Menopausal Mother

 
 I don't do well on long road trips. Being confined in a car for hours on end causes me to search frantically for a roadside bar. My butt becomes numb and my long legs ache from being folded up like an accordion under the dash. I fiddle with the A/C between hot flashes, causing everyone else to shiver or sweat in the backseat.
     Some of the other issues that make me want to claw my way out of the car during a long road trip include:

THE RADIO:  One minute I'm listening to Bon Jovi and digging it, then suddenly the radio station changes over in the next city and Wayne Newton is serenading me with a love ballad that makes me want to stick a fork in my eye.

SNACKING:  Long hours in the car causes terminal boredom. Boredom breeds hunger. Every five minutes I'm popping M&M's and Cheez-Its in my mouth like a cracked-out snack hoarder.

REST STOPS:  Within the first two hours of the road trip, my bladder starts knocking at the door. "Hello? Remember that grande size iced coffee you insisted on chugging down seventy miles ago? I'm not doing the camel thing here for you by storing all this liquid. Go pee!!" Murphy's Law inevitably points a finger at me and laughs by trapping me in the middle of bumper to bumper traffic on the interstate. At this point, I place my hands together in silent prayer: "Dear bladder, please don't fail me now." I'm also forced to consider using my red Solo cup for something other than it was designed for. The cup is probably cleaner than most of the highway rest stops we visit, where everyone looks like Walmart refugees. Maybe it's because we're all sporting the same, rumpled clothes and a glazed look in our eyes from white fever. The good news? I can stock up here on more snacks---a soda for five bucks, a bag of chips that expired two months ago in the vending machine or boiled peanuts from a one-armed man.

SINGING IN THE CAR:  Another hour on the road and the bored men break out singing Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" when it plays on the radio. I feel like I'm trapped on a tour bus with either The Mormon Taber"knuckle" Choir or The Vienna "Sour Note" Boy's Choir.

FAST FOOD:  Junking out on fast food while driving 80 miles per hour down the interstate is always fun, especially if nobody has any napkins on hand. Half of the food ends up in your lap and the rest of it on your greasy chin. By the time we emerge from the car at out final destination, we look like we've just played paint ball with ketchup, mustard and chocolate milkshakes.


CAR FARTS:  Eating all that crappy fast food and sitting for hours on our butts causes noxious fumes to fill the car. It's too big of a job for those little, hanging air fresheners to mask the smell. The Hubs thinks it's hilarious to crank up the heat and lock the car windows when he farts, just so he can listen to us gag and beg for mercy. I usually try to suffocate myself with a pillow when this occurs. Even worse, pug farts. Word of advice: Never, EVER let your teenager feed the dog a leftover bean burrito before
hitting the road for a long trip. Your olfactory senses will never be the same.

THE HOTEL:  I'm not sure where hotel chains purchase their pillows, but I'm betting they come from a sandbag factory. The mattresses aren't much better; they're so hard, I wake each morning folded over like an elderly man with rheumatoid arthritis.
         Four people sharing one bathroom keeps things interesting as well, especially if everyone indulged in the all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet the night before. Hotel managers would be wise to install timers in each bathroom so that everyone gets their fair share of privacy on the stink throne.
        Large bath towels would also be a nice addition. No one can dry off properly from a shower with a towel the size of a dinner napkin. Foam padding needs to be added to the walls of every room so that it doesn't sound like the family upstairs is bouncing on a trampoline or a herd of elephants stampeding the hallways.

VACATION ACTIVITIES:  We spend most of our time hiking, visiting museums and fooling our stomachs into thinking we've entered a Man v.s. Food eating contest. The prize goes to the person who can no longer button their pants at the end of the trip.
 
 Hiking in an unfamiliar forest with a multitude of winding paths is not a good idea if you're codependent on a GPS. With dozens of banana spiders hanging from the trees and a gimpy husband with a bad knee, I don't feel safe getting lost in a secluded area that resembles a perfect spot for a sequel of The Blair Witch Project. It's enough to make me want to pee my pants, but I don't recommend doing that in the forest either, in case you accidentally squat over a patch of poison ivy. Try explaining THAT to your doctor.
     Museums are a great way to pass the time, mostly because they're air conditioned and I don't have to duck under banana spider webs. The downside is standing in a quiet room filled with ancient relics
when your teenager farts loud enough to shake the walls....then points a finger in your direction.
     Caves are also a fun activity to explore while on vacation, but not so
much if you're claustrophobic. Or penis-phobic. There are too many underground stalagmite areas that resemble multiple rooms of erections. It's not cool to snicker about them either, especially while your tour guide is trying to explain these rock formations to your group.
     Here's another travel tip: if the weather has been crappy all week, don't delude yourself into thinking it will pass and schedule an outing to the park. Nothing gets the heart pumping faster than being forced to run like an Olympian a mile back to the car while torrential rain is lashing at your face and dark, ominous clouds begin funneling overhead. Even more thrilling, yell, "TORNADO!!" and watch
everyone scatter like ants out of an anthill. Leave the gimpy husband behind as he does his best imitation of a peg-legged pirate limping over tree roots and rocks. It's every man for himself when a tornado is involved.

     Would I do it all again? Absolutely. Those moments of deep laughter with my family that caused our eyes to water and our bellies to ache were worth every mishap. But next time, we'll skip the bean burritos and carry a bottle of Gas-X instead.

 
  Once again it's time for the Secret Subject Swap hosted by Karen at http://www.bakinginatornado.com. I was fortunate enough to receive my prompt from one of my favorite bloggers, Starr, of http://hypnoticbard.blogspot.com. Her question for me: "If you could meet any author, past or present, dead or alive, for coffee, who would it be and why?"


     During the Jurassic era when Meno Mama was attending Stephens College with all the other dinosaurs, our commencement speaker at graduation was the well-known humorist, Erma Bombeck. I remember wondering who she was and thinking that she was incredibly funny. Little did I know how fortunate I was to witness this icon of humor deliver the most entertaining graduation speech I would ever hear.
     Fast forward to 2011 when I decided to dust off my diploma and put my writing skills to use in the form of a blog. I thought of Erma immediately and devoured every Bombeck book that I could find. She has been my muse from that point on, and is the inspiration behind every blog post I write. When I received Starr's prompt for this Swap, it took less than a nanosecond to decide who I would share coffee with. Bombeck's famous quotes have stuck with me over the years, so I pulled some of my favorites from the archives and centered our coffee conversation around them.
     Readers, meet my new friend, Erma Bombeck.


     "Erma, I've admired your work for so long. Every blogger out there wants to emulate your writing style. I was terrified of hitting that 'publish' button when I wrote my first post. Were you nervous when you sent out your first article?"

      "It takes a lot of courage to show your dreams to someone else." 

     "That's right. For the first few months, I felt like I was swimming alone in the murky waters of blogging until I started meeting other writers."

     "Dreams have only one owner at a time. That's why dreamers are lonely." 

     "It's hard on my family, too. They understand I need time alone in my room to write. But it sure would be nice if they tossed a sandwich and a bag of chips at me every now and then so that I wouldn't starve to death while sitting at the computer all day. Maybe that's their new diet plan for me. Seriously though, when I look around my messy home, I feel bad about neglecting all the chores that need to be done. It's a problem when the dog has eaten all the wooden legs off the sofa because no one remembered to feed him."


     "Guilt is the gift that keeps on giving!"

     "That's just it; the guilt is killing me."

     "Housework, if you do it right, will kill you."

     "My mother was an incredible housewife. She cooked from scratch, scoured the house until it shined and ironed everything, including the bedsheets! Mine resemble failed, origami projects shoved into the abyss known as our linen closet."

     "Ironed sheets are a health hazard."

     "The only time I don't feel guilty about letting the housework go is during football season. I figure if my husband can't be bothered with mowing the lawn for a few weeks, I can skip vacuuming the carpets for awhile..."

     "If a man watches three football games in a row, he should be declared legally dead."

     "He already spends too much time on the couch. I'm afraid one of these days I'll come home and all that will be left of him will be a chalk outline on the sofa and a remote control. He really needs to get out and jog."

     "The only reason I would take up jogging is so that I can hear heavy breathing again!"

     "Tell me something, Erma---you faced quite a bit of adversity in your life with polycystic kidney disease and breast cancer. How were you able to write such powerful humor during those years?"

     "Laughter rises out of tragedy when you need it most, and rewards you for your courage....if you can laugh at it, you can live it."

     "My laughter and pain is often intertwined. I'm either slipping into insanity or suffering from the raging hormones of menopause."

     "There is a thin line that separates laughter and pain, comedy and tragedy, humor and hurt."

     "You certainly found a way to bring laughter into this world. It amazes me that you started off by writing weekly newspaper columns from your small bedroom in Ohio, then quickly rose to be a popular humorist nationwide. Fourteen years later, 900 newspapers were publishing your column. That's an incredible accomplishment!"

     "I didn't fight my way to the top of the food chain to be a vegetarian."

     "A lot of bloggers can relate to that statement. I think we're all searching for that little slice of fame through our blogs."

     "Don't confuse fame with success. Madonna is one. Helen Keller is the other."

     "I love that you were able to find humor in your everyday experiences as a wife and mother. Some of my favorite stories are the ones about your children and how they drove you crazy!"

     "Insanity is hereditary. You can catch it from your kids."  

     "You had three of them---you should know!"

     "Never have more children than you have car windows."

     "Especially if your fourth one is a belligerent seventeen-year-old who likes to make potato bombs and burn plastic milk jugs in the house to set off the fire alarm at an ungodly hour."

     "A child needs your love more when he deserves it the least." 

     "It's hard to control my temper around him. I'm trying to be patient and understanding but sometimes I just want to sell him to a traveling circus....or duct tape him to a chair until he turns 21."

     "It's not until you're a mother that your judgement slowly turns to compassion and understanding."

     "I'm still waiting for that concept to kick in..... if you could start all over again as a young mother, Erma, what changes would you make?"

     "Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I'd have cherished every moment, realizing that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle....I would have sat on the lawn with my children and not worried about grass stains....I would have talked less and listened more....and when my kids kissed me impetuously, I would have never said, 'Later. Now get washed up for dinner.'"

     "And if you had your whole life to live over again?"

     "There would have been more 'I love you's' and more 'I'm sorry's'....I would have cried and laughed less while watching television, and more while watching life....but mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute....look at it and really see it....and never give it back." 

   
     We sipped our coffee in silence after that, then shared a few more family stories before it was time for her to leave. As I thanked her again for spending the afternoon with me, she popped open a flowered umbrella and headed out into the rain. I watched her disappear behind the silvery mist of water falling from a bruised sky and knew that I would never forget this remarkable, enchanting woman of humor.


      Please be sure to stop by and read the posts from the other bloggers participating in today's Secret Subject Swap!



     

    

     

     

     

     

 

Meno Mama is on vacation this week enjoying time with her family for the holiday. For those of you recovering from a holiday hangover, I thought you might enjoy a little blog post that I wrote a long time ago, when I had only 23 followers if I was lucky....and half of those were family members. This is one of my favorites from back in the day---hope you enjoy it!





     Devil juice can be defined as: "Juice made from a winery in hell, designed to create multiple personalities in those who imbibe by introducing their alter egos to the general public."
     My husband is an avid beer drinker, but once he switches over to the dark side of wine, he becomes a different person.  Just like a woman with raging hormones in the throes of menopause, his mood can change drastically.  I never know which alter ego of his I will be dealing with---McBastard, Cuddle Bear, Sleepy from the Seven Dwarfs or a Teletubbie.  These personalities don't kick in until he has uncorked his second bottle of red wine.  He could paint the house, wax the car or install new plumbing and not remember a thing in the morning.  Sometimes he morphs into Jimmy Hendrix and plays air guitar to Purple Haze, while other nights he dons a cat mask and dances to the Meow Mix theme.  I don't worry too much about his alter egos as long as he's not scratching in a litter box, marking his territory or trying to lick my ankles.
     My husband claims that devil juice alters my personality as well.  He says that I change from lamb to lion to human gummy bear after a few glasses of vino, which has convinced me to buy cheaper wine and dilute it with ice water.  Gross, I know, but we can't have two comatose adults in the back yard.
      Years ago we owned a gift basket shop and were fortunate enough to come across case loads of good quality champagne at a discount price from a local wine dealer.  Most of the bottles ended up in our kitchen cabinets instead of in the baskets they were intended for.  A close friend of ours who bought several cases called it forget-me-not champagne because she woke each morning after drinking it not remembering what she did the night before.
     We have plenty of wine that could sport the same forget-me-not label.  Wine comas rob you of chunks of time you can never get back, until one day you find yourself crawling around on all fours in a video on YouTube.
     After enough glasses of devil juice, my husband is convinced he's the next Iron Chef.  He fixes weird sandwiches like bologna with garlic croutons or peanut butter, jelly and roasted turkey, then tries to get everyone else to eat his creations.  Guy Fieri he is not.  Vino turns me into Paula Dean---I want to slather butter on everything.  Some of my tastiest concoctions were created after a few glasses of devil juice---problem is I consumed major calories and I don't remember what I ate, only that it was more difficult to zip up my jeans the next day.
     You would think two middle age adults would not want to lose track of precious time by blurring their weekends with devil juice.  There's just something not right about a man in a cat mask drinking wine.  Next weekend he's changing his own litter box.
      What can I say?
      The devil made him do it!

   
We all have them. The secret sins that keep us awake at night and tap us on the shoulder during the day while we try to go about our business. The sins that we would prefer that our friends and neighbors never see. For some, this means dancing the salsa naked with a Hoover Upright ( Hey! I didn't say that was me!). For others, it's sticking their face in a bag of mini, cheese-flavored rice cakes at 2:00a.m. (Okay maybe that was me).
     I'm not Catholic and I'm pretty sure you're not a priest, but I'm sitting in a confessional booth right now about to spill the goods on Menopausal Mama's seven deadly sins.

ENVY:  I live near a park and a jogging trail. I see women of all ages out there, rollerblading, jogging and biking. Certain ones catch my eye---the PERFECT ones, who look like they just rolled off the Barbie shelf at Target. Pink sweats with the Juicy label across their firm, little butts, and a matching tank top stretched tight across breasts that aren't jiggling like jello cups in a truck when they jog. THOSE are the women I envy. Their pre-baby bodies are free of stretch marks
resembling the NYC subway system. They are blessed with perky boobs on the high beam setting aimed at the stars instead of their knee caps. It makes me long for my youth and a certain pink bikini I once owned.


GLUTTONY:  This is the reason I no longer own the aforementioned pink bikini. I am a wine hoarder and a Nutella crack head. I am also selfish when it comes to Chinese take-
out. Don't touch my egg roll or lay a finger on my chicken chow mein. To prevent anyone else from stealing my leftovers from the fridge, I cleverly disguise my food in a covered jar marked "URINE SAMPLE." It keeps my thieving teenager away from my stash while I'm busy Googling Nutella rehab centers.

PRIDE:  This is something easily lost when you're driving an old minivan with missing hubcaps and a broken door handle....which is why you'll NEVER see me behind the wheel of the mommy mobile that seizes up at every stop light in town. My husband has inherited that hemorrhoid on wheels because he happens to know car CPR. My own pride is seriously challenged every day at the gym when I look in the mirror and see body parts wiggling and waving back at me in an unnatural way. But if you ask me about my kids or my granddaughter, I'll
whip out my cell phone faster than you can say moo shu pork and force you to watch a terminally long slide show of every phase in their lives, starting with their ultrasound images all the way to their college graduation ceremonies.


LUST:  When you're menopausal, the mind says, "Yes" but the body says, "Oh, hell no!" So you learn to lust after other things....like a beef burrito the size of a chihuahua. Or Ben and Jerry's Triple Caramel Chunk ice cream and a good bottle of Dom Perignon. A trip to Tahiti would be nice too, but at this rate I'll never be able to fit back into that pink bikini again.

ANGER:  Think Jack Nicholson in The Shining. Anthony Hopkins in Silence Of The Lambs. This is what I become when my son misses the school bus at 6:30 a.m. My head has also been known to spin like I'm in the throes of an exorcism when I send The Hubs to the hardware store for a socket set and he returns with a water-sprayng fan or a singing can opener. What's next, a toilet plunger that chants, " I think I can, I think I can"?


SLOTH:  When I think sloth, the first image that comes to mind is Jabba the Hutt. No, I do not resemble a bloated, slug-like alien, nor do I eat fleshy, aquatic creatures with slimy legs. But I DO like having minions (a.k.a. children) around to take out the trash, wash the dinner dishes and fold the laundry before all the socks play hide-and-seek or join Match.com to find their missing partners.

GREED:  While most people associate greed with money and power, neither of those things appeal to me. I'm greedy when it comes to sleep. Those evil, menopausal twins Hot Flash and Fatigue have joined forces with their mischievous cousin Insomnia to deprive me of a solid, seven hours of slumber. My bladder is never one to miss a party either, so she's right up there playing checkers with her cohorts at all hours of the night. If there's such a thing as reincarnation, I want to come back as a bear so I can hibernate for a few months in a cave and bite the head off the first person who wakes me.

     There should be an 8th deadly sin as well, called INSANITY. When my body thermostat mimics the mercury levels of an Arizona desert during the month of July, or I suddenly find myself trolling the girdle aisle at Walmart, I'm bound to feel a little crazy. To combat the bipolar symptoms of my fluctuating hormones, I've discovered that the road to happiness is paved with Prozac and chocolate....and maybe a side trip to Tahiti with a pink bikini in my suitcase.

 Welcome to another edition of the Fly On The Wall series, hosted by Karen at http://www.bakinginatornado.com. 13 other bloggers are opening their blinds and allowing you a voyeuristic peek through the windows of their homes. I'm a fly, so I can easily get in when someone leaves a door open. But I've got to tell you---I just can't stay very long at some of these homes. I need ear plugs. And a blindfold. I've seen too much in my short lifespan. All I want to do is take a dip in your potato salad and buzz around the room.  One house in particular flies the freak flag on a regular basis. These people need to be dropped off at the funny farm for an indefinite amount of time. Don't believe me? Listen to some of the weird conversations I have been privy to lately:


"I'm pretty sure these are rogue fat cells attacking my butt. It has nothing to do with the grilled cheese sandwiches I ate."

"They should invent a dual-ended deodorant stick. One side for your armpits and the other for your butt."

"Mom, where's the antibacterial cream?"
"You mean the Neosporin?"
"No, the generic one you bought since we can't afford the real stuff. POOR-sporin."

"Your bedroom stinks! It smells like a cow died in here."
"I didn't know my socks could moo."

"Oh, look at those cute raccoons in our backyard. I want one for a pet!"
"Honey, that's the wine talking...HONEY!!  STOP CHASING THE RACCOONS!!!"


"It was so hot outside while I was mowing that I don't even feel my feet anymore. They melted. All I have left are stubs."


"They need to include auto poop tubes in cars so you can suck out the toxic waste while you're stuck in traffic. It's the wave of the future."

"Obviously your wagon lost a wheel and you've derailed in the middle of a desert."

"He thinks I'm sitting around all day popping prozac like candy and watching Dr. Phil in my pajamas."

"No, old underwear does NOT make good Chinese lanterns."

"Leave your mother alone. She's cracked out on Nutella and coffee."

"Mom, my sunburn is finally peeling. There's bits of skin coming off my neck."
"It's called leprosy."
"What's  THAT?"
"When chunks of flesh fall off your body."
"Wait, what? No, I don't have that....do I?"

"I'll bet you were one of the cool kids who sat at the back of the bus during school field trips."
"I've been to the back of the bus. All you do is smell urine. It's not a glamorous thing."

"I can't help you right now. I'm getting attacked by a wolverine."
"Good. I hope it chews you up into little pieces of fish bait. "

"Where's Mom? I haven't seen her all day."
"She's playing mole in the hole in her office."

"Honey, there's either a tumor or a very large poop ball stuck to the rabbit's tail."
"Well, don't expect me to help you figure out which one it is."

"Stop trimming the hedges into bunny shapes and penises. Edward Scissor
Hands you are NOT!"

"You need to go to your weird place if you want to write like that."

     Folks, do you see what I'm talking about? These people fly the freak flag with pride.  Where are  those dudes in the little white coats to take this family away to the funny farm? Oh holy crap, is that a fly swatter? Oh no, she didn't, she wouldn't..." SPLAT!


*Be sure to check out these other Fly posts from these hilarious bloggers:

   
My folks were always avid travelers in search of new adventures. Once the last school bell rang in June heralding the beginning of summer break, our suitcases were packed and loaded into the station wagon. When I was young, these vacations involved long road trips that led to some "interesting" experiences which I am convinced is why I need anti-anxiety medications today. These special adventures into hell included spider-infested trails through a citrus grove; sleeping on a freezing mountain top in a tar paper shack with no heat, bathroom or running water; vomiting over the side of a boat (wouldn't that be considered as homemade chum?) during a fishing trip on rough water, and sleeping by myself in the backseat of a rental car when my siblings tricked me into believing there were nuclear reactor size scorpions under my cabin bed in Zion National Park.
     Once I entered adulthood, I swore that I'd never subject myself (or my children) to these summer break horrors. But history has a way of repeating itself, so I've compiled a reminder list of 10 things I will NOT be doing this summer.

1.  Get on an airplane. Most flights from my hometown circle out over the Bermuda Triangle first. I don't want to end up on a sequel of Lost or have my picture plastered on the side of a milk carton.

2.  Fall asleep on the beach only to wake up hours later looking like the main entree at a Red Lobster restaurant.

3.  Wear all white to an outdoor barbecue party. Juicy ribs + rum runners = hot mess disaster.

4.  Get into a canoe with my daughters who are just as clueless on the water as I am. Pocahontas we are not, and I already know this tender, white meat would make great alligator bait.

5.  After a camping trip, attempt to neatly fold a double air mattress back into its original box. Fuggedaboutit. Ball that sucker up and toss it into the back of the closet.

6.  Visit a Jurassic Park exhibit with life like dinosaurs roaming the grounds. I don't want to be mistaken for a pork chop or a pu pu platter for two.

7.  Go to an outdoor Judy Collins concert just because the tickets are free. Shock therapy would be
more entertaining.

8.  Vacation at a southern resort where the mosquitoes are the size of vultures with a vampire's appetite for blood.

9.  Participate in a sea cow rodeo. That's just wrong on so many levels.


10.  Zip line over a wide canyon, especially if the cord has been recycled from an old clothes line or used dental floss.


     The next time you get extra tickets to see Neil Diamond in concert at the amphitheater or feel like riding the waves on a bucking sea cow, don't bother calling me. I'll be asleep on the beach next to a bowl of melted butter. Lobster, anyone?

 Today is a special day here at Menopausal Mother for several reasons. It's my official SITS day, where I am the featured blogger on their site, and secondly, I'm participating in another Secret Subject Swap with 11 other bloggers, hosted by the lovely Karen at http://www.bakinginatornado.com. First off, let me welcome all of my SITS sisters to my site! SITS is a large blogging community of over 40,000 women sharing tips, support and friendship. The site shares various forums and offers  resources for blogging opportunities as well as featuring a new SITS blogger daily. It's a great place to connect with other bloggers, so be sure to check out their site at: http://www.thesitsgirls.com.
     I have been participating in Karen's Secret Subject Swap for several months now, and I love the challenge of writing off a secret prompt given to me by another blogger. Today my prompt comes from Sarah at http://themomisodes.com. Her question for me is: "Tell us about a botched Father's Day gift for either your spouse or your own father." I racked my brain on this one but I couldn't think of any Father's Day gifts that were botched, except for the cheap pens I used to buy my father when I was a little kid. And maybe that expensive pirate coat I bought for the Hubs years ago for the Renaissance festival (what can I say? I have a thing for pirates!).
     To avoid epic fails on Father's Day, there's plenty of things NOT to give your spouse or your father on their big day. The following is a list of 10 items to avoid next time you're out shopping:


1)  Cologne bought out of the trunk of someone's car on the side of the road.

2)  Tickets to a Barry Manilow concert.

3)  A yearly subscription to Orthopedic Monthly.

4)  A box of Rogaine and discount coupons for hair plugs.

5)  A matching set of His and Her bejeweled cremation urns.

6)  Blue underwear depicting a train across the front with the slogan, "Blow My Horn!" Male thongs are an equally disturbing gift.

7)  A case of non-alcoholic beer.

8)  A jar of pickled pigs feet in habanero pepper sauce. Or a can of beans, for that matter.

9)  A tee shirt that reads: "Just because I have man boobs doesn't mean that I am lactating!"

10)  Do not sign him up for the constipation research study advertised on a late night infomercial or the Buy-One-Get-One sale on Fleet enemas at the drugstore.


     Still worried about what to get that special man on Father's Day? Show him this list, then offer him a silk, SpongeBob tie and a six pack of generic beer brewed by hog farmers living near a sewage plant. He'll thank you for the best Father's Day ever!


     Please be sure to visit all the other awesome bloggers participating in the SWAP today!