Rollercoasters Will Fry Your Brain

The trouble with a holiday is that you have to go back to work.

This week has been a little overwhelming. The president of my company walked into my office the other day and said, "What's with the factories puking all over themselves?"

I don't know what the hell is going on but NOTHING is running smoothly right now. It's like the work fairies have gone on strike. Even projects that have been ticking along without a hitch for over two years are experiencing hiccups. It's enough to make flipping burgers at the local greasy spoon look appealing.

So last night, to de-stress, I watched "Emeril Live" on the Food Network because even though I can't get within a mile of a carbohydrate (yes, I'm on that kick again), I can at least try to stimulate some feel good hormones by observing chocolate pecan pie being made.

I'd never tuned in to Emeril before but we ate at his restaurant in Orlando (TO DIE FOR) during this last trip so I was interested to see what his show was like. He was awesome! Very entertaining. He's even got this five piece band right there with him in the kitchen. During one quick shot of the band, I turned to Dallas and said,

"Look! I didn't know Randy Jackson played on Emeril's show." Dallas looked at me as if my nose hair were on fire.

I suppose I should preface this exchange by telling you about a discussion that we had had in Florida on the day that we visited the Animal Kingdom. We arrived fairly early Friday morning and started our day at the DINOSAUR roller coaster. It was awful. I used to love rides as a kid but something changed once I had children of my own. I am convinced that the Tea Cup horror in the Magic Kingdom is an instrument of the devil. See the picture below. That was from last year. Notice the green hue.


Olivia obviously recovered nicely but I wasn't right for the rest of the day.



Anyway...

After the Dinosaur ride, we ventured onto another roller coaster so by the time we hit the African part of the park, my brains were leaking out of my eyeballs. Understandably, I was easily confused. As we walked into the African section, I noticed a kangaroo on our left and was quick to point it out to my children.

(photo courtesy of www.turtletrack.org)

Dallas swung around, eyes wide in amazement and declared, "That is NOT a freaking kangaroo!!" He laughed and laughed and the kids, sensing the opportunity to get one over on their mum, joined in. Listen, it looked like a bloody kangaroo to me. Well, maybe one that had been in a scrap with a dingo or something and lost its tail...



Apparently, this little guy is a Patagonian Cavy. He's a rodent, a BIG ASS rat, not a marsupial. Whatever. He hopped.

So, back to last night watching Emeril and how I believed Randy Jackson was on the show. Wrong again.

This is Randy, of course.



Umm..this is not Randy.


After his initial shock wore off, Dallas took me gently into his arms. He softly stroked the back of my hand and in a quiet, soothing voice he said:

"Baby. That's not Randy Jackson. That's a kangaroo."

Cheeky bastard.

EDIT:
After reading this, Dallas informed me that a kangaroo hasn't been spotted in Africa for...oh...well, NEVER.
And it's rat look-a-like? Not African. South American.
So, my recollection of exactly where my Jessica Simpson moment happened is a smidge hazy. But hey, at least I know it wasn't in Africa or Asia. Excuse me now, I've misplaced my bottle of peroxide and I need to go find it.