You know it's a crazy, mixed-up world when I am given the corporate credit card and the responsibility of planning the company Christmas party. Some supervisors might take the $40/person budget and go to a nice restaurant for an hour or two. This particular party planner decided to have a bonfire, get a bushel of raw oysters (?), and spend the rest on alcohol. Oh, plus one Olive Garden gift certificate for the winner of the poker tournament. Who knew my co-workers and their dates could be so much fun?*

*I'm having second thoughts regarding the installation of a stripper pole in my living room, though. Hopefully, that was just holiday beer banter. We took one group photo at the beginning of the evening, which was smart, because the rest of the shots look something like this: I certainly hope there's something in the corporate budget for President's Day... 

Nothing piques a mother's interest quite like a text message from her teenage son in the middle of the night which reads: I'm o.k. Call me in the morning.

His definition of "okay" is debatable, but I did call in the morning to discover the master of understatement and his dad were out riding jet skis last weekend when one (or both) of them turned too sharply and collided into the other. Patrick flew into the air from the impact, landed on his tailbone and thought he was paralyzed before they were rescued and he was transported to the hospital. By the time I talked to him, he was doped up on liquid Lortab, and wasn't feeling much pain from the fractured leg and coccyx, stitches, assorted lumps and bruises.

His dad rented a U-Haul to transport Patrick's new (pimp) El Camino from Savannah back to Alabama, and I'm guessing this was the least desirable way he imagined spending Fall Break.                                                                                   

My Kathy-Bates-in-Misery style of nursing* involved picking up McDonald's every night on the way home from work, and forcing him to watch chick flicks with me all week. Never underestimate the quality time you can have with a teenage prisoner on pain medicationMyy  *What's the matter? WHAT'S THE MATTER? I will tell you "what's the matter!" I go out of my way for you! I do every-thing to try and make you happy. I feed you, I clean you, I dress you, and what thanks do I get? "Oh, you bought the wrong paper, Anne, I can't write on this paper, Anne!" Well, I'll get your stupid paper but you just better start showing me a little appreciation around here, Mr. MAN!