So, remember when I told you, I wasn't going anywhere for a while?
Well, my restless little heart couldn't keep me home for too long.
The road was calling. New Orleans, to be exact.
My hubby and I decided, spur of the moment, a few weeks ago, that we wanted to take the show on the road for Thanksgiving.
We haven't been up to NOLA since right before Katrina, so we packed up the car and off we went.
And trust me when I say, we look like the Clampetts. Three teenage girls and all their luggage? When we open any of the car doors, something is guaranteed to fall out of this clown car. At the gas station, it was a shoe and of course, no one noticed until we were miles up the road and the dad would not TURN AROUND and of course, there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth from the shoeless one and screaming at her sisters who just might have been taunting her and yelling from the parents for everyone to JUST SHUT UP!!!!
Really, really good times.
Anyway, we're up in Pensacola Beach right now, working our way up to The Big Easy.
And for any of you nefarious types who might want to find my home and take my dogs or my ducks, (please help yourself to those guys) or my SHOES, (I'll hunt you down. I'm serious), know that my cousin and her husband are house and animal sitting while we're gone. And my cousin's husband is like a mega-giant. Truly. His father played for some football team—don't ask me which one, because I have low testosterone and part of that diagnosis means I can't catch a ball and I know nothing at all about sports—but my cousin's hubby is as gigantatron as his football dad and he will hurt anyone who tries to take my shoes. So, just keep that in mind.
But even though I'm not really here— I'm probably stuffing my piehole with beignets as you're reading this—I'm here in the spirit of my words. And for today, I have a Thanksgiving gift for all you.
My friend Gigi, at Kludgy Mom, put together a little Thanksgiving compilation, called Talk At The Table and I was thrilled to be a part of her holiday Ebook. Every day, throughout this fabulous holiday of feasting, she is posting a contribution from the book.
I would be over the moon excited if you could go over there and check out my post and then take a look around at all of the other super cool bloggers who contributed to Talk At The Table.
I promise you some fun. Here's a little something to tantalize you.
I've got this picture in my post.
I know you're thinking—what in the world is there to be thankful about this Chia Head look? Well, go take a look and you'll find out.
And I know I sound like a broken record, but I promise you, I will be back soon. My Internet silence isn't forever. I'll see you soon.
Today's Definite Download: Jimmy Buffett's "Margaritaville." It's definitely not even close to being my favorite Jimmy Buffett song. Way too overplayed. But . . . we're here in Pensacola Beach in Jimmy Buffett's brand new hotel called, yes, Margaritaville.
Now, I'm kind of a hotel snob. I like good sheets. I like good shower pressure. I like comfort. If I'm going away from home, I want to be happy. And happy to me, is high thread count sheets. What I'm saying is I'm pretty strict when it comes to my hotel standards and this hotel makes me new-shoes happy. From the bleached hardwood floors in the hotel room, (no grody, germ infested carpets), to the platform beds, to the beautiful wall mural in the room, a blown up picture of the stunning Gulf below us, to the luxurious bathrooms with their Key West blue countertops, to all the little but important details. I love this hotel.
I'll put up pictures next week, but if you're in the area, they've got great rates right now. The word's just getting out about his hotel and so they're trying to woo people in. They wooed me, that's for sure.
Jimmy Buffett knows how to do things right. You only have to look at his romantic love ballad, "Why Don't We Get Drunk And Screw" to know, this is a man who knows his way around things.
I'll see you after Turkey Day. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving, one and all.