Omigod, but it's fucking cold out.

So I am in a fabulous room at the Lake Placid Hilton, and everyone I interact with asks if I am Willie's mom. Well, yes, yes I am.

Willie insisted on taking care of my room, and at this very moment, he is down in the kitchen whipping me up some dindin. It's a surprise. and yes, son, I still prefer Pepsi.

So each time I am asked if I am Willie's mom, I am also then filled in on what a good guy Willie is. He may never work anywhere else ever again, and I might advise that, because they absolutely love him here. And I know what a good boy he is. Okay, he is 22, and hardly a boy, bbut as I argued with him in his teen years, as first born he will always be my baby. He likes it.

So the chef is in the kitchen fixing some most delicious grub for his mom. On the way up from Albany, I was cruising along somewhere past Lake George. Once past Lake George, there was hardly any traffic. The speed limit is 65 and I was keeping it under 75, mostly at 70. I had not seen another car in about a half hour and low and behold, there was a car merging onto the interstate. I shifted to the left lane, courteous driver that I am, and as I did so I caught a glance at my speedometer. Umm, 83. Okay, slow down a wee bit. As I slowed to a more respectable 73, I was about to pass the car and out of the blue I see it had a rack-o-lights. Woohoo, Mr State Trooper...yes I slowed just in the nick of time. It's not like I didn't *see* the rack, I just hadn't seen a car in so long that it didn't register.

Not only do I not have power locks or windows, but I also don't have cruise control. The little things can spoil a grrl, I tell ya.

Dearest eb...I promise to be in vacation mode on Goddess Time(tm) from this point forward.

Taa.