Your Mother

I've got over 200 friends on FaceBook </brag>.  True, I haven't seen more than half of them in years.  There's the friends from high school, the friends of friends, the college friends...

I can only imagine what goes through their minds when they see my update status regarding some of the blog titles lately with such gems as Time Flies When You're Not Smoking Crack, Charlie Manson Had Followers, Too, and Doing Lines of Tweets.

I know Mom would be proud.  Speaking of mothers, I'm headed up to PA tomorrow for our family's annual celebration of the mothers in our lives.  My mom has three sisters, all with a child or four, two with grandchildren.  My Gram is still kickin', too.  We usually take all the Moms out for a nice brunch, but in honor of this so-called recession, we're just gonna have a picnic of sorts.

My Aunt sent me an e-mail about it the other day, said that if we made it a pot-luck ordeal, we could still enjoy each other's company without breaking the bank.  While I'm not opposed to cooking, I often lack the inspiration.

A player on the Baltimore circuit is creatively called "Allen the Baker."  Guess what he does.  He'll bring what we affectionately refer to as a "Box of Death" to the poker games.  It's roughly an 18" x 27" box loaded with pastries, cookies, and other confectionery paraphenalia.  A dentist's worst nightmare.  He brought a box to last Tuesday's $2/$5 NL game.  Looks like I found something to bring to the Mother's Day Picnic.