Yesterday evening we celebrated Charley's birthday at a restaurant named Whiskey Cake. It's a cool little gem of an addition to suburban Dallas. They have tons of herbs and vegetables growing right there on property, smack in the middle of a concrete strip shopping center. They obtain their meats and fish from local sources, as well as their beer and alcohol. Well, 'local' in Texas means the source could be three or four hundred miles away, but, it's still considered local in these parts.
I'm preparing today to spend two nights at Texas's only natural lake with my Mom and niece - and possibly the ***insert organ music*** linebacker of her younger brother, my nephew. Our lodging location is named Gator Lodge, and I'm dearly hoping the name is not prophetic. It IS, however, a very swampy area (at the border of Louisiana) that alligators and other slithery reptiles call home. Aye, ya, ya... I've been obsessing about this for a few weeks. It must be one of those paranoias that develops with age, from absolutely zero basis, logic, or rationale. I'm thankful that we're not taking the dogs because I would be doubly worried, even more than I am now about myself or one of the kids happening upon one of those deadly beasts. I've even gone so far to research methods suggested for outrunning a gator. The verdict of which method - straight line route or zig-zag escape - is undetermined based on my research. I'm crossing my fingers (of which I still possess all ten) that we won't be required to test out either method.
And, because everyone can use a little Peanut Butter Jelly Time: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8CX7pPVaDUk&feature=player_embedded#
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