Where the - - - - is Kalamazoo?

I've been gone a while from the blog, just sorting out my thoughts after cramming The Athlete and a friend and The Brainiac into a rental car (mine was being fixed from a collision - not my fault mom - that resulted in a bad case of whiplash for me several months ago) for the dual purposes of supervising the girls at a weekend gymnastics camp and touring a college campus in a faraway place called Kalamazoo, Michigan.

Because I married one of those macho guys who is always the driver on road trips, my experience with interstate driving is limited. But I am a big girl now and I had my trusty Silicone Sally (that is what my brother Jim calls his GPS) to lead me in the right direction.

Two hours into the four-hour trip I began to realize that the driving was the easy part. The tough part was listening to three girls sing out loud to the music that was playing from the earphones of their three separate I Pods. Even Johnny Cash belting out Burning Ring of Fire from my car stereo couldn't drown out that racket.

The second most difficult part of the trip was watching five gymnasts eat. Bags of Cheetos, Nerds, french fries and cans of pop just seemed to pass right through their bodies without leaving anything behind but energy.
The Brainiac and I, who are both watching our weight, were looking on at this snack-fest in dismay.
At one point on the way to our destination the gymnasts demanded a stop at a rest station to refuel on more sugar. All five (three from another car) sat at a table devouring sleeves of tiny cinnamon rolls coated with icing. The Brainiac and I looked on in wonder, sipping our diet cokes.

"Skinny b - - - - - -, she muttered. And, even though I hate that kind of language, I really had to agree.