So, while every other woman blogger in the free freakin blogosphere was attending one blogger 0rgy or another this past weekend, I was licking my wounds at my in-laws and preparing myself for another year of in-jokes I won’t get.
I can have fun! I thought, so I joined a Rock Band with my sister-in-law and mastered my rock n’ roll domain.
I can relax! I thought, so I hightailed it to the pool, where I floated on floaties, got whacked in the head with noodles, let Dove experience her first pool pee and refused to wear a proper bathing suit because, y’know, flab.
*Sorry, the photo had to go. didn't realize it was SOOOOOOO bad! I should not just browse thumbnails when choosing shots.*
I can learn technical stuff! I thought, so I took it upon myself to wade through roughly 27 remote controls in the little remote control caddy and figured out how to turn the g-d tv from aerial to satellite.
I can try new things! I thought, so we headed to the nearby Cherry Festival (hooray for farm country!), and I entered this:
Uh huh. That’s right. This is me, the Southern Ontario Cherry Pit Spittin’ Queen of the Cherry Festival:
And here’s my pit spit:
Dudes, I spit that pit 9 meters! 9 meters! For my American friends, that’s almost 30 feet! 30 feet!
That’s the length of a friggen stegosaurus! That’s as tall as a billboard! That’s as wide as… something 30 feet wide! Friends, that is far.
Ok, so, fine – I didn’t actually spit the pit far enough to make it to the championship round, but I was only 1/2 a meter off the leader. (Let’s not split hairs.)
The point is, I can be proud of my accomplishments this weekend, even if I didn’t get oogled at, farted on, boob knocked, or even recognized.
I’ll just keep telling myself that ‘til next year.
I also ate lots of fine food last weekend. Read about all the work I didn’t do here, while Bee chillaxes on the patio.