The only weekend ever where I drank some alcohol and was probably obnoxious

First, some site news: Yours Truly finally meandered over to the settings page of this here blog and changed it to allow anyone to comment. Do you hear that, everyone who's been saying "I would comment on your blog but it's too haaaaaaard"? Time to pony up.

I'm starting to think I shouldn't post pictures of our Friday night meals because they always look sort of pitiful to me. In this case, it was a perfectly good pasta bake with ground turkey and vegetables, but I swear it's like the dish itself knows that I would rather have gone out to eat.

It senses its status as a begrudgingly practical alternative.

Know what had much more self-confidence, and rightly so? The Amy's ice cream we used to wash down boring Mr. Pasta Bake.

This one is actually bordering on arrogance.

Anna finally got her first little taste of Amy's. On the outside, I mean. If you take into account my diet during the construction phase of Anna, I figure Amy's ice cream makes up about 25% of her overall composition. She was, as usual, appropriately enthusiastic.

The onset of her perpetual disappointment in me just happened so much earlier than I expected.

Last night was Mom's Night Out at El Arroyo. I had...some Mexican food.

I believe a zucchini was involved.

Sorry the picture is a little blurry. I have no idea why that is.

Come to think of it, that whole place was kind of blurry. And giggly. Weird.

I even ended up digging a pen out of my purse to repeatedly write this url on bits of napkin like a drunk coed giving out her phone number. In the immortal words of Don Lockwood: "Dignity. Always, dignity."

This morning I realized that it had been multiple days since I had bacon and/or avocado, so we set out to Tacodeli to remedy the situation.

I guess if ice cream makes her sad, tacos make her...wry?