Baton Rouge--Finally!! (As in, "We finally got there!!". Also, "We finally blogged about it!"

Yes, it's true--Andee and I did make it to Baton Rouge.

I put red sticks over our eyes because BR means "red stick." Also because I'm at work and can't photoshop the forks over our faces. Sigh. Anonymity is hard sometimes.

It's also true that while there, I met Robert Pattinson and he fell madly in love with me and we ran away together to the South of France. As I type, I am staring out the window of our palatial love nest at the beautiful...umm.... southness of....well, France.

Ok, that's not true. I would totally not be on the computer if I was sharing a palatial love pad with Robert Pattinson. Not unless we were, you know, on the computer.

But we did go to the Red Stick. And it was the farthest west I've ever gone. Seriously, y'all, I had never even been into Mississippi, although I did have to spend a whole week learning to spell it in 3rd grade. The trip started out with me and Andee talking non-stop over some rockin' Christmas tunes, which normally makes our trips just fly by. Not this time. After 40 bazillion hours on the road, we stopped for lunch. Another 5000 googillion hours later, we were in Mississippi, where we waited, at a complete standstill, for what later looked like absolutely nothing at all.

Traffic jam. Totally standing still on the interstate. Could have gotten out and danced naked on that semi flatbed. But we didn't...

Finally, FINALLY, we rolled into Louisiana. And we got off that miserable little stretch of road called I-10, only to be told by that little punk Garmin that we still had 85 more miles to go to Baton Rouge. We went ballistic and literally had to pull over and check another map. That pit stop went a lil' something like this:

There was no effing way it was another 85 miles!!!! 30 miles, tops. It was only like *holds fingers close together* this far away on the map! For real, I cannot ride in this car for another 85 miles. I will scream and tear off your rearview mirror. There's got to be somethign wrong with your Garmin. It's defective. Or deluded. Whatever, it's just wrong. Seriously, it cannot possib---holy shit, it IS another 85 miles.

What choice did we have but to drive on? It helped to see that Robert was only just a little bit further down the road--

To be continued...

Packing for Baton Rouge: Underwear? Check. Socks? Check. Milk? Check.

Some of our Twitter followers may remember certain tweets made by Grey in September of this year that went a little something like this (read from bottom):

Yes, it's true--I set my nose on fire.

The fiance and I were spending the weekend at Andee and her husband's house to watch football games and drink beer and suck at ladderball and then do old cheerleader dances in the driveway. Everything had been going so well, untill Andee in her bid for domestic goddess-ity roped me into making cream cheese-stuffed jalepenos wrapped in bacon. They sounded delicious, actually, but I like to go places--I think they call them "restaurants"--and have food brought to me, magically hot and ready to eat. But I'm a good friend, and so I said I'd help. Big mistake. HUGE mistake.

Big, huge, BURNING mistake.

I cut the jalapenos in half and scooped out their little insides. After I put the last hollowed-out little jalepeno corpse into the bowl, I KNEW that I needed to wash my hands. I don't know how I knew to wash my hands--I've never handled any peppers other than bell peppers and so I can only say that God led me to wash my hands because even though what happened next was awful, what could have happened had I not washed my hands would have been so much worse.

Because after I washed my hands, I scratched my nose. And caught my nose on fire.

I mean, ON FIRE. It was BURNING. I started panicking. As I panicked, my nose got hotter. I went to the bathroom to rinse my nose off.

The burning only intensified.

I ran to Andee's computer and Googled "jalepeno nose burn" and found out why--apparently water reactivates the chemical in peppers that makes them burn. Fan-f*cking-tastic. The only solution was milk. Did Andee have any milk in the fridge? Sure she did.

But it was sour.

Sour milk. Up my nose. I would have thrown up in my mouth at just the thought of it if my nose hadn't been as red as Rudolph's and did I mention ON FIRE?

So Andee ran to her neighbor's house and returned with a red Dixie cup of milk. Which my face did not fit into. I almost started crying, I was so frustrated and oh yeah, MY NOSE WAS ON FIRE. So we poured the milk in a bowl and just slammed my entire face in there. Sweet, sweet relief.

Which is why I'm packing milk when we go to Baton Rouge this weekend. Because Robert Pattinson is definitely hotter than a jalepeno. And I'm not going to be caught unprepared ever again.

Grey