The Camera Doesn't Lie

IF . . .

you (Hello, TGirl!) were on a weekend family fun trip with us Rockin'Bauers,

and had the oppotunity to be in a few family pictures . . .

would you at first be happy to be included?

Would you then think that maybe, just maybe you don't want photographic evidence that you actually associate with us?

Would you finally decide that it's just not worth risking public humiliation?

IF so, you are not alone.

And, IF anyone knows how to get two certain someones to behave for photos, please share.

Driving Around, It's A Hoot

If you are ever driving around out here in the 'burbs of The District, you may come across this road repeatedly:

Backlick Road? Seriously? Just when you thought the real South had the market cornered on RedNeck-isms.

Every time I pass a sign for Backlick (which is frequently because the road is long and filled with modern-day suburban goodness) I get one of two visual images in my head: othe first is of my cat licking her backside & the other is of . . . well, something that might be a Dare Double-Dog Dare at the tail-end of a fraternity keg party.

Pleasant thoughts, I know. Just thought I'd share.

Keep in mind, though, if you take the I-95 Richmond exit in the picture, drive southbound for about 10 miles & turn right, you can be at this next location lickety-split.

At first I was sophomorically amused because there was Dick's Sporting Goods Store across the street from the Hooters.

(giggle, giggle)

Then, I noticed there was a STOP sign in between.

(Bwah-ha-ha-ha-hilarious!)

Ugly Is Skin Deep Too

There are times when you see something on the news or read a story on your AOL start-up page and you think to yourself:

Goodness Gracious!
Somewhere on this planet there is a village missing their idiot.

Not missing as in heartache for the noticeable absence of someone. I'm talking missing as in gone AWOL & the remaining village population is doing the happy dance.

I only bring this up because recently the news (& I use that term in the loosest sense possible) brought me the story of a Belgian teen was was suing her tattoo artist (again, loosest possible context) for vandalizing her face.

Yes, this sweet, young thang supposedly requested three tastefully done star tattoos on her face (yes, I can recognize an oxymoron when I see one). Her originial claim was that she passed out drunk went to sleep while the artwork was being done and when woke up looking like this:

Now she is the plaintiff in a lawsuit alleging that it's not her fault that she "can't go out in public becasue she looks like a freak". As of late, she does admit to being awake for the procedure, but remains displeased with the results. There must have been some confusion with the translation between French/English/Flemish, and she would like 10,000 Euros to ease the pain & pay for plastic surgery to remove a star.

Or 53.

The defendant, who thankfully doesn't look like a freak when he appears in public, pleads not guilty & states that Twinkle Face knew exactly what she was getting, was excited about it & initially thrilled with the results. He has agreed to pay for half of Twinkle's plastic surgery bill & is quite happy by all the publicity he's received.

And, then there are those times when you think to yourself,

Wow. There are two villages missing their idiots.

Be Careful What You Ask For

For those of you who have been following me on Savvy, you know that in order to be blog-worthy, a story must possess a little pizazz. Or a lot, depending on the day. The run-of-the-mill, blah, blah, blah reports of mundane daily activities (not that there are many around the Haus in the first place) just don't inspire me to write in complete (& often run-on) sentences.

That's why I was a bit surprised when my favorite 17 year old friend Ya-Ya (Hi Olivia!) requested to be a guest star on the blog. Seriously? Did your mother let you read Tampon Woman? Public humiliation around here knows no limit.

But, she asked so nicely (pretty please with a cherry on top) & she did fly all the way from Alamo City to the Haus for a quick visit, so how could I possibly refuse?

I was planning on a very rare & vanilla blog publication. This is Ya-Ya. She is normal. So are her parents to the best of my knowledge (Hi Dave & Jenn). They came to visit. Ya-Ya attended Summer Seminar at the Naval Academy where all the eye candy in uniform just about gave me perimenopausal hot flashes. They flew back to Texas. The End.

As it turned out, these bland thoughts were absolutely unnecessary. All the adults (who should have known better) agreed that we would all pile into the Pilot for a road trip out to Annapolis to drop Ya-Ya off at the campus.

I know. I know.

But, if you knowingly & willingly agree to go on a Rockin'Bauer RoadTrip (no matter how short) you almost deserve any drama that comes your way. Once I realized my normal friends were riding with us, I whipped out the camera to document. To document what . . . I wasn't quite sure, but I knew it would be something. We don't call me HausFrau for nothing.

This is Ya-Ya, JayCee & DeeCee (& MiniMe)
right before we all squeezed into the ManMobile & headed out to Annapolis.

And, this is MiniMe about 15-20 minutes into our trip & just across the state line. Yep, she's feeling pukey & we are using to plastic bag from the ManMobile owner's manual just in case. Man frantically looks for a place to pull over because . . . well, we've done this before & it ain't pretty.

Soon Man (with DeeCee as co-pilot) find this exit off the Capitol Beltway. We take it and begin the search for some nice place to either vomit or suck up some fresh air and push past the nausea.

Note that the exit is numbered 13. Yeah, someone should have been paying attention to that wee bit of visual foreshadowing. Also make a big, fat note that if you ever need to vomit or suck air while in the national capitol area, drive as fast & far as you can away from this exit. And let me tell you why . . .

Because this was this best place we found for dealing with carsickness. And, this is a dirty port-a-potty at a Shell station. Which anyone of the female persuasion would no doubt refuse to use. Even for puking. Notice that we were aiming for the grass.

I'm not sure who snapped this picture (perhaps Ya-Ya who had to be regretting her blog request by now) but while this picture was being taken . . .

Are you ready for this?

An undercover police officer came out of undercoverness & flashed his badge at Man & JayCee. According to my best second-hand sources of info, the conservation went something like this:

Police Officer: Uh, do you people know where you are?

JayCee: Sure, we have the GPS. Just taking a little pit stop because the little one was carsick.

Police Officer: Uh, no. You obviously don't know where you are. You need to get into the rather expensive, new looking, totally middle class SUV and get out of here. Now. And, take your 4 cell phones, 2 Blackberries, GPS, 2 iPods and Leapster with you. You are a carjacking, theft and God-only-knows-what-else just waiting to happen.

JayCee: But the little one needs to vomit.

Police Officer: Let her throw up in the vehicle. It's better that way.

Man: Uh, Savvy, we are leaving. Now.

Me: But . . .

Man, JayCee, DeeCee & Police Officer: NOW!

Yep, it happened just like that. Apparently, "just across the state line" means that you are no longer in the most affluent county in the USA & even if you stop outside the major city loop, you need to beware.

Who knew?

In Texas, if you pull over outside the loop, you are usually good to go. You might encounter few RedNecks, but they are mostly harmless.

But, guess what? Maryland isn't Texas. And, we now have a new HausRule: We don't stop in Maryland for anything. Ever. Need to pee? Go in the car seat. It's better that way! Hungry? You won't starve before Virginia. Feeling nauseous? Too bad . . .










Hey JayCee, I knew I said that I would delete these awful pictures that MiniMe snapped of us (honestly, that child could probably make Zach Efron look like a dork!) but I did fuzz out some of the reality & left only what I consider to be our opinion of what I am now calling OPERATION: It's Better to Vomit in the Car.

We did eventually make it to the Academy & you can see the shear joy on Ya-Ya's face. I'm not sure if it was the excitement of seeing all the Hotties in Uniform or extreme gratefulness that she actually arrived in one piece. Praise God! Hallelujah! Either way, Ya-Ya, you rock & this publication is dedicated to you!

DeeCee & JayCee seem to also be happy to have survived the pit stop at Exit #13.

As for us Rockin'Bauers, it was just another blah, blah, blah, vanilla, happens everyday, run-of-the-mill adventure. DeeCee snapped this picture of us for the family history books. Hey y'all, remember that time when . . . ?

I couldn't help but notice that the picture is framed so that the torpedo is aiming straight for my head. Yep, all continues to be Savvy in my world. It's what I do best.

Making the Grade

Below is the sad, sad tale of how a HausFrau got a B on an anatomy test.

OK, fine, you know it was me. As I hang my head in shame, I confess that I got an 88 (a flippin' B) on my Joints & Muscles test last week. Can you believe it? Me neither & I'm still a little miffed.

It all started with a simple email distributed to all students enrolled for the summer at the local community college. The message simply stated that the visitor parking garage would be closed for the day. I made a mental note to be on the look-out for an alternative parking solution, perhaps I could locate metered parking somewhere. It's not like I have a decal like a real student - I'm only there to have adult supervision while I take on-line tests, least I cheat and actually manange to pull off an A.

After spending a leisurely morning & part of the afternoon at the pool with the kids, cramming for the test, I decided to just bite the bullet and head on over to the college. It was just an exam during the summer, so I didn't spend too much time in front of the mirror before leaving the Haus. Tank top from the pool, hair in a clippie, capris, lip gloss & flip flops on the way out the door. Oh, and my pop-of-color magenta handbag that I bought from the thrift store for $6.99.

As I arrived at the campus armed with extreme knowledge of ligaments, synovial fluid & microscopic muscle structure, I noticed that indeed the parking garage was closed as promised. Blocked off with yellow crime-scene-ish type of tape. As a matter of fact, several large parking lots & walking areas were blocked off with the yellow tape. And, both an ambulance & firetruck were positioned for a quick response. To whatever.

I think to myself, "Oh, this must be an emergency preparedness type of exercise. You know, community college as the local shelter in the event of . . . well, you name it, this is DC, after all."

After driving around for a bit, it became apparent that the only place I could park was in "Decal Only" parking, violators will be fined. Heavily. So, I parked with the intention of approaching the first official looking person - perhaps that campus security officer standing over by the firetruck - and inquire about my legal parking options.

As I sashayed across the parking lot - totally looking like a HausFrau in Flip Flops with a thrift store purse off to take a test for a class she shouldn't have to be taking in the first place - I noticed that I am beginning to feel way under dressed. Way.

Hmmmm.

Pantyhose & suits?

Neckties?

Hello? This is summer school at the community college. I might never not always fit in. For example, I am older than everyone else, I've got that suburban HausFrau look going on that not everyone can pull off, I don't wear a head scarf & English is my native language. And, I don't need a math placement test thankyouverymuch.

As I meander, I again think to myself, "Oh, I guess that dude in the black suit with the black-out shades standing by the big black SUV with black-out tint doesn't look like campus security now that I am closer."

I must admit, I was beginning to think the Secret Service had that place locked down. Tight.

Deciding to risk a parking fine in the name of higher education, I chose not to bother the man in black - or his amigo, the other man in black standing by the firetruck - & I attempted to work my way through the maze of yellow tape, heading for the testing center in Building CG. Guess what. The oodles & oodles of yellow tape were way more clever than this HausFrau & I could not figure out how to get from point A to point B. Since all the official people looked scary & unfriendly in a military police sort of way, I found a friendly looking real college student to help me.

She was young, definitely not a HausFrau in Flip Flops, & she used her English as a Second Language to explain that . . .

Obama was in the Haus. Building CG to be specific & there was no way the Secret Service was letting any uninvited HausFrauen past the yellow tape.

Not even to take a stupid Anatomy & Fizz test.

Seriously friends, I was thisclose to marching up to the Secret Service to ask about parking options at the community college.

In flip flops.

And, I was thisclose to snapping a picture of the POTUS, or at least putting a full-on effort into doing so. Except for my camera was sans memory stick. By the time I ran back home to fetch it & returned, all the hoopla at the campus had cleared away. Sigh.

Eventually & without further obstructions, I flip-flopped over to Building CG & incorrectly answered one too many questions for an A. Sadly for me, not quite an A means a big, fat B.

While I take responsibility for my part of this dismal grade - like maybe the few incorrect answers that landed me with a possible 90 - which is an A, I would like to personally thank the following people for distracting me & consequently causing me to miss that one extra question & make this B a reality:

First, the person responsible for sending the email that the parking garage would be closed. While it was nice to have that information ahead of time, you could have mentioned the reason for the closure and suggest alternative test dates/times.

Then, the Democrats for the Stimulus Package which I am sure is one of the reasons that necessitated a POTUS trip to the local community college.

Next, all the "visitors" in pantyhose & neckties who made me feel under dressed & inadequate. Even though my handbag was way more rockin' than any of those standard-issue-business-office-black ones.

And, finally the head honcho Secret Service guy for staring at me from behind his black-out shades. I know he was looking. He was also probably requesting back-up from other agents pre-positioned on the roof of the parking garage. Hey, Herb, heads up. Coming up on your nine-o'clock. HausFrau in Flip Flops. Earl, got a visual? JoeBob, can you run the plates on that illegally parked SUV. Blue Pilot, Virginia tags. JoeBob! JoeBob! She is carrying! I repeat, she's carrying! Earl, got a visual? Roger that. Phew! It's just a red purse. Herb, keep an eye on her. She looks a little shifty & out of place around here. OK, fine, Earl, it's magenta, not red, what are you? The fashion police? Just keep an eye on her, OK? Over & out.

He Said, She Said

Man: So, do you want to go or not?

Me: Uh . . .

Me: Well . . .

Me: Maybe . . .

Me: OK . . .

Me: Maybe not . . .

Man: Are you trying to be passive aggressive?

Me: No. I don't think so.

Man: Can you be anymore indecisive?

Me: I don't know. Maybe.