Knott’s Berry Farm considers you a VIP mom…

Well, sweet!  Who cares if thirty minutes ago I was letting the DragonMonkey pee on a tree in front of Wells Fargo because we couldn’t find a bathroom in time…… I’m a VIP mom!  And I’ve got proof!

Join us on April 29th for what will be a wonderful and calming ‘Mother’s Day Champagne Brunch’ at Mrs. Knott’s Chicken Dinner Restaurant at Knott’s Marketplace…..In addition to a brunch that offers a variety of delicious choices, Knott’s will also like to give you a special Gift Certificate to pick a gift at selected Marketplace Shops like Virginia’s Gift Shop & Berry Market.

 SWEET! 


I scanned the rest of the way down and was a little disappointed not to see a reference to park admission.

Well, drat.

I mean, I am not upset. In fact, I feel petty for even feeling disappointed.  I’m going to get a free meal and a gift certificate.  They called me a “VIP mom” even though I let my kid pee on trees in public.  This is the second invitation they’ve been gracious enough to extend, and they’re promoting their restaurant’s Mother’s Day brunch, not the roller coasters.

Still.  I’m going to be within a stone’s through of Colossus…. and instead of throwing my hands up in the air and screaming my heart out as I plummet down the track, I’m going to be nibbling from a buffet and doing a little light shopping in the marketplace.

Well, okay, let me be honest:  I’m not going to be nibbling.  I’m going to be piling a plate high and going back for seconds and thirds while trying to ignore the single serving, gorgeous, size two Orange County moms around me. 

I hate buffets.  I always feel obligated to eat more than I would otherwise, just to “get my money’s worth”. 

I wonder— if I were a guy blogger, would I get invitations to all-you-can-eat-steak-buffets followed by laser tag tournaments and bull riding competitions?

Probably not, but it’s still fun to imagine.

Actually, now that I think about it, that just sounds like a recipe for puking.  Never mind.

Anyways, one of the things Knott’s ask you to do in exchange for accepting is to share the news with other people.

You know what?  No problem.  I’m happy to do that.

After bragging about announcing it on Facebook I blew off my dusty Twitter password and logged on.

I’ve never been able to get into Twitter.  I like the idea of it, but I dunno… something about it makes me feel like a grandma.  I feel like everyone is sitting on the sidelines, snickering at me ignorance, while I’m fumbling with the Twitter mic, wincing at its squeal and muttering, “Is this thing on?  Hello?  You know, back in my day we just passed good ol’ fashioned notes to each other… mumble, mumble…”

Besides, I’m long-winded.  It’s hard for me to say what I want to say in only 140 characters.

It took a few tries, but I finally came up with what I felt was an appropriate response:

I was trying to echo the whole “You had me at hello” scene from Jerry McGuire, but I ran out of room to make it apparent.  Like I said, I really don’t care for the whole 140 characters thing.  Still, I’d managed to make it obvious that I was grateful, and I’d even worked in a mention to the most exciting part of the invitation… Yaaay!  FREE FOOD!

Free food that I don’t have to make or clean up after is by far my favorite kind of food.  It’s so much tastier than any other kind, wouldn’t you agree?

Pleased with myself, I decided I’d take a look at what the other bloggers had said.

etc, etc, etc.

Well, crap.

Apparently you’re supposed to say thank you for the invitation and market the product… not pounce on the fact that you’ve been given free food, like it’s some kind of upscale homeless shelter soup kitchen that was kind enough to invite you along.

I swear, why do people invite me to these things?

Embarrassed, I went back and read the invitation again. Alright, alright, I admit it, I didn’t actually read all the way through the first time.  It was long.  It had a whole bunch of details and a lot of words, and as far as I can tell, none of those words were actually dialogue, so I kind of got distracted midway through. 

No, I don’t have ADD.  In order to have ADD you have to have a diagnosis.  Shut up.

Anyways, when I finally went back and checked out all the pertinent details:

Oooh!  Snoopy will be there.  Cool!  Even better, I won’t have a three year old trailing along beside me, trying to bolt for the door and insisting in shrill panicked tones that Snoopy is actually a large monkey trying to suck his brains out.  Maybe I’ll even get a picture with him (Snoopy – not the non-existant, flesh-eating monkey.)

Wait… what was that?

Oh.   Oh, my. 

Champagne’s a sneaky drink.  It tastes delicious – it doesn’t taste like alcohol at all.  It’s just kind of dry, fizzy apple juice.  Also, they tend to serve it in delicate little champagne flutes.  Have you seen those ridiculous glasses?  Who invented those things?  Whose bright idea was it to create a tiny, snappable, breakable little fragile glass and then serve a beverage in it known for impairing your motor abilities?

I get nervous holding champagne glasses.   I get even more nervous trying to set them down on the table.  I just know if I set the glass down it’s going to topple over and break… and everyone knows that if you a break a glass that has an alcoholic drink in it that you might as well trumpet to the entire world “I”m a big fat drunk!  You all should keep an eye out on me, because any second now I’m going to vomit and then spin around and fall off a stage!”  It doesn’t matter if you haven’t actually had a sip of alcohol or not—- once you break that glass, you’re a drunk.

That’s why I think it’s just a lot safer never to put the champagne glass down.

I mean, I guess it would be safest if I never even picked it up… but c’mon.  It’s champagne.  You can’t resist the lure of the bubblies.

Anyways, since I can’t seem to avoid picking it up… and I’m too socially awkward to put it down, I usually just end up trying to look nonchalant.

Everyone knows the best way to look nonchalant is to take tiny, “I’m a feminine young lady who never gulps her drinks” type sips from the glass in your hand.

Are you guys following the math here?  I’ll have a glass in my hand I can’t put down… it will full of alcoholic liquid… and the only way I can try to blend in is to constantly drink out of it.

Well.  That could be interesting.

On second that, maybe I’ll skip the champagne.