Category — Ridiculous

This one’s for Steph and Rhonda. And anyone else who doesn’t know what wheezing the juice is, for that matter. I apologize for assuming that everyone is as familiar with this practice as I am. Or are they the only ones who are about to get schooled? Surely I can’t be alone in my habit, right? RIGHT?

Anyway, enjoy. This is a classic, y’all.

Oh yeah, there was this too. I’m a junkie.

Yesterday afternoon I went to the grocery store to get the taco-making necessities I was missing for dinner; you know, lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, flour tortillas, avocados. I already had the beef, so it was just supposed to be a quick in-and-out trip, then home to start cooking. Asher stayed home with Mark, and I may have gotten a little excited about being out of the house hands free. I took my time, walked the aisles, looked around.

$57 dollars later, I returned home with my arms full of grocery bags and a clear indication that I have a problem. How the hell did I just spend $57? Let me tell you.

Thing which I did not need, but obviously needed:

Whipped cream. So I could wheeze the juice.

Peach sparkling water.
Oh, and her sister, Tangerine Lime sparkling water.

Chocolate pudding snack pack.
“I thought I was your snack pack, Billy.”

Fage strained yogurt. Mmm hmm.

Pineapple preserves to go with the Fage.

Two blocks of colby jack cheese.
I’ve never been a cheese person. Until NOW.

Aquaphor. Legitimately needed this one, for BABY DROOLFEST ’09.

(More) Cupcakes. What? Serious sugar craving over here.

Obviously I can’t be trusted alone in a grocery store.

Almost every Memorial Day since high school, I’ve gone with my dad to the Indy 500. This year the four of us made a weekend of it, and we got pictures.

It starts the night before the race at smaller track outside of Indianapolis where they hold a series of races called The Night Before the 500. Original, no?

Those blurs are called midgets. Tiny roller-skate-looking cars.

That hand stamp says NHRA, ya’ll. We’re not in Kansas anymore. (Actually, we might as well be in Kansas. Ha!)

These high school kids were selling raffle tickets. Their shirts say “We do it in the community.” Geh heh.

Mmmm Bop.

Sunday morning started out rainy and sucky. It cleared up early, pretty much by the time we all got to the track. My dad has great tickets and gets us into pit lane and the garages, where I got to see Dario Franchitti.

Oh, Dario. Why must you be so Scottish?

Then we watched to Parade of Stars. There’s the wee one from Hall and Oates.

Not him, the other one. (p.s. I was named after a H&O jam)

And Ray Liotta. This one’s for you, mom.

And Rupert from Survivor. Signing some girl’s hump.

And this guy. We still don’t know who he is, but everyone else seemed to.

And Peyton Manning. He’s surprisingly fast. And also, I think that’s Moses right there in the mid-ground.

McDempsy on the Jumbo-tron. He’s an elusive one, Patrick Dreamy is.

<warning: tearjerker> As a Memorial Day service before the race began, members of the US Army walked the track from the Pagoda to Gasoline Alley as a serviceman played ‘Taps’. The crowd was dead quiet, all standing, and as the trumpet got quiet at the end, someone up in the stands shouted “Bring our troops home!” Men cried and hugged in the stands. Whoa. <end: tearjerker>

You wish you had our awesome seats. Pagoda and balloon release, people.

This guy, explaining the finer points of Indy Car racing to his son, was kicking it in Sponge Bob boxer shorts.

Dario’s wife, Ashley Judd. Whatever. She can have him.

Although it was sunny in the beginning…

It was pouring by lap 113. Good thing we had ponchos.

All this kid had was a Nordstrom bag.

We took off at that point, power walking 2 miles in the rain. (Good Training.) Two hours later they dried the track and ran 40 more laps. Dario won. Did I mention he’s my favorite?