Before I launch into yet another shallow tale of my enjoyment of the world and the joys the world has to offer, I feel the need to vindicate my vanity.  I do not intend to write flighty vignettes on the heels of high morals week after week. Though my parables are piddling trailing TED talks and transplants, our blog reflects our lives. And goshdarnit someone's got to do it. So while I balk at being so breezy and banal, I hope you dear readers do not judge me for the light hearted liberties I take.

And with that...

Evidently, all it takes to turn me from your run of the mill work-a-day-Daisy to WILMA the Queen of the Hedonists is a three-day weekend.

I chose to celebrate our country's favorite dufus who pugnaciously forgot to ask for directions (I refuse to say he discovered America. That's like saying I discovered Pink Berry. Yeah I poked my head in on my own, but there were already a lot of people there. And I wasn't even looking for Pink Berry, I just wanted me some fro-yo.) like Bacchus (read: booze and babes).  Sweet C, Miss A, and I meandered out into Maryland for a mature fall festival.  At the Sugarloaf Mountain Grape Stomp, guests can sip and yes, stomp, to their heart's content.  And stomp we did!


Also... free stuff?

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