It was hot (Weatherman: Looks like today will be the hottest day of the year so far!), but we coped well. We drank plenty of beverages.

We brought ice water-soaked washcloths to the games. Ahhhhhh…

And we found shade whenever we could. (This was on the stadium tour, and during a visit to the Cards’ announcer’s booth, Jason read a note left there for Bert Blyleven. I cannot take him anywhere.)

The Thing tagged along. He claims he’s been to St. Louis before, but he’s lying. I think.

He made sure we wore our hats and covered ourselves in sunscreen. (Although, even though I did this last year in Colorado, I once again managed to burn my kneecaps, and only my kneecaps. How does this happen?)

We saw the Arch.

And the view from the Arch.

The stadium was awesome and hopefully, Target Field will be just as beautiful. Plus, it was a block from our hotel.

Our hotel had a fantastic view of the Arch. Jason took this picture because it was early and I was sleeping. Too bad the window washers hadn’t made the rounds to our side yet.

Trip-related ailments:

My knees. They got sunburned, even though I put on sunscreen, the same sunscreen that effectively protected me for nearly four hours everywhere else on my body. Ridiculous.

Jason’s nose. We were wrestling on the hotel bed (yes, wrestling vs. “wrestling”) and we started to do this slow slide off the bed that neither one of us could stop. Seriously, it was in super slow motion and gravity was winning. So we slid (slowly) off the bed onto the floor and Jason’s face met the hotel carpet. And then the full weight of my body landed on his head. At first he thought he broke his nose. It bled a lot, puffed up, bruised and has a bump on one side, but he can breathe through it and the swelling is already better. Although it made taking off in the plane (with its cabin pressure) pure hell on the way home.

Do we know how to have a good time or what?

Next year, I’m bringing an extra tube of sunscreen solely for my knees, a bunch of gauze and bandages for Jason, and the address of the nearest medical facility.

First off, Spam, the great Minnesota staple.

Now how about some Norwegian hotdish on a stick? (Jason’s mom tried it. It was deep-fried meatballs and tater tots. Mmmmm.)

OK, let’s dive into some pickle rollups:

Now, let’s try my absolute favorite: deep-fried alligator. I thought about taking a picture of the nuggets and the gator-shaped fries but then thought, “Screw it, I’m starving.”

You just know good things are about to happen when you see this:

This thing was to die for. Bacon on a stick caramelized with syrup. YES, PLEASE.

This thing, not so much. Stupid chocolate-covered bacon with salt. GROSS. And overpriced. It never happened, OK? IT NEVER HAPPENED.

Later, I visited the butterfly house and got a “tattoo”:

Then The Thing got ready for the Brad Paisley concert:

And finally, for Shelly:

MMMMMMM.

Final food total (over 9 hours):

- Alligator nuggets with gator-shaped fries
- Half of a chocolate malt
- One bite of the chocolate-covered bacon
- One Sweet Martha’s chocolate chip cookie that I paid a stranger $2 for because I really only wanted ONE cookie, not the giant cup or bucket
- Half of a Big Fat Bacon
- Two root beers
- Two Cokes
- Half a bag of mini donuts

(I actually feel I showed some restraint this year.)

This morning we went running and as soon as we stepped outside, the humid air greeted me by wrapping itself around my windpipe and squeezing hello. I ran my fastest mile yet and felt wonderful, despite the fact that a fat black cloud of gnats was circling me the entire time like a flock of miniature buzzards. When we walked home and watered the flowers, I sprayed myself full-bore in the face – twice – because 1) it felt like my overheated head was going to explode into fiery shrapnel all over the daylilies, and 2) the goddamn effing GNATS. And then Jason said, “Let’s feed the birds while we’re out here,” and I got all crabby in my head for a second because, “Hey, why not? I’ve only had 13 gnats fly into my eyeball, what’s another dozen?” and hurriedly slapped suet cakes into the feeders while muttering the f-word under my breath and punching myself in the head to get rid of the EFFING GNATS. The upside? Hopefully, more birds will stop by to eat the birdseed. AND THE GNATS.

Remember The Thing? Well, I decided to hide him in Jason’s golf bag. So I brought The Thing into the garage and deposited him into a pocket with golf balls and then tried to look nonchalant and busy as Jason walked into the garage unexpectedly. And then later, at 3 in the morning as Abby was using my stomach as a bounce house, I thought, “Hey, I don’t remember Jason having a Magic 8 ball golf ball.” And then I realized I had hidden The Thing in my golf bag. And Jason got up before I did and went golfing before I could make the switch. Stupid. And then later, I told him about my gaffe, not realizing I still could’ve hidden it there. Again – stupid.

Hey, this never happens: I keep thinking today is Monday, but it’s already Tuesday. HAHAHHAHAHAHA. Ahem.

This is so completely awesome, you have no idea. Thanks, Tina!

The pattern can be found here.

Our “mascot” is The Thing from The Fantastic Four. Jason bought him a few years ago from a dollar store, and in addition to traveling to Cancun and Vegas, The Thing serves as our personal joke, where we hide him in certain spots for the other to find. He’s not as popular as Erin’s Finding Jesus, as funny as Tessie’s traveling cabin table, or as heart attack-inducing as my family’s fake hand, but that’s OK.

We hadn’t hid The Thing for quite awhile until I lazily threw him in Jason’s coat pocket a few weeks ago. He found him and then, for the next week, kept asking me if I’d found him yet. And every day that passed made me more and more concerned that it was hiding right in front of my face, but that I was too non-observant to see it.

Then I went to work one day and checked my mail. Inside my mail slot was an envelope addressed to me from Jason’s place of business (our companies do business with each other). Totally not thinking, I ripped open the envelope and had to stifle a shriek when this greeted me:

Oh, it’s ON.