Dear Howard, I’m not going to punk out!

Confession. Sometimes (not ALWAYS) I make plans and then cancel. I’m particularly guilty of ditching my friend Howard. Howie. Uncle Wowie to some. Here’s the formal definition of my disease:


Retreating. It’s what I do best. Some folks also refer to this as “flaking”. I’m a flake. Sometimes. But not without a cause! I don’t just willy nilly cancel. I’m not a monster.
Here’s the reason I couldn’t come to the party, the cocktail hour, the dinner, the birthday, the birth of your first born (gulp):

– when I said yes, I meant it. I really wanted to be there. Then all of a sudden I didn’t, and it doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I do.
– sometimes I over estimate my ability to “make it happen”. For example, I thought I could work a week-long event, travel home and then go right to a party. Or… I thought I could drive the 10 hours for your baby shower, have cake, and then drive home.
– you wouldn’t have fun. Why? Because I suck at faking it. Loads of people do loads of things they don’t want to. Not me. No sir. I have no poker face. I’m a walking billboard of my emotional state.
– I thought I’d be able to volunteer for the PTA/show up for your make-up party/drive you to your friend’s house even though I work two states away and can’t ever be home by 3.
Good intentions people. Always good.
I’m lucky my friends and family don’t disown me. They all understand. Almost all do (ahem. Howard)
I’m also very understanding when friends cancel on me. I get it. I don’t judge you! I’m not mad! I may even be happy. Who knows. The point is, it’s ok.
But I don’t want to be the friend/wife/mother that cried plans. I vow to change! Or at least make fewer plans that I have to cancel.
I’ll see you tomorrow night Howard! Xoxo

Time is beer!

So yesterday was our 16th wedding anniversary (remember I told you guys I was a child bride).  The year we eloped, May 12th fell on Mother’s Day – which is an awkward story for another day.

My sister and her man came down or is it came up? No no, it’s came East and then slightly North to help us celebrate.

Although I plotted my whole life to get out of Pennsylvania, I love our ‘hood.  We live a beautiful area, surrounded by history.  One of those towns had a brewfest in the park, so off we went.

As with every trip to anywhere we don’t go daily.  We got a little lost.

The women in the car handled it really well.  Calm, cool, collected.  The men in the car started sweating.  We heard,” but it starts at 12:30, and it’s 12:34″.  “we passed it, we passed it, turn around.” and finally, my favorite, “time is beer!”. oh my.

Once we finally found the place – the parking was a bit tricky – and we noticed all the other men in the other cars were just as agitated.  By the way, it was a 4 hour event.  We were 15 minutes late.  Once we finally parked, our men leapt out of the car and skipped into the park, they were so happy.

(ok not skipped but it’s my blog.  In their blog they can say they strutted in like John Wayne. Oh they don’t have a blog? Well then, skipped it is).

It was so much fun. There’s something about having booze outdoors that makes you feel like you’re doing something healthy. No?

At first, I took these pictures:


Then my sister reminded me of the fact that this is a brewfest, I should have pictures of beer. But look at that pizza.  I immediately knew this was my kind of ‘fest.

Ok – here’s proof that it was not a pizza/pretzel fest:

There were 62 breweries surrounded by trees and sun – it was gorgeous.


Another reason why I love this place, punk rocker security guards kept their eye on the Colonials


Our favorite of the 62:  A stout from Stone, an IPA from Victory, a Belgian triple from Weyebacher, and a partridge in a pear tree.