The spewing has stopped at Casa de Crab -- Mr. Z's stomach schpilkes is no longer. 'Twas a literal ass-ripper for him and a figurative one for the rest of us. It'll be a fucking miracle if Miss O avoids it -- though I was in serious Howard Hughes mode all weekend, wiping everything down with anti-bacterial wipes and boiling all the furniture in a giant bleach cauldron in the backyard. I've either killed the offending bacteria off, or created the most powerful, antibiotic-resistant superbug imaginable. Only time will tell.
We've decided to skip town tomorrow after work for an overnight 4th of July stay in Ann Arbor. We did the same thing last year because Independence day in the Lansing area is akin to spending Passover in Mobile, Alabama -- not a whole lot going on, and there's a good chance you'll end up dead. The first year we moved here, we went to see the parade in Lansing, which basically consisted of a dwarf in a convertible, a shirtless clown and a three-legged dog wearing a top hat. So we're high-tailin' it to the Austin, TX of Michigan for an acceptable celebration, some liberal camaraderie and some food from places without initials or a day of the week in their names.
I really don't have much else to say tonight -- this weekend just fucking sucked out my soul and I'm just too tired to purge my inner crab. Nope... nothing to say.
I go nigh-night.