Projectile Friday

The time was approximately 5:10 pm this afternoon.

It all began innocently enough with "touch time," which is when we have the opportunity to take Dylan's temperature, clean him up a bit and change his diaper. We've been very careful on this last bit, having been warned by many about the spraying mantis. So as we've done every single time, I prepared his new diaper perfectly, ready and waiting to be slid under him as I wiped him clean and lubed him up with vaseline. Then suddenly, like a drive-by shooting...as I turned to toss the dirty diaper on the scale (they like to weigh the damage)...the front flap of his clean diaper fell down to unleash the rat-tat-tat-tat of his precision-like piss.

"AAAGGGGHHHH, NO, NO!!" I screamed, desperately but futilely attempting to stop the rain with my eyes.

Then came the final insult.

He projectile shat all over his crib.

"SHIT!!! OH MY GOD, SHIT!!! HELP! HELP ME!!"

Grainy mustard slid down the glass onto his blanket, leaking onto the nurse's stethoscope.

Stunned, Brad and I stood at the scene of the damage. Then, in walked the nurse.

"Oh good," I thought. "She's seen this a million times. It's no big deal."

Cut to nurse:

"OH MY GOD!!"
(Reeling back)
"OH CHRIST! Dana, the parents in 10 have an explosion, can you take Greene in Room 8 RIGHT NOW?!?!"

Oh well, I guess poo is gross, no matter who you are. But on a positive note, the day's outfit was totally unsoiled.

After that little scene, Dylan's schedule was completely thrown off base. Already exhausted by another round of tests today to prove his slow feeding is the result of age and a fickle palate, and not a congenital or surgical problem, he was now an hour behind for dinner - and thus, so were we. With this being the first night we had to fend totally for ourselves (my mom flew back to LA yesterday, when the NICU hosted a holiday dinner for all current and former patients and families), we found ourselves lost in the cuisine of Hollywood, FL.

So we went to T.G.I. Friday's.

I'd been to a T.G.I. Friday's more recently than I'd been to an IHOP, but not much. And like IHOP, I had some fond memories of T.G.I. Friday's - most notably, their always-on-point Roy Rogers and inexpensive yet satisfying baby back ribs.

When we sat down, my eyes watered as I began reading page 1 of the 10-page "menu." The dishes all sounded the same by the time I reached page 5. How many Cajun Jack Daniels delights can there possibly be?! Flipping forwards and backwards, I finally settled on a "Fan Favorite" (no, seriously) - the Cajun Chicken and Shrimp Pasta.

Unashamed, I was hoovering my way through the pasta (Brad foolishly ordered some sort of pecan-crusted salmon with rice and vegetables - WHATever) when we noticed a group of 4 big dudes walk in. One was clad in a tshirt that read, "The Rules Do Not Apply To Me." The rules of fashion? No, they do not.

Shortly behind them entered a group of 6 women draped in the Forever 21 clearance rack. One of them modeled a shirt proclaiming, "Never Say Never." Sure, I guess enough beers can create magic for anyone.

Groups of men and women like this flowed into the joint for the next 20 minutes. Apparently, they were all at Friday's for the same birthday party - perhaps for "Never Say Never," but we're not totally sure. What we are sure of is that they'd hired a "professional" photographer to capture the event. Read: someone's cousin Ray-Ray.

They flaunted their goods, including gold-plated man bracelets and donkey tail hair weaves, and posed for the camera in every way imaginable - solos, all the men, all the ladies, liquor shots - you name it. Ray-Ray got every precious moment - and so did we, as we devoured our Brownie Explosion.

Next door to Friday's sit the two other restaurants comprising the perfect date night trifecta - Chili's and Red Lobster. And if we're feeling a little saucy, there's a Hooter's down the road.

Guess where we'll be tomorrow.