Hey, Manly Men! Top This.

If someone held a gun to my head and said "describe your weekend in two words" they would undoubtedly be........Twilight and Zone.

This weekend was a blur.

This weekend was odd.

This weekend was drug induced.

And Rod Serling may or may not have been narrating in the background, I can't be sure.

On Friday evening, one hour before The AG and I were to go out with friends to have dinner and see Shutter Island (can't wait! Don't tell me about it! Don't rub it in if you saw it!), Remi threw up all over the carpet in my bedroom.

Then she threw up again.

And again.

And then several more times.

And then - after her daddy went and picked up a prescription for her along with some Pedialyte, some Coke, some Sprite, a People magazine and an US (okay, it wasn't alllll for her) and got back home - I threw up.

And then I threw up again.

And then again.

And then again, every two hours, all night.

Thankfully Rocco spent the night with Nonie and Poppy who didn't want him to catch whatever it was me and Remi were laying down. Unfortunately it didn't stop them from knocking on our door at 8am with one sick little Rock Star.

What can I say? When it rains it pours.

Oh, and then there's The Attorney General. Who was SUPPOSED to be taking care of all of us but then decided to be totally self-focused and start throwing up himself. I hate it when he does that.

So that was Friday. And Saturday morning. And Saturday afternoon.

But its not called the "24 hour stomach bug" for nothing. Because 24 hours later Remi was up and raring to go. She wanted to go to Poppy's, she wanted to ride horses, she wanted to go to a circus and she wanted some pasta. Hmmmm, that doesn't sound like a lot to ask. Let try to make all that happen, shall we?

Except for one small problem.

Apparently at some point in the 8th grade when I tried my very first cigarette and hated it and cried and maybe even threw up a little and then lay down on the ground and begged God to forgive me but knew that some day He was really going to get His punishment in - well apparently, He waited until this weekend.

Because on Saturday night, about 3 hours after my last "hurrah" over the old porcelain throne, I had a kidney stone attack.

There is a God. And He is vengeful, make no mistake.

So for six hours on Saturday night I drank water and prayed that God would flush my system in such a way that not only would my kidney stone pass but so would my desire for anything chocolate or the memories I have of watching General Hospital the summer of my 8th grade year when my mom told me I wasn't allowed to.

And finally He relented. Not the chocolate. That's still there. As are my feelings for Rick Springfield aka Noah Drake.

But the stone? Gone.

I am a pro.

Oh sure there was weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth, but finally I passed the little booger. And saved it. And showed it my family the next day. Because sadly, we are totally into that kind of stuff.

What? What was that? Did someone just ask me to sing I Am Woman Hear Me Roar? Well, alrighty then.