Sunday Worship

Sundays are my day of rest, my day to get away from the kids, the house, the Ty-man, the dishes, and so on. You get the picture. My Sundays typically begin with sleeping in for two blessed hours. Unless, of course, I'm at the WellStar emergency clinic with Miss-Miss who, it turns out, has a wicked case of strep throat. I can't figure out how she got it. It's not like she's been licking door handles or - oh wait, maybe she was. Whoops!

After joking with the pharmacist about needing five prescription bottles of amoxicillin instead of just one since every one of us will probably have this crap by the end of the week, I dropped a fussy Miss-Miss off at the house (have fun, Ty-man!) and I was off!

First, it was the Marietta Greek Festival and some damned good food:


Oh, yeah. I gorged. "Yes, I'd like Sampler #1 with a Greek salad." But, ma'am, Sampler #1 already comes with a salad. "I know. Give me another one." Hee hee!

Then, it was over to the Church of the Holy Transfiguration:


I took the church tour and discovered this beautiful example of iconographic art:


This gorgeous oak carving:


And this area behind the altar:


It's the "holy of holies" where only the priests and altar boys can go. Hmmmm, gotta figure out how to get back there next year. I then made a small donation for a candle. Me, a deist, lit a candle for my atheist cousin-in-law and brand-new mommy. Holy Transfiguration? Expect a lightning storm later tonight.

Then? It was down to the pastry tent for some loukoumades:


These are also known as "Krispy Kreme doughnut holes on crack." Well, that's what I call deep-fried pastry balls dipped in honey and served by plump, happy Greek women. I chowed down, listened to some Greek music, and left my pancreas panting in the chair beside me. Poor thing was worn out after that sugar rush.

Now that I had stuffed myself silly, it was time to shop for a new dress. Seriously. Isn't that the best time to go shopping? When you're belly is poking out from the loukoumades, rice, chicken, lamb, spanikopita, and - well you get the picture.

I finally found the dress. But? It's a surprise for the Ty-man. So, Ty-man, don't click here. Everyone else? Feel free to take a peek. Finding this dress was a torturous affair. I no longer have a size 0/2, pre-kid body that can wear cute, kicky clothes. I have more of a size 8 (which is actually a size 12 since manufacturers adjusted the numbers to make our 21st century obese society feel better about themselves) post kids, no hips, flabby belly, dimpled thighs type of body that only looks good in denim skorts and Old Navy t-shirts of various colors. Ish. Was that too much information? Bad mental picture? Me, too.

But, I have decided that I shall now buy all my clothes at Coldwater Creek because their sizing? Makes me a size 4. Yeah. That's what I said. I figure if I keep eating Greek-festival-style I can be a size 0 again by 2012! Woo hoo!

Finally, I took a drive over to the local cinema to watch the 135-minute long epileptic seizure known as Speed Racer. Whew. Um... yeah. I got nothin'.

And that's enough randomness for today. I'm off to shoot up some insulin and re-think what I'm going to eat for the next week or two.