Generally, McDonald said, undergarments aren’t considered a danger to security.

It’s the Friday before a Monday federal holiday, which means, in these parts, that Bill AND all the public school kids are off for four days. I crossed off all non-essential school work from today’s to-dos, squeezed in a few extra assignments yesterday, and am leaving Bill in charge of overseeing the bare bones school morning.

I’m off to get a haircut. But not just any haircut. Oh no. I’m going to a day spa for a ninety minute haircut at a place which clearly says that children must remain in the waiting room or not come at all. Cell phones are banned. I expect soft lights and quiet music. What a treat for the middle of a Friday morning!

Here is what the place promises on their website:

Elemental Nature Haircut

Service begins with a consultation and sensory journey based on the Elemental Nature Questionnaire. The therapists will then cleanse, tone, and moisturize the face. All while you receive a customized aromatic foot bath and a head, neck, and shoulder massage. Followed by a relaxing shampoo, haircut and finishing style by an AVEDA© trained professional stylist. Finishing with a make-up touch up for women, or hot towel treatment for men. All service is performed in a private spa room. 90 min.

The cost? About half what I would expect to pay on the East Coast.

Have a great day – I’m outta here.

Our neighborhood is infested with mosquitos and flies of near-Biblical proportions. I’m wondering if lamb’s blood on the door posts will help at all.

The Dad neighbor who lives next door was describing his seven-year old’s uncooperative attitude regarding the wearing of bug spray, and then told how they got into a wrestling match when he tried to put some anti-itch lotion on his son’s bites so his son would stop scratching them into a bloody mess.

It was one of those “if you heard any screaming, we really aren’t abusing our kids” conversations.

“I just can’t wait until they’re all dead,” I stated emphatically as we watched the children running around the yards.

There was a pause, and the neighbor and my husband looked at me. Finally, my husband spoke up.

“You mean the bugs?”

Crown Prince Ludwig, later to become King Ludwig I, was married to Princess Therese of Saxony-Hildburghausen on October 12, 1810. A public festival thrown for the people of Munich in honor of the occasion was the very first Oktoberfest.

I’m not royalty. I’m not Bavarian. My name isn’t even Therese.

But I did get married in the fall, and went to Germany on my honeymoon. In fact, it was probably pretty close to Ludwig and Therese’s anniversary when Bill and I got to Munich. The Oktoberfest had already ended, but that was okay; we were on our honeymoon and didn’t need to do a big social thing.

One place we stopped was the Hofbrauhaus. There are six beers made locally, and Hofbrau is one. I think we went to the Hofbrauhaus for lunch (and so Bill could have their beer). Typical for a beer hall, we sat at a long, public table. Another couple joined us. Like us, they were tourists, but they were German tourists and they were obviously country bumpkins (I think they had one complete set of teeth between the two of them). They were obviously thrilled to be in the big city for a holiday. It was so cute to see them enjoying themselves and their trip. And I took much comfort in knowing that they stood out as tourists as much, if not more, than I did.

Not far outside Munich is a place called Schloss Nymphenburg. This was the summer home of the Bavarian royalty, including Ludwig and Therese. One of the rooms, the Gallery of Beauties, contains portraits of 36 women, commissioned by Ludwig. Bill recalled that our tour guide said that these were Ludwig’s conquests. I’m not sure of that, but definitely, at least one woman was at the center of a major scandal that ended with Ludwig abdicating his throne to his son.

So, he wasn’t a good king, and definitely not a good husband…but he threw a good party.

Twelve years ago today, my life changed forever. Although I was no more mature when I left the church then when I went in, I can say with certainty that the sacrament of marriage transformed me. All of me – my future, my dreams and my hopes – was bound to this other person who would either drag me down like an anchor or lift me like a helium filled balloon…or…keep me grounded like an anchor or have me drifting aimlessly like a helium filled balloon…or…do all four of those things depending on where we are in our life! For better or ill, we’re traveling this road together.

We don’t have a fancy summer home, and Bill’s gallery of beauties is filled with photos of me and our children instead of exotic dancers, thank goodness. He’ll never be king, but he’s a good husband…and, he throws a good party.

For the record, I don’t like beer. Well, one – Bill found one beer that I would drink. It was some raspberry flavored Belgian ale, I think. I liked it because it didn’t taste like beer, so I really don’t think that counts.

But I can appreciate the fact that not all beers are alike, and some are of a higher quality than others, and if you aren’t a poor college student or on a strict budget, then spending a bit extra and getting something good is better than forcing yourself to drink garbage. And since some of the worst morning afters I’ve had were caused by cheap wine, I assume beer is much the same way.

When we moved here in July, I stopped at the Class VI to pick up some beer for Bill, because I love him very much and knew a good beer would make him happy. A quick glance around and I knew it was going to be a tough year for him. Finally, he has the leisure to enjoy beer on a regular basis, and the store has NOTHING. Well, if you like American beer, you’ve got a huge selection, but the imported section was, I think, two shelves inside one refrigerated cabinet. I went home and reported on this sad state of affairs. He’s been a trooper, but is not so desperate that he’s been drinking typical American beer. Mainly, he’s been trying the locally brewed stuff.

But it’s Oktoberfest time, and what is a German party without German beer, right? He went to the Class VI to see if he could order our usual brand: Spaten Oktoberfest. Swing and a miss: strike one. He came home and called a few local liquor stores. Nope, strike out.

Today’s mission for me has been to find some German beer. I’ve been trying to find Spaten, but I’ve gotten so desperate that I’m just looking for something German. I’m calling as far away as Kansas City, but I think I’d even drive farther than that. It’s almost become an obsession, and I have a pretty wild look in my eyes aided by the dilated pupils caused by the concussion I’ve given myself from banging my head on the desk.

At last place I called, I asked if they sold imported beer. “Sure”, she said. “German?” I asked. “Heinekin,” she offered. I shrieked and nearly dropped the phone.

Kansas was beginning to grow on me. But I just don’t think I can deal with this.

Adoro te Devote put this joke in my comments, and it made me laugh so hard that I couldn’t leave it there languishing and unappreciated:

The CEO’s of Guinness, Budweiser, and Coors were at a convention and went out to dinner together at the end of the day.

The guy from Budweiser ordered an MGD, the guy from Coors ordered a Coors, and the guy from Guinness ordered a Coke.

The latter withstood a certain amount of ribbing, and finally said, “Well, I just figured that if you guys aren’t going to drink, I won’t, either.”

Apparently, my children don’t understand the concept of buying in bulk. This is the sign for their pretend pet store I found:

4 Orphan Puppies for Sale
1 puppy is $1.00
2 puppies is $5.00
3 puppies is $10.00
4 puppies is $50.00

Sure the subject/verb agreement is off, but at least “puppies” is spelled correctly. Their English teacher is only half bad. It’s the economics teacher who needs to be fired.

Oh, so much for trying to be pretty with my blog. This is why I have such a Plain Jane look!

I just barely got that big belly of mine out of the posts on Jennie’s computer, and now Mrs. Marco is saying they are doing the same thing. Mrs. Marco, is it the belly picture?

Anyone else?

My computer screens are wide, so I have lots and lots of white space here and can’t tell. Please complain away in the comment box and I’ll start working on losing that gut.