Not Me! Seattle Edition

Alright, folks.

Don't hate me, but I am going to give this whole "Not Me!" posting thing a try again.

Yes, I realize that in the past all that has resulted from Not Me! posts is me leaving you in utter confusion.

But I will not let that deter me!

I will not lose heart!

I can, nay, I will do this.

And you will like it.

****

Interruption:  This Not Me! post is brought to you by my recent weekend getaway with 25 or so of my fellow children's ministry peeps to the lovely city of Seattle.

*Disclaimer-Names have been changed to protect the innocent.

The Car Ride

I did not kindly inform our driver, James, that I was B-O-R-E-D about 72 times.

I did not have to stop and use the restroom about once an hour.

I do not blame my bladder issues on the fact that I have had four children.

And I most certainly do not go into denial every time I realize that yes, I have four children.

Nor do I panic.

4 kids?

What were we not thinking?

Hmmmm . . . .what was I talking about?

Clearly, I do not get easily sidetracked while posting.

No.

My posts are clear and concise.

Back to James.

 I did not take a picture of him while he was driving us safely to our destination.

No.

I would never distract him from his driving duties.

I did not hear this conversation between James and his wife, Marcia, my friend Louise, and myself.

Cast of characters:

Louise

James' wife, Marcia

Me.

Don't be jealous of my mad picture-taking skills.

Maybe someday you will look as good as I when someone takes your picture.

Maybe.

James:  Oh, man!  I forgot to bring my BBD's!

Louise:  Huh?

James:  You know.  BBD's.

Me:  James!  What are you talking about?

James:  Babe.  Help me out.

Marcia:  Well, I don't know, hon.  Do you mean underwear?

Me and Louise:  Oh, dear.

James:  Underwear?

Marcia:  Yes, dear.  Remember when they were called BBDs.

James: Oh, yes.  What do folks call them now?

Marcia:  Well, I guess like boxers, briefs . . . you know.

Me and Louise:  Oh, dear.

James:  No.  Not underwear. You know.  The round things that play the music. 

Me:  Do you mean CD's?

James:  Um . . . yes!  Is that what they are called?  Golly!  I thought they were called BBDs.

Marcia:  No, honey BBDs are underwear. 

Me and Louise:  Huh?

And that concludes our scintillating conversation.

100 (meaningless) points to anyone who can tell me what in tarnation James and Marcia are speaking of.

Pike Place Market

I did not get super grossed out by all the super gross fish.

And I did not stand in front of the Fish Guys waiting and hoping to catch a really cool picture of a super gross fish flying through the air.

It wasn't working out for me.

Excuse me?

Fish Guys?

Are not you famous for throwing fish in the air?

Get to it.

I most certainly did not hope that Fish-Dude-with-his-hat-on-backwards didn't think that I was a stalker.

Attention Fish-Dude-with-your-hat-on-backwards: 

I was frantically snapping pictures of you hoping that you would do something amazing.

You let me down, Fish-Dude.

You let me down.

You could have had a moment on my blog.

Your 15 minute of fame, if you will.

I could have given you exposure to 10, maybe 20 interested readers.

But, no.

You would not throw a fish.

You have only yourself to blame.

Check out this fish.

That fish is just nasty-wrong.

I did not scream and run in place when Nasty-Wrong fish moved.

Attention anyone who might visit this fish market in Seattle: 

IT IS A TRICK.  THE FISH IS DEAD. 

Some local ruffians thought it would be funny to attach a rope to the Nasty-Wrong Fish and move him when unsuspecting tourists are nearby.

For shame, local ruffians.

For shame.

I did not  go to the original Starbucks and not even order coffee.

Why would I do that?

That would be silly.

And, since I value my time and yours, I am going to conclude with a bunch of random one-liners, sans pictures.

You're Welcome.

I did not eat a lot over the weekend.

I did not have trouble fitting into my pants when I returned.

I did not miss my kids.

I did not worry when the Lumberjack told me over the phone that he was taking said kids on a hike to look for horns.

I did not have to remind myself that he was not talking about musical instruments.

I do not understand my husband.

I did not worry that they would encounter a bear and tragically come to their demise.

I did not feel sad that I did not get to play Catch Phrase.

Nope.

Not even once did I get to play that delightful game.

I did not complain about my owie.

I did not cut my hand again in a different location once I returned home.

I did not miss my Lumberjack.

I did not have a wonderfully fantastic time of food, fun, and fellowship.

And, finally . . .

I most certainly did not hear a worship leader at the conference sing out loudly while teaching us a song:

"Kick the devil in the nu-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah."

The end.

So, tell me . . . . what did you not do this weekend?