Urban bon mot: twitterpated

When Bunny Foo Foo thought about Brussels, the rush of warm, fuzzy, excited sensations that filled Foo made her realize she was completely twitterpated with Belgian chocolate.

twitterpated: to be completely enamored with someone or something (such as chocolate of a certain quality. Or, better yet—a man of a certain quality bearing chocolate).

Hoppy Easter, Foo friends.

Easter is a time to welcome back the tulips, crocuses and the daffodils (Yay! We missed you). A time to wear new suits, new dresses and patent leather shoes (Foo recommends skipping the patent leather if you're over 10). A time for Christians to celebrate the life, death and resurrection of Christ (sorry you had to go through all that). And a time of chocolate bunnies, marshmallow chicks, and colored eggs (Mama Foo is prepping for her sugar coma now).

Whatever your reasons for celebration—Happy Easter from Foo and her Mama. For Foo, it's like one big family reunion.

Move it, Fuzzy Butt.

The seasoned business traveller will often grouse about navigating airport security with less savvy travellers....those with children laden down with milk boxes and metal beads and bangles who look incredulous when asked to toss liquids or wait until they reach the X-ray entry door before it occurs to them to begin to remove their chain mail.

One would think that a nice, small, rural airport like Helena would be free of such line chokers. Not so, they simply come in a different variety. Like the gentleman who took fully 10 minutes to empty his pockets, all the while chatting amiably with the TSA agent who seemed completely at ease in letting this 'slower then tree sap' rube back up the line.

Ms Foo, always looking for mischief, took this as an indication that things must just be a bit more laid back in MT, and that no one was in a hurry to make the two flights a day that service this burg. So she, taking her cue from the previous cowboy begins the long, labored process of disencumbering herself of the assorted detritus that only a bunny can stash on their furry frame.

'La, la, la, la...butterflies' she sing-songed til she turned around and saw impatient Bob standing behind her...

Hoppy Spring

(spring sprung foo—et vous?)

Helena by way of Seatac via Great Falls.

(The Foo has landed).

Montana: be forewarned—Foo is on the way.

(Montana. It's everything Colorado thinks it is.)

Hoppy St. Patrick's Day

Friday, at last.

Destination: Ralph Brennan's Jazz Café

T H E  S C E N A R I O:  Shepherd and feed a small mass of hungry US Bank customers after a long day of mind-numbing PowerPoint presentations, hand-waving and genuflecting (as told by roving reporter/Foo wrangler Bob 'Bobcakes' H).

Foo met 25 of her closest friends from the state and public sector in the hotel lobby. Moments later, they'd unknowingly begin 'Bob's Bataan Death March'—this time an easy walk to Downtown Disney. 25 minutes later, with whispers of mutiny coming from the crowd, we find the place and our destination restaurant: Ralph Brennan's Jazz Café.

Things start poorly as we are positioned at a long table dangerously close to a piano stage which is thankfully vacant upon arrival. The menu does not add confidence noting crawfish mashed potatoes as the side to the fillet. Thankfully we were able to liberally substitute from the menu.

"Hey—let's walk to the restaurant!" a six-word phrase often muttered by Bob in group events that can lead to eyeball rolling and/or blisters.

Surprisingly the food was quite good; not surprising the piano player who eventually arrived crushing all possible conversation, was hideous. The usual hours passed and with profiteroles tamping down dinner we headed outside where even more surprising, everyone—even the two poor soles in heels (get it...soles...heels?), opted to walk back to the hotel.

Adventure: destination Anaheim

Unable to sit still a moment longer, Bunny Foo Foo has high-tailed it to Southern California. Stay tuned for hi jinks and high adventure from the road for the next four days...