**I thought about not posting this till the fool updates her own blog. But I'm being nice. Today and today only.** So, I have this friend. Let's call her Erica, because, well, that's her name, and I am not one to change names to protect the guilty. It's just how I roll. Last Sunday, Erica and her Miss came over to play. There are some really awesome parks around here. Well, we decided that wearing the kids out would be a better idea. So that we could have an evening of peace later. Well, this meant a trek to the Shopette. The 7-11 of the military world. And oh dear... Now, I always have "something" happen to me. It's a fact of life. But never, ever, is what happens to me as crazy as what happens to Erica. Yes, my dog gets peed on, and my daughter has two dads, and I can't eat a sandwich without injuring myself. Erica, on the other hand, has things happen that are full of the crazy. Like little old men in grocery stores. I always think she's got more crazy going on than I do. (She just doesn't always tell the Internet.) What I do know for a fact, is that HER type of crazy, the type of crazy that leaves you going, HUH?, is contagious. While we were walking across the parking lot into the building, a lady hangs herself out of her car window and starts yelling at us. She was drunk in the middle of a Sunday afternoon, in a parking lot at the liquor store. The point of her story was, as far as I could tell, was that she was at "the Walgreens" and while she was looking at the costumes, she saw a card with Barbies on it, and our children would look great in them, and they are inexpensive, and our daughters are gorgeous. I'm not hanging out with Erica in public anymore.