We're OFF Like a Terd of Hurtles

My Dad is a...unique guy. He's a little quirky, to put it mildly.

He has an arsenal of choice sayings that he has been using since I was a child. Husband and I now refer to these as "Garyisms".

My Dad held several of these in reserve for departing places and he used them without fail. He never, ever didn't utter one of these delightful apothegms.

While he mixed them up for variety, or at least, as much variety as a one man repertoire of triteness can impart...his favorite by far, was "We're OFF like a Terd of Hurtles!" In case you hadn't figured it out, that's a play on "Herd of Turtles". Yeah. He's clever that way.

Anyway, we are, in fact, off like a terd of hurtles. Or, herd of turtles. Although, since we have approximately 900 miles to traverse, I hope we make slightly better progress than our dilatory counterparts.

Friday morning we will leave the hot and sultry South for Northern Climes. But that's not the best part.

My testosterone posse will be dropping me off in the Windy City, where I will spend the weekend with girls; honest to goodness estrogen producing humans.

There will be no burping or farting OR discussion about burping and farting. There will be no sports. No Guitar Hero cacophony. No bickering. No peedle puddles.

Heaven. Sweet, sweet heaven.

Me and my girls got together last year in Chicago and had an absolute blast. We enjoyed Chicago so much, as well as the accomodations, the neighborhood, and the local color, that we decided to return for what we hope becomes an annual event.

Would you like to see the fab-U-lous place where we will be staying? Follow me to our wonderful Chicago Guesthouse.

Though we prefer to take the weekend as it comes, we will tentatively visit a local salon for some pampering and perhaps visit Lincoln Park Zoo and Farmer's Market. We might visit Navy Pier. We might return to the Art Institute. There's enough there to keep us coming back again and again. We might return to the Russian Tea House for a meal that is much more than a meal. Or, we might try something new.

We might just hang around the townhouse and talk, talk, talk.

The possibilities abound. And we are not limited by the needs of children or the whining of spouses.

On Monday, I will ride with one of my friends to Wisconsin. It'll be like Thelma and Louise, but without the homocide. And the driving off a cliff. And lamentably, the buff, twenty something Brad Pitt.

I'll be at my folks' until the 2nd of August. I thought about lining up some guest posters, but I've had the stupidest, craziest week ever and just didn't get around to it. I might pop in to post some pieces from my archives, but I might not. 5 days is not a lot of time to spend with the most important people in my life. People I get to see once, occasionally twice a year.

I'm loathe to waste a moment of it.

Be good, bloggers. Feel free to raid the fridge, watch the dirty movies (in the media cabinet, on the left, behind the antiquated collection of Disney VHS tapes), and use the guest towels. But please don't Piss On the Rug (I'm looking at you, Michael Savage).

Thanks. Toodles!