Brats and Driveways

That "brats" in the subject is the brat in bratwurst, not the brat as in a snotty-poo kid, although it could mean both. Today I'm going to meet my old college roommate at one of my favorite restaurants, The Brat Stop, in Kenosha. Why would you love the Brat Stop so much if you are mainly a vegetarian (to explain my picky eating stylings would be a bit boring)? Because it's in Wisconsin and Wisconsin has the good cheese! I hate those commercials with cows talking, and they're all "Happy cows come from California," or some crap like that. Whatever?! Cheese=Wisconsin. End of story. California has enough stuff to brag about, and now they are trying to take cheese away from Wisconsin? Well I'm not having it. But I am having a fantabulous grilled cheese. Mmmmmmmmm.

In driveway news, we had a new driveway put in today. It's so perfect, but I am worried that the neighbor boy (who always seems like he has nothing to do but ride his bike on our grass and driveway) will drive over it while it's soft. So I made Matt put up blocking ropes on all portions of the driveway. I still keep having visions of this kid riding onto our grass, and then riding between the ropes. Or limboing underneath the ropes. [The rest of the content of this post has been edited because Matt thinks I was being too mean.] Must think of cheese...