This weekend we went to an extended family reunion in Redneck Redneck Valley. For four years of marriage, I have spared Rob from having to attend one of my family's extended reunions. But this year, my mom really really really wanted us to go. And I cannot say no to the woman.

Rob has, over the years, dragged me to numerous reunions of his extended family. I bitch and moan about it, but for the most part I don't really mind going. Rob's family reunions involve a bunch of normal people gathering at a picnic shelter in a park, eating lots of food, and chatting about travel, quadradic formulas, and the stock market while the kids play baseball and romp on the playground. My family reunions involve a bunch of rednecks squeezing into someone's farm house out in the middle of fucking nowhere, eating lots of food, and then chatting about hunting, NASCAR, and the livestock market while the kids throw rocks in the pond and chase snakes. At Rob's family reunions, it's uncommon for someone just out of high school not to be going to college. At my family reunions, it's uncommon for someone just out of high school not to be married and with a baby on each hip. At Rob's family reunions, everyone arrives in Hondas. At my family reunions, everyone parks their pickups out in the field. The men in Rob's family are into bicycling and geocaching. The men in my family are into big belt buckles and four-wheeling. You get the idea.

I wasn't sure how to prepare Rob for what he was to encounter, but I think it became clear to him when, after he asked me which side of the family this reunion was for, I said, "Rob, think about it. My mom's brother married my dad's sister - both sets of my grandparents and all my double first cousins will be there. Doesn't matter what you call it - it's the same reunion either way."

Over a year ago I somehow wandered onto a mommy blog I'd never been to before. The top post caught my attention. It was a plea for someone to please help the blogger find a daddy blog she'd been to but couldn't now remember where - all she recalled was that it had a profile photo of a man wearing a neon green body thong thingy. The moment I read it, I knew exactly who she was talking about, so I left her a comment. And so began my friendship with ieatcrayonz.

Actually, despite my brief obsession with them, mommy blogs aren't really my thing. So I didn't expect to return to her blog. But then she left a comment here and when I returned to her place I was met with the cutest bunny butt I have ever seen. (Granted, it is perhaps the only bunny butt I have ever seen. But still, it's a DAMN CUTE one.) And at that moment, I was hooked. Utterly smitten with Baby Lauren. And after a few more visits I realized that this wasn't a boring mommy blog, that the person behind the words is smart and witty and fucking funny. Her blog became an absolute favorite of mine.

And last weekend I got to meet her!!

We look like we're tired of smiling for the camera (which we were) but I chose to post this one because of her eyebrows. Yes, they really are that perfect in person. As is her porcelain skin. Biznitch.

Actually, I got to more than meet her. I got to have a freaking sleepover with her! Yonzie was visiting a friend who's four hours away from me, and they offered that I visit and spend the night. So yeah, basically I agreed to a sleepover with strangers.

Except not really, because in the past year Yonzie has become such a dear friend. And honestly, meeting her for the first time felt like I was seeing an old friend again for the millionth. And I fell right in with her friend, Nat, who is just the coolest chick (and should totally have a blog of her own).

In true sleepover fashion, there was a lot of talk about weiners and balls. And I got to see photos of Yonzie's old boyfriends (but not their weiners and balls). Also, turns out the girl is a skilled strip teaser. Not saying how I know that, just that I do.

Some of my favorite moments were sneaking around the Food Lion parking lot poking in bushes and lifting lamp post bases (geocaching, of course), getting strange looks as we closely examined each other up and down in the middle of an Exxon gas station (checking for ticks, of course), and driving around town while Yonzie made fun of my driving (which I deserved, of course). But I think the best part of the weekend was just hanging around with Nat and Yonzie, swapping stories and laughing and feeling very much like old friends.

I totally have a crush on her.

Nat, if you're reading this, thank you for your hospitality and for being so freaking fabulous. And Yonzie, I will always be grateful to that neon green bodysuit banana hammock for "introducing" us and for forcing you to love me forever. Believe me, it's mutual.

Sunday night found Rob and I naked in the bathroom in a bit of a team-building activity.

"Rob, I don't think I can do this."

"You don't really have a choice."

"I know, but I am completely disgusted by this! I don't think I can bring myself to actually go through with it."

"Well I can try to do this to myself, but that's not going to be nearly as effective."

"At least it's small. Because if it wasn't so small, it would be even grosser. I mean, it's the smallest one I've ever seen. But I just don't want it to go in too far. What if it goes in too far?"

"Let's not even worry about that right now. Just start by grasping it and pulling gently. Don't tug - just pull nice and easy."

"What if it doesn't come?"

"It will. You just need to take your time."

"I seriously think this is going to make me throw up."

You see, I had discovered a tick. On Rob's ass. We had just gotten out of the shower and since we'd been in the woods some over the weekend, I'd suggested we check for ticks. And in examining the back of him, I'd found one. On his ass.

Here's the thing. Ticks freak me the fuck out. First of all, they are bugs. And bugs give me the heebie-jeebies. Secondly, they are bugs that bite. And not just bite, but bury their fucking heads in your fucking skin. And then proceed to suck your fucking blood. Thirdly, they carry diseases and shit. They are SO GROSS.

But, considering this tick was firmly implanted in the flesh of my husband's hip, it seemed I would have to be the one to extract it. He could barely see the thing, much less reach it.

I've never removed an attached tick before. It took me five minutes just to work up the nerve to touch the thing with tweezers. And when I finally did, I shrieked. But I held tight and eventually it released. At which point I screamed and dropped it.

"Shit! I just dropped it on the fucking floor! Dammit. Son of a mother-fucking bitch!" (I curse when I'm stressed, okay?)

So we crouched down to look for it. We looked and looked and looked, our faces inches from the floor.

"Is that it?"

"No."

"What about that?"

"No. But maybe that? ... No."

"Do you know if it fell on the rug?"

"I don't have a fucking clue where it fell. It is hella small. I could barely see it when it was on your ass, much less as it was falling through the air."

"It's okay, we'll find it."

"We aren't going to fucking find it! And I am never stepping foot in this bathroom again. In fact, I think we should move. I can't live here knowing there's a fucking tick crawling around!"

Eventually we found it. And I couldn't be sure, because it was so small, but it appeared to be headless. So I checked Rob's ass. And there was a tiny speck of black where the tick had been.

"Fuck. I think its head is still under your skin. I TOLD YOU I SUCK AT THIS."

"It's okay. You can just dig it out."

"Dig it out? Dig it out? Dude, I don't dig things out."

"It's just like removing a splinter. No big deal."

"Yeah, I don't do that."

"You've never dug out a splinter?"

"Hell no! That's nasty and shit! I let them work their way out."

You see, wounds give me the heebie-jeebies just as much as bugs do. It's not the blood so much as just the whole open flesh thing that makes me queasy. And so Rob's next directive did not go over well.

"Look, it's easy. Just take the tweezers and get under the skin and poke around until it comes out."

"Rob, I'm not a fucking surgeon! I can't just stick this into your skin and fucking DIG AROUND in there!"

He gave me an exasperated look, one that said Look, woman, I've got the head of a tick residing under the skin of my ass and you're my only hope for removing it so for the love of god pull yourself together and START DIGGING.

"Okay, I'll try. I'll try." I pressed the tip of the tweezers against his skin until they made the slightest indentation. And then I stopped. "I can't do this! I can't bring myself to make you bleed. I just don't have it in me."

It occurred to me, as I sat on the toilet seat, near tears, while Rob spoke to me in a soothing voice, that I have an incredible talent for making everything about me. I mean, here the dude has a blood-sucking parasite on his ass and he's comforting me? Shit ain't right.

So I did what I had to do. (After, like, ten false starts.) I stuck the tweezers (barely) into his flesh and I fucking dug around (a little). It's all a blur, really, but what I can tell you is that there was much whimpering, some tears, and a near blackout. All on my part, of course.

But I fucking did it. And I'd do it again. Because that's what marriage is about. Digging around in each other's asses. Er, something like that.

Even more flattering than catching a man check out my ass as I walk down the street is catching a woman check out my shoes.

Even without ever having been there, I am titillated by Dubai. I first became interested when I read The World is Flat and then a few weeks ago I read an article in Vanity Fair that sent me over the moon for the place. Ever since, I can't shut up about Dubai. I'm all, "Rob, we should totally travel to Dubai," and "Rob, we should totally, like, live in Dubai," and "Hey Rob, guess what I named my new work laptop? Yeah, Dubai." At a party last week someone mentioned the name in passing and I perked up and said, perhaps a bit too eagerly, "Did you just say Dubai?!" It seems I have a bit of a crush on the city-state.

(I sometimes think of cities as lovers: Toronto, whom I knew when I was too young to develop a real relationship, whom I remember fondly and would see again in a heartbeat. San Francisco, who seemed perfect but turned out to be a disappointing date. London, who treated me like a princess but couldn't hold my attention for long. Sexy New York, to whom I was immediately drawn and with whom I share a fierce love affair that both satiates me and leaves me panting for more. And then there's strange, intriguing Dubai, with a gleam in his eye and confidence in his gaze who, moments after introducing himself, orders me a drink and slips a hand up my skirt.)

I think what I find so alluring is Dubai's no holds barred ambition. Dubai has reinvented itself in just a few decades, successfully catapulting itself into the center of commerce, tourism, and technology in the Persian Gulf. And Dubai is quickly realizing its global aspirations. How appropriate that Dubai will soon be home to the tallest building in the world, the symbolism of which can't be missed.

Everything about Dubai seems larger than life. (Quite literally, in the case of some of their more renowned construction projects.) I can't help but respect the unflagging determination and hopefulness. And I can't help but think Dubai feels like the future.

(Ooh, and did I mention there's a camel racetrack?! Kick ass.)