Aug 29: Wussifying of America

Ok, this is another commentary. Feel free to comment, but remember that my opinion is always RIGHT! ;)

So, I am watching Fox news and they are talking about the nine year-old that is too good of a pitcher. First of all, any nine year old that can throw a 40 mile an hour ball is a total bad-ass. That child is destine for the diamond, mega-millions, and super models.

Now, they will not let him play, because he is too good! The other parents boo-hooed because their children always lose when the pitching prodigy is doin' his thang.

So, I propse this question: "How will the future leaders of this country grow any nads if they never learn to lose?" Not everyone is a winner; THAT'S A FACT JACK! Not everyone is equal; even though we want to beleive it. If we were all equal, I would be a model make serious Benjermans! When the other children enter the real world, they are going to get a big old slap with the hand of non-equality across the tush and they are going to run home and cry to mommy!

Losing is a part of life, and there are good ones and poor ones. It takes a bigger person to be a good one. Face no one likes to lose, but it is a fact of life; EXCEPT!

August 27: Look Out!

Ok, tators, I am going to spit some knowledge at ya!

It has been a crazy last few days! Why? Because shee-it keeps fall down!

Last Friday...
I just got home from running. I parked my auto in my driveway; way down at the end. I do this to avoid the Crepe Myrtle that is on Broke-Back Mountian's property, but it leans just enough over my driveway to continuously drops it's blooms on my car. This makes a mucho mess which drives me insane in the membrane!
So, I get in the casa, pet the chats, and sit down to check my email. Then I heard...
CRRRAAACKK; SWOOSH; BOOM!
I knew right away what it was; it was a tree. I jumped up, ran outside, and there I saw it; a branch from my water oak. I just yelled, "Oh F%$K!"

Let's jump back in time...
When I lived in O-Town, I had a water oak smash my new Jeep. Well, it also smashed my neighbor's garage, but that's not the point. The point is that this was the SECOND tree that attacked my car! What's their problem?! Hey, I try to be "green." I use those funny-squiggly light bulbs. I use reusable Publix's bags (NOTE: I have way too many because when I go to Publix and forget my bag, I buy a new one.). They need to get that bug that has crawled up their butt OUT!

Anywho...
I ran to my car. My poor baby was under a twelve foot long and 3 foot in diameter branch. I tried to move the branch, but my super-human strength was on the fritz! My two nice neighbors (NOTE: Actually they are the only two that talk to me.) Came out of their homes because they heard the CRRRAAACKK; SWOOSH; BOOM! I kept pointing at my car, but my neighbor said, "Look at your railing!" The branch totaled my railing to the side door.
To be honest, I did not care. It was my car that I cared about. Between the three of us and a hack saw we removed the branch from my car. I am happy to report that my car only suffered from a few minor scratchs. Nothing some plastic surgery cannot fix. Also, my railing is fixable! I am going to do that as soon as the rain stops!

Speaking of rain...
That's another thing that keeps falling. I am not complaining, because we need the rain BADLY! Hot-Lanta is still in a drought. So, bring on deluge! (NOTE: As much as my railing looks stupid, I am in no rush to fix it, so it can rain from now until the end of September!).

And the last falling item...
MAILBOXES!
This morning, Carl-E came in from his run and called me to the front porch. So, there I am standing on my front porch in my lime-green Nick & Nora pj's and black flops. I was not too happy to be standing outside in my unmentionables, but then Car-E pointed to Broke-Back's mailbox and said, "Look at that!"

Starting with Broke's mailbox about every other one was whacked off their posts. Someone had way too much time on their hands and had a grand olde time knocking boxes down. Luckily, our was a-ok! Too bad they did not knock down Scarlett O'Hanus' mailbox. I know it did not get knocked down, because I checked!

And, I am out of this bee-otch!

August 21: Oh, This and Dat!

Big ups, tators! Well, I have S-U-C-C-E-S-S-fully completed my 4th swimming lesson. I am proud to say that I can keep my cute face in under the water for four strokes. The photo of Dara Torres on my fridge must me providing me with super swimming powers!

Anywho...

I went to see my endocrinologist. He is very cool and he gets me (NOTE: This is very hard, but he really gets me and all my quirks!). With his recommended increased dose of Synthroid, my thyroid is now under control. Whenever I visit (NOTE: I do not use the term "appointment," because it sounds to clinical and it takes all the fun out of going to the doctor and getting weighted and stuck with needles!), we discuss my adventures and my food log.

Yes, I keep a food log. Honestly, it sucks to write down everything itty-bitty smidgen of food you put in your mouth, but it helps me keep at 1500 a day. I mean that I have to write down anything that contains a calorie. And to help me with this feat...I have a book larger than the bible that lists th calories in everything from pig liver to Starbuck's lattes. To make it more of a happy experience, I start each day with a new Hello Kitty sticker and use my medium point Gel pen.

Well, like always our visit was a pleasant one, the results of the scale were happy, and I said, "see you in two months!". The next night, Carl-E and I were supposed to go climbing. What is becoming a royal pain in the tush occurrence, he had to stay late. This made climbing a no-go. However, I still got out of cooking because by the time he told me we were not going climbing, I just did not feel like cooking. He totally understood, and suggested Bar-B-Que.

The Bar-B-Que resturant we dine at is a total dive (NOTE: For you Orlandoans, picture PR's but instead of writing on the wall, imagine hundreds of $'s with writing on them on the wall and a stuffed armadillo!), but the food is constantly good and the beer is ice-cold. So, I am enjoying my Lone Star brew and who do I see but my doctor.

"So what?" you might be asking, but to tell you the truth I felt like I was just caught smoking by my friends mom or I was back in elementary school and I saw my teacher while I was stealing gum from K-Mart. Because I have been struggling with my thyroid for, oh four years now, and I have been so focused on getting everything under control, and really alcohol is not really part of my diet, I felt so guilty sucking down that beer.

And the icing on the cake...Over comes my doctor and he says, "No carbs for you tomorrow!", winks and walks back to his table. My guilt-factor rose about 100-bazillon percent. When my food came (NOTE: It was healthy; roasted chicken with green beans, no butter, and Bar-B-Que on the side), I could barely eat.

Guess what came home with me; my dinner and Carl-E called me "Ridiculous!' See what being raised in a Italian-Catholic house will do to a 30+something adult who sees her doctor out in public?!

Enjoy the weekend!

August 19: There is a God!

Hey tators! It is a very, yippy-skippy, jump-aro Wednesday! I just discovered that Cadbury now makes their delightful, scrumptious cream eggs in a fun new form ALL YEAR ROUND! I remember the first time I had a Cadbury cream egg. I was about 11 and I was collecting money for new uniforms for the color guard I was in (NOTE: I twirled the flag and riffle; and damn I was good. And, I still spin a mean mop when I am cleaning my ridiculous kitchen floor from h-e-double hockey sticks!)

Anywho...

I was standing in front of the Grand Union (NOTE: For you non-Yankees, it's a food store) shaking my can (NOTE: No, not my tush but the can for change), and feeling like a total tool. I wanted to go home so bad, but I had another hour to go. I went into the Grand Union to use the restroom when something caught my eye. It was the glint of green and blue foil among the Easter candy display. I turned to see what was sparkling like a jewel in a Harry Winston display case. Yes tators, it was the Cadbury cream egg.

I will admit when I saw the display box with the photo of the cracked egg with the white and yellow goo pouring out, I was a bit turned off. However, there was something that beckoned me like a siren's song to sailors at sea to try one. There was one glitch; I had no money. Then I remembered my can. It was chock full of jiggly-jangly change. Now, the good catholic side of my conscience said, "Stealing is a sin; you'll burn in purgatory FOREVER!" The naughty Jersey-girl side of me said, "Go ahead they owe you for standing out here for hours, begging for change while looking like an idiot"

I gave into my Jersey side and brought an egg. An hour later I was home and I was riddled with guilt. I should not of stole the quarter to buy the egg, but I am only human! In my room, I slowly pealed the foil back to reveal a perfectly smooth chocolate egg. I slowly took a bit and was transported to candy Shangri La. I heard the songs of angels singing the praises of Cadbury for creating the most perfect Easter treat ever!

Since then, every Easter I buy a bazillion Cadbury eggs and keep them in my freezer. Over the last few years, others have discovered the magic of the egg. They are becoming harder and harder to get your hands on and the price has sky rocked due to popular demand (NOTE: Some will contest it to high oil prices, but personally I think it is price gouging.). Now, you think that since Cadbury probably makes profits that equals the US deficit off the eggs they would offer them all year round.

Well...

Now they do! It is called "Twist." But just to tease a bit more, you can only find it in the UK! Now you are probably wondering how I found all this out. Well, I now buy the eggs from the internet, because you can get them way after Easter. Well, my stash ran out and I needed a fix. No one had the eggs, but they had "Twist!" I am praying it is as good as the eggs. But, how could they not Cadbury makes it!

And I outta her'!

August 14: Poor Barron!

Today, I survived swim lesson numero dos. I was able to put my face in the water and blow water out my nose; yippy! I am just a step away from the 2012 Olympics; no joke! Just you wait; you'll see me swimming the freestyle next to Phelps. He ain't got nothin' on me, baby! Well, except over a foot of height. I got my eye on the gold!

Well, as many of you know I have an "outdoor" family. This family consists of Shock and Awe, Momma Cat (AKA: WMD), Skillet Head, Saturn and Neptune. Well, over the weekend, I made a new friend; Barron. Barron is a mature adult, salt and pepper kitty (NOTE: His fur at one time was all black, but since he has entered his December days, he is "salted" with a lovely shade of gray). Now, I did not name Barron, Barron; it said it on his red heart tag. In addition to his name, was his address and phone number (NOTE: Not really his phone number, but his family's number. Cats cannot use phones; they do not have thumbs to hold the phone).

Well, Barron's home is about 1/2 a block from my casa. So, I enjoyed Barron's company as I put out the food for my "outdoor family" (NOTE: Carl-E says I am guilty of Cat-o-gamy; this is the practice of having more than one cat family and should be thankful that I have not been arrested), and went about my way. The next day, who greets me but my friend Barron. We repeated the same routine as the previous day. On Monday, guess who runs up to me? No, not George Clooney pledging his undying love for me and offering me all the LV's I could stand (NOTE: George has nothing on my Carl-E!), but Barron. Now, I am thinking that Barron's family is neglecting him. So, in my mind he is going to join my family, because I'll treat him like the little king he is. This is not kidnapping, because I am not chaining him to my fence, but if he wants to hang around my house; there is no problem.

Well, my neighbors came home from dinner Monday night. It was pouring out, and they were running to their door. Guess who ran in behind them? A VERY wet Barron. After drying him off, they let him back out. The following morning, my neighbor goes to get his paper, and guess who greets him! Well, my neighbor decided to call the number on his collar. Barron's mommy answered as she was leaving the Humane Society, because she was looking for Barron!

From his neglectful mother, my neighbor found out that Barron is 17 years young, and he sometimes gets confused when he goes outside; poor kitty (NOTE: His uncaring mommy is real lucky that I do not call "Family and Cat" services on her ass!) After not seeing him for a few days, she became worried. WELL DUH! If your kids were missing for a few days would you wait to report them gone; NO! You probably would want them home to continue working in the secret sweat shop you have in your basement making knock-off handbags! Your mature adult cat who has a remembering problem and no thumbs to call home when he is lost, should not be outside. He should be inside eating Fancy Feast, munching on cat nip, while being brushed and scratched behind the ears.

Barron is now home. I wanted to write her a letter about her poor parenting skills, suggest she should take a class at the local community college with all the other dead-beat parents about being a responsible kitty's mama in today's society, and that I would beat her like a red-headed step-child if I found out that Barron was lost again. However, Carl-E told me that I already have too many haters in the neighborohood. I decided that I will keep an eye out for my furry friend, and if I see him remind him that he can always live at my house and I'll give him the love that he deserves.

And, I am off to clean my pond!

August 12: Forgotten Story!

Well, I survived my first swim lesson, tators! I was a tiny-weeny-bit nervous. I go back Thursday at 5:45am for lesson number 2! The cats do not even get up that early! This morning, I was drinking my coffee at 4:45am, and those lazy blobs of fur were fast asleep.

Anywho...

I totally forgot about a story from climbing adventure. Actually, it was Carl-E that reminded me about it. We were watching the Olympics at a pizza joint while consuming adult beverages. Blips and blurbs about the confrontation between Georgia and Russia were broad casted during the commercial breaks. Carl-E said, "That tour guide should of taken COM on his offer." Now, I only had one frosty brew, so I knew I was not tanked, but I had no clue about what he was talking about. My face must of expressed my confusion, because Carl-E says, You know the guide from Moscow." Then it clicked. Yes, the bulb turned on.

Key the time machine...

Well, when we were in Moscow we had a guide to take us around Red Square. She was very nice, however I forgot her name, so I'll call her Marie. From the giddy-up COM (NOTE: That's Crotchity Old Man) had his sights on Marie. Now, he is married but EVERYONE noticed how he just glared at her like she was a juicy steak with a side of thick cut fries. It was starting to become very uncomfortable for everyone, because he would lean in REAL close and stare. After 15 minutes or so of the creepiness, COM spits out, "I am taking you home with me for my brother-in-law."

We all just looked at each other. Then COM added, "He is rich, good-looking, and he needs a wife. I know that you want to get out of Russia; all women do." Now our mouths were hanging open. Quickly and politely, she moved us to the next statue. As she began to talk, COM moved on in again and put his arm around her waist. Marie slowly took a step to the left, hoping that his arm would fall off her waist; but COM took a step, too. It was obvious that poor Marie needed to be rescued. Our Fearful Leader jumped to the occasion. After Marie's spiel about the great big cannon that was never fired, Our Fearless Leader took her by the elbow and led her away for a quick chat. Who do you think was hot on their heels?!

For the rest of the tour it was like a horse race; everyone kept jocking to a position to protect Marie from COM. He was a man on a mission and every time he could get some face time with her, he would continue to sell his brother-in-law and referred to her as "My future sister-in-law." Now you are probably wondering why Our Fearless Leader just did not speak to COM. Well, if you remember back to the climb, they had words, and Our Fearless Leader was avoiding COM like the plague, because he did not want another confrontation. However, Our Fearless Leader had to do something, because it was becoming ridiculous!

Finally, at the almost end of our tour, Our Fearless Leader answered the pleading call from Marie's eyes, and took COM aside. While Marie was talking about Stalin's tomb, we heard shouting. COM was waving his hands all over the place, and shouting about how if he wants to set-up his brother-in-law he can. During the commotion, Marie said, "Now it is time for your lunch." We began to follow her to a resturant, but we were puzzled because we were not scheduled to eat lunch. However, we followed her anyway. When we got to the resturant, she vanished. No lie! We turned around and she was gone. So, there we were standing in front of a sushi resturant in Red Square with no leader.

A couple of minutes later Our Fearless Leader showed up. He asked us why we were here. We told him that we were abandoned by Marie. In the distance we saw COM. He was running towards a church. "Oh no!" said Our Fearless Leader just as he took off after COM. About 5 minutes later COM and Our Fearless Leader returned. Our Fearless Leader looked royal pissed off, and COM had a big smile on his face. COM said, "I almost missed her, but I gave her all my brother-in-law's information. I told her I'll be back next year, and then I'll take her back with me, so she needs to apply for her travel visa. And after they are married, she will be free of this country" All I could think was, "Crazy Old Coot!"

Until next time...

August 8: Skirt Culture

Happy Friday! It has cooled of just a teeny-tiny bit, so now instead of it 99 degrees it's 90! Well, I had to do one of the hardest things the other day; buy a swimsuit. I so did not want to do it; I rather buy my handbags from Wal-Mart for the rest of my! I can hear your gasps from here!

Why did I subject myself to this torturous task? Well, Carl-E is diver extraordinar. He has 50 kazillion certifications. He enjoys it very much, and it used to be his "Guy Thing" to do (NOTE: "Guy Thing"= No Wives). Well, it still is a guy thing, but he cannot dive as much, because his girlfriend, Ron lives in Florida.

I was supposed to learn how to dive way-back in the Orlando days, so when we moved to Hot-Lanta he would have someone to dive with, but it did not happen. I must admit it was my fault, because I cannot swim very well. Actually, I suck. I have to hold my nose underwater and my strokes look like a the spastic four year dancing to "Who Let The Dogs Out." When I was a small lady, I never took "official" swimming lessons. My introduction to swimming was my father hurling me off the deck in to the lagoon at my Nanny's shore house while I was wearing my pink one-piece suit with the "Beauty Queen" banner printed across the chest, and a purple dragon inner tube. Despite my father's lessons, and there was many, I never caught on.

Carl's girlfriend's wife taught me about three years ago, but I have not swam since then. Now, Carl-E and I are looking to travel to the land-down-under to climb another mountain. However, while we are their he wants to dive the barrier reef. I have to admit that I want to too, because of all the colorful fish. It will be like swimming in a rainbow!

Well...

I was talking to my trainer about my lack of swimming abilities. She said she would talk to her trainer (NOTE: Yes, my trainer has a trainer!). Well, my trainer emailed me a wonderful gift; her trainer will give me four free lessons! Now, the panic set in. Not the panic about the lessons, but about buying a suit.

The last swimsuit I purchased was probably in 1998; NO LIE! Back in the old-skool days, I went to the beach to bake myself like every other Jersey-girl who was dying to get rid of their pasty-winter-skin. When I moved to Florida, ironically I stopped going to the beach, and I stopped laying out. Now, I have very few wrinkles and no swimsuits!

Back to the subject...
I did not want a two piece; God for bid! I would not subject anyone to that horrid sight! I knew that I really did not want to go and try anything on, because that would be a one-way ticket to Depression Land. So, I surfed the net. I found a site that has tons of options, including the modest suit. I thought, that is what I am looking for, a modest suit to cover my pasty skin. Well, the modest suit was a bit too modest for me; it is basically a burka minus the face cover.

After searching the pieces, I settled on a swim skirt and a top that pretty much looks like a workout shirt. What is a swim skirt you might ask? Well, it looks like a straight mini, but it has bikini bottoms sewn it. Skirts all the rage in women's athletic wear; running, swimming, and softball.

So, tators, I will be swimming in style; on the cutting edge of workout wear (NOTE: This was a total happy accident.). Pleeeze, send happy thoughts to me for my first swim lesson, I am going to totally need it!

And, I am 86!

August 5: Getting Old

Ola, tators! It is one hot mutha out today!

As my 35+some interger birthday quickly approaches, I find myself re-examining my beauty regiment. "Why?" you might ask. Well, because as I start down that slipper slope to mature-adult-ville, I am wondering how much is not enough, just enough, or too much. Because I am a lady of leisure, I do not wear make-up as much or even super high heels; just your moderate 2-3" wedge. CAN YOU BELIEVE?! So, I have scaled down my wardrobe (NOTE: I have made a killing off EBAY), but not my beauty regiment. So, I decided to look at other women around my age. Sometimes I think, "Wow, she looks like crap-ol-a. I could afford to not use such-and-such cream" or "Damn I look like crap-ol-a I need Botox, Cologin, and any other "ox" or "gin" that I can get my hands on.!"

One of the areas that causes me great concern is my hair. I have way too many grays. I started going gray in my early 20's. At first, I just grabbed the little sucker with my tweezers and snuffed out its pitiful life on my head. But, when more and more began to pop up, I knew that I had to color. Now, I have colored my hair since I was 14, but that was for fun and fashion. Once, in college after a coloring experiment went Trinoble wrong, I had purple hair and was referred to as, "Eggplant Head." Now, that I am past my crazy coloring phase and wanting to keep my a dark locks with a kiss of red, the slightest gray that rears its ugly head I must color it, because it stands out like a whore in church. I even went as far as using a Sharpie marker to color in a gray in between my scheduled colorings; which are every 3 weeks.

Another process that I started doing to my hair is straightening. A straight, shiny, and free-flowing mane just screams, "Youth, Vitality, and Under 40!" Due to my grays, my hair is no longer straight; it has an annoying wave to it. When I "do" my hair, I add glossing cream, pull it threw two types of brushes while I blow dry on super-duper high heat, add shine wax, and then use a flat iron that makes smoke rise up. It takes way too freakin' long, and the minute I step out in to this Hot-Lanta humidity, it curls right back up. Back in the day, I'm talking the 80's, I would of killed for wavy hair. Once, I sat in a back alley with over 100 rods in my hair waiting for my hair to dry, because my head would not fit under a dryer, to get the wave I now have. Now that I got wavy hair, I want my straight hair back. So, to correct this problem, I had my hair straightened. But, it did not take because my grays. It seems they are too coarse. Now, I have to have it re-done in three weeks with a different process.

I started to thinking I should chop it all off a la Brit-Brit. I would be mucho cooler, especially in this 90+ degree heat. I would save on styling produces, hence shorting my product parade. I would not have to restore to carrying a Sharpie in my LV just in case I find a rouge gray. But, I would look like a little tween boy who is not sure what side of the fence he sits on. Plus, I think Carl-E would faint and a wig would be in my future.

I cannot win the battle of the grays, but I fight like a Jersey girl with a the help of my assassin Colorist who is a master in the art of "Gunta-Gray Judo." I have to face it that my grays are one area that I can keep myself lookin' kind of young without breaking the bank. Wrinkles and such take a bit more effort. As far as the other "procedures" I think I'll keep them in consideration for maybe after I turn 40 (NOTE: Or sooner if need be, I am open minded, ya know?!).

And, I'm Audio!

August 4: Hi-Dee-Ho!

Hey there, tators! This is my first post at Blogspot. I was a bloggin' on another site, but I was a payin' the big bucks. So, I decided to go the free route. Call me cheap, but now I'll have more dollas for my LV bags! Yippy!

Anywho...

Let's pick up with the Elbrus adventure!

Before we get to climb the real moutain; we do a bunch of evaluation hikes. Now, this is not what they are officially called, but any climber knows before they hit the mountain, the guide likes to evaluate each climber's ability. I cannot blame the guide, because you do not want one slow-ass climber holding up the show, ya know?!

So, we sent out for out first evaluation hike. The first part, the group was movin' and groovin'. When we took our first break, OCM andThe Prince were no where to be found. So, Igor set out to find them. Now, to be laggin' that far behind on the first hike=no good! After 10 minutes, no Igor, no COM, no Prince.

Because we could not wait any longer, our Fearful Leader took us the rest of the way up. Well, the other two never made it to the top. This situation was repeated on the next two evaluation hikes. Everyone knew that this was not good for COM and The Prince.

Finally, it's the day we head to the cabin on the mountain. We pack up our backpacks, and wait in a line for the ski lift. We did not wait 10 minutes, or 20 minutes; we waited 90 minutes. While we were waiting with half of Russia to get to the cabins (NOTE: The area where the cabin is, is also the area where the skiers start.), I decided to get a Bounty bar because breakfast was LAMB!

I walk over to the booth and wait for the guy to finish up with a woman that was buying a classical Russian mountain music CD. After she paid, he sat his fat tush down and lit a cigarette; all while looking at me. I said "Hello" in Russian, and then asked for a Bounty and a Snickers bar in Russian. He just stared at me. A snowboarder-rat stood next to me. The fatty got off his but, and asked her what she wanted. I was like, "I know you see me even though your eyes are practically covered by your fat eye-lids!" He asked the snowboarder-rat to ask me what I wanted. I told her the same thing I told him. She told him the same thing I told her. Guess what?! I got the dam candy bars! (NOTE: The words for Bounty and Snickers in Russian are Bounty and Snickers!)

Finally, after 90 minutes we arrive at the cabin. Now, we were told that each room had enough room to sleep 8 people comfortably in bunk beads. Well, the beds were not separate, it was one large bed. I slept with three men in the same bed and Carl-E was totally ok with it! That will be the only circumstance that he will give that situation a "thumbs up," I can assure you!

The first night in the cabin, I thought I was going to die. It was so hot and the bedrooms had no windows. I had to go outside, where it was about 10 degrees to cool down (NOTE: I repeated this numerous times, so sleep was minimal). And to add to the heat, everyone was sawin' logs, passin' gas, and tossin' and turnin'.

Well, it came time to get ready for the summit; we had a group pow-wow. Basically, our Fearful Leader told us that if we did not keep during the other hikes, we probably should not try to make the summit attempt. Well, believe-you-me COM was not taking to that bit of news. He started to rant and rave about how he could out climb anyone (NOTE: Delusional!). The Prince just kept quiet. Our Fearful Leader, COM, and The Prince went outside to have a chat. After an hour, COM and The Prince announce, rather loudly, that THEY have decided not to make the summit attempt. Secretly, we were all doing the happy dance inside.

After 8 hours of going up, up, up, we made it to the summit. I cried like a school girl. But, remember what goes up, must come down. So, after 5 hours of going down, down, down we reached the cabin, and crashed.

The next day, we left the mountain, took showers, and headed to a resturant for lunch. Now, this was the coolest resturant. You could fish for your own fish, they had a plethora of vegetables and chicken, not just LAMB! And best of all, ice, cold, draft, BEER! Well, we ordered a bunch of food, mucho beers, and commenced to par-they! Then to add to our experience, out came Natasha. She was our belly-dancin' entertainment. The guys were drollin'. Especially, The Prince. He was snapin' photos of every move she made. He took over 300 photos! Because we had lots of adult beverages, Natasha got many tips. She must of caught on, because she left, changed outfits, and danced again. This was repeated about 13 times. She made serious bank off us. At one point, Lil' J took out a wad of $5 and shoved in down her skirt.

Well, tators that's about it. I hope you enjoyed the rest of the Elbrus tale.

Until next time, later!