long time, as neither Hubster nor Mrs Chris really liked the movie Dumb and Dumber, and care even less for the live version that Chris and I create.