Once More with Feeling.

2012: Year of Hope, Improvements & Betterments

Twenty-Twelve  is going to be my year. I hope I didn't just jinx it by saying that, but I just feel that it is.

The year of new opportunities! New places! New faces!   For one, I've booked a photography gig for in August. I will be compensated for this.  Maybe more people will offer me money for the taking of the pictures.  Maybe??  Mike & I are thinking of a move to a new house and  we hope, God (or biology, if you prefer)-willing,  to "add to staff" this year*.

(*to be clear, I'm not in a family way. It's just no secret I would like to have another baby, and, you know, 2012 seems as good a year as any.)

Anyway, it's not a bad way to feel this way about the future, especially since I have had to suffer with some really tough losses in 2009 & 2010, close both in relation and in space of time, that leveled the hell out of me. And then this past summer, I lost a dear friend from my childhood, my best friend when I was young, and losing a friend your own age, quite suddenly - Lord knows that gets you to become more introspective in addition to the grief,  but honestly? Lately I end my work day, usually during the 2 minute drive home from the train station to my house, thinking, "Shit, I am really happy. I mean, I think this is what really happy feels like."

That is not to say there isn't a rough day or rare cluster of days that hit me, but there's been a definite shift of bad days to good, and while I fully endorse a cathartic cry every now and again, it's nice to see those no longer DAILY  events or even weekly.

With the new year here, I made a few pledges to myself. I won't call them resolutions exactly, but, pledges. Honest to God attempts.  General ideas.  You know, really, I'm just spit-balling here. (And I'm sure if did a thesaurus check, I could get called out, but then I think you need to settle down there, little fact checker, you.)

#1. Chill with all the God damn motherfucking swearing.

This is not necessarily because I am trying to be a better person per se, but because I now have an 18 month old who is learning words. And I don't need her going to daycare and seeing this scenario unfold:

 [Kid refuses to share toy with my daughter]

Carolyn: "What the fuck's his problem?"

Believe it or not, I'm not cool with that. As it is, I bear witness to her mimicking me on the phone, down to my  "...yeah....yeah....". (Apparently I say "yeah" a lot. ) She also has my laugh down, I hear it when she watches TV (Mickey's Clubhouse).  It will likely lose something here, but it's a dry, quick, "heh" kind of laugh. I've watched the show, many times unfortunately, and still don't get the appeal. Fortunately for her, her street-cred is protected by being (legitimately) entertained by How I Met Your Mother (re-runs, not the current season). Anyway, I need to knock it off and class it up and that is what I'm going to do. But as God as my witness, I will not starting supplementing stupid replacement words/silly catchphrases to counteract these new omissions from my lexicon (I would just assume to remain mute, if that's my choice).

"No potty mouths here..."

2. Cook more.

Yes, it's been well broadcasted, even documented in my circle how little I cook, and how little I will intentionally survive off of it left to my own devices**. To me, food is just food, unless someone else is willing to bring it (and cook it, and put it on a plate and suddenly, I'm a realllllybig fan).  The end of 2011 showed signs of me making some effort, mainly in the baking arena (I do a pretty great Irish soda bread and I actually made these NINJAbread cookies at Christmas for my niece Grace aka "The Little Ninja":

Hand painted, if you can believe that.

I also made exactly (1) mean meatloaf on 2011 which ended in great peril (1st degree burn) because apparently those oven mitts in the drawer 12 inches right of the stove aren't just a (motherfucking)cooking fashion statement and actually serve an actual purpose. (I still have the scar to prove it.) (God Damnit)

(** somewhere on this blog is a photo of a sink full of spoons (apt. had no dishwasher, and washing dishes wasn't my thing either), as there was a week my left town and all I ate was pudding and jello.)

I've been given a cook book for Christmas, and nothing seems too far off the grid for things I might want to eat, so I might try (note to Mike:o-ccaaasionally) to step in and assist. Ya know, what the heck.

3.  Stop wasting money.

Okay, sounds like a lay up, but believe it or not my husband spent many a month in 2011 begging & pleading with me to quit the not one, but TWO (not cheap) gym memberships I was not using.  So while the rest of the planet is making the resolution to get in shape and crowd the gyms for the next 6 weeks (give or take), I've actualy taken to quitting the gyms.  (Merry Christmas, Miguel!)

Lest I be accused of being a total lump, or one who is making a concerted effort to abscond with the goal personal fitness and increased health cardio and weight training may bring, please take note that I am diverting those formerly wasted funds to play soccer again, a weekly event I will 1. show up for and 2. look forward to going. See, everybody wins. Well, I win, I guess.

 The following are other areas I would like to improve upon but not because it's 2012 or anything:

1a. Grow out my hair

1b. Once a week, try to do something with my hair so that I go to work with  my version of"good hair" and not save it for a random trip to Babies R Us on the weekend.

2.. Write more.

3. Take more photography classes, set up a website.

 Oh, speaking of photography, this was our Santa photo this year.

 As is the case with a large number of kids in her age bracket, The Man in Red terrified her.  This photo here was not her first pass. The first attempt, her decked out in a cute red dress, was denied as she clung to me like a koala mid-panic attack.  I decided to forgo the photo of her crying on his lap, reaching out for me.  I just couldn't do it.

But we found ourselves in a store with a Santa and no line and she seemed to be in a pretty content mood so we decided to give it one more shot.  Still, she was terrified. Or perhaps really, really concerned, and clung to me again in a "don't you even think about it" way. I tried to coax her, had her on the lap this time,  but she was wiggling her way off,  and so,  I did what was the next best thing and sat next to Santa and ducked behind her.  So that is how the picture of a floating kid and chapped looking Santa for our 2011 Santa photo came to be.

Between Attempt #1 (planned, no photo) and Attempt #2 (unplanned, awkward photo) I had tried to do something for our Christmas card that recreated a "Carolyn with Santa" experience.   Alas, the photo I'd initially thought would go in the recyle bin, ended up being my favorite.  Anyway, I hope your holidays were great and spent with the people you wanted to spend them with. Here's to the the 20-12.

On the Day That You Were Born the Angels Got Together...

Your birthday story.

Dear Care,

Because you can't pick your parents, I am regret to inform you your story will include some profanity. Your mother's profanity. And as you will one day later know, I didn't even push. So, yeah, ...yaw blessed.

Okay, Carolyn-

So your Dad & I took a risk. We wanted to be parents. Your parents.  One day I'll explain it, but know that we so wanted to know you, we took a big risk. And man, I still cannot believe this life we have because of it.

I've taken 2 pregnancy tests after trying to make a baby. The first time I took it alone, thinking "nah, no way but what the hell," and lo, we were pregnant right away with Daniel. I swore to myself the next time I did this, I would make sure I wasn't alone because me + what I think is a positive test+ all alone =  IS NOT SOMETHING THAT SHOULDN'T BE WITNESSED. I quietly spazz and pace the house with the need to unload and carry on with a string of "Oh My Gods" and "No ways" as I cannot be burdened to carry that level nervous  joy and anxiety  alone for much longer than, I don't know, 2 minutes? Long enough to Google the test brand's website to make sure I'm reading it right? I don't know.

But when I found out with you, once again I was alone and felt another "ha, what the hell" bravery because of the "it was just one time we tried" and sure enough, there was a very, very faint line and I was like,"I swear I am the poster woman for 'it just takes one time.'" A cameraphone photo or 2 later sent to "the consigliere" as your father calls it, just to make sure I wasn't seeing things (it was one of those  early tests so  I convinced myself that maybe I'd wanted it so badly I was, in fact,  just seeing things), The Consigliere deemed I was seeing nothing other than a positive you.

28 weeks and you already know your angles.  Miss Tyra would be so proud.

Carolyn, thrilled does not begin to express it. We were cautious, sure,  but my pregnancy with you, though filled with some unfortunate toilet-centric events in the beginning (I still harbor some resentment over your father's ill-advised tuna sandwich which I could smell from upstairs which forced an impressive sprint to the bathroom), and some dire, looney need for Devil Dogs in the end, it was pretty event-free as far as these things go.

Because you were a planned c-section, we found out your birthday about 2 months in advance. June 22nd.  It was to be exactly 2 days after Father's Day and 2 days before your Dad's 40th. For this, you got me off the hook for about finding the perfect gift or having to find the energy of  throwing a surprise 40th in my last trimester.  So thanks, I owe you one.

The very top of the day you were born, 12:01 a.m., your mother could be found in the kitchen, alone, boiling bottles. Yes, this is when I thought it would be a good idea to finally open the packages of new bottles and inherited pumping equipment I'd never bothered to look at and sterilize them. Not that I really knew what I was doing (how long should they be in there before they're considered ok?) but instead of getting my last good night's sleep for a long time, I was trying to clean bottles and pumps over a few boiling pots on the stove. And doing my laundry. And packing my bag.

OKay- I'm going to level with you-  this is how I roll, have always been,  and I'm sure this'll come into play and impact your life at some point. What I'm saying is, your dad will be in charge of being up in your face about getting college apps  in on time.

I don't know what time I got to bed that morning, but I had to be up at 4:30 a.m. to be out the door by 5:30 to be ready to check in for 6:00.  I shaved my legs and even manged to get the curling iron to my head. Never think I didn't care about our first meeting. Not ever.

Smile, bitches! It's 5:30!

We checked in ready to be the first surgery at 8:00 but someone else needed the OR ahead of us, and since you were in no hurry to get out (and actually 3 weeks early), we waited for about an hour longer than was planned. In that downtime,  I took the time to check out my digs and take my last photo of me pregnant.

Pre-iPhone. Apologies for the Amish quality.

When they had decided to get things going, they had to put in the  dreaded IV.  Care, your mother has a terrible track record with the IVs. Last time I had one put in, I bit your father. Twice. Like he was a leather strap.   They then had to have another doc a 3rd try because the nurse couldn't do it. Good times, that.

So to say I was not looking forward to this part was a bit of an understatement, and begged that they just but it in the crook of my elbow. No dice, but luckily this time, your day, they at least got it on the first try - but not without me breezily commenting, "Fuck,fucking fuckfucker, FUCK!"

The nurse looked up at me and laughed, "I have to say, I didn't see that coming from you." I think it was the dainty pearl earrings that threw her off.

From there, I was transported to the OR.  More prep. Some small talk with the nurses. They asked me what I had in mind for names. I said we'd come in with 2 and were still deciding. I told them the two, and one nurse said to me, "I don't know if you can hear it, but the radio is playing "Sweet Caroline" if that helps." I felt like that was a sign- and if nothing else, you have a story.

More needles. This time in my back. This time be a VERY important needle and one I needed to hold very still for. I was informed that I was getting Very Important Back Needle from a resident, so, a doctor who works under the supervision of another top doctor. I wasn't exactly thrilled with this, although I understand that this is how things go, but honestly, I wanted to get the Top Cheese of Needle Experience doing this. Call me old-fashioned. I zipped the lip on my feelings and could feel him cleaning  my lower back off. This was not my first time,  I knew the drill, but as I am waiting for my warning, the doc just sticks me! Can you believe that guy? My involuntary response to get away from pain kicked in and I jumped a little forward, almost off the table.

"Woah, woah, woah, doc- you gotta count me off before you stick me."

I think Supervisor Doc gave him the "yeah,dummy"  nod. We go again, he counts me up,  and I only blurt, "BALLS_BALLS_BALLS_BALLS"  this time as he's doing it. Because I am a lady.

This cracks up the entire OR. I tell them that was me actually cleaning up my language, based on what the poor nurse had to put up with for the IV and the doctor says to me, "Go ahead, if there's one place where swearing's acceptable, it's in here."

From there it's the matter of waiting to become numb.  Numb enough to cut, sure, but also, to insert the catheter. Again, my self-protective instincts kick in and I tell them for I and only *I* will give the green light for this part, as this involved my lady parts and a tube. Hand to God, I pushed them off like 3 times. I somehow feel this is a bragging point.

Waiting for numbness, waiting, oh shit, I think I'm gonna puke, puke, feel better, okay, here we go, we're getting you out...

9:44 you were born weighing 7-11 (I will buy you your first Slurpee, and it should be a blue one.).

My first words upon seeing you wiggle in the doctors hands as he lifted you up over the sheet and hearing you cry:

1. Oh my God.

2. Is she okay? (I just needed to hear you were totally fine)

 (a little crying from me)

3. GO TO HER.

(Not pictured: My guts.)

"...and decided to create a dream come true."

 

"You are the one that I have always dreamed of, I knew it from the start. I saw your face and that's the last I've seen of my heart."

Look, you got your Dad to smile a nice (normal) smile. You got skills, kiddo.

"I can feel you heart beat through my shirt. This is all I ever wanted. All I want."

Happy birthday, sweetie.  Love,  Mom

yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen

I'm just back from our first vacation as a family. Taking a nine month old, newly teething and for added fun, going though her first cold (or illness, as it just happens), to board a plane 1,000 miles due south was a little ...what's the word, I guess anxious? But she handled the flight well and as it turned out, when Operation: Snot Rag was finally completed, and after Tooth One and Tooth Two   finally stop taking her to the mat  (moreso the newer, Florida-born Tooth Two, the bitch) AND she figured out that Napping is RAD! and so is not waking up at 3:45 a.m.!, it turned out I could fall in love with my kid all over again. The phrase "like woah" really doesn't do the feeling justice.

I have more photos of her than I'll ever need from the trip, but here's one I took that just that when I look at it in the right frame of mind, I tear up.

 

 

We had a fantastic time  relaxing in Florida.  It was a much needed break from the cold, the back to back (to back to back...to back) snowstorms we'd endured and the 9-5 gigs and the daily grind of the walls here, and as much as that is true, I am glad to be back home (although hoping we dodged the last of the snow which we avoided when we were away) but maybe a little sad to be putting my flip flops back in the bin I store them in, since I know it'll be more than a month or so before I really get to wear them regularly. 

Until then, I have a disk full of pictures to keep me warm. 

Our Summer Preview

A much needed trip to Naples, Florida from last week.  More (actual content*) to follow, but thought I would humor some folks so they don't have to see that wedding picture for another day.

*Am not even lying this time.  I even have a topic: How this blogger not blogging brought down the financial markets (oops, my bad).

Want to get in my poster?

Dear Lakers fans:

Boy....this is awkward.

I'm shipping up to Boston

I am not sure what Michael Flatley would have to say, but I'll freely admit I thoroughly enjoyed Papelbon's eclectic take on Riverdance: Now with broom!

(photo from Boston.com)

I came, and I saw Papelbon (Sox closer) jig it out in a kilt given to him by the Dropkick Murphy's. Not a bad way to spend your lunch break if you ask me.

Okay, apropos of nothing, what is the deal with grown women wearing Winnie the Pooh outerwear?  Like full-on faux varsity jackets? Has anyone else seen these?

I used to work with a woman who wore a Winnie the Pooh jacket, which was a serious coat with leather arms that had to have cost whoever bought it some equally serious sheckles, and it was her staple coat that she wore to work. A place with no kids.  I hadn't thought about her and her stupid jacket (apologies to those who own one, but come on) until today when I saw another woman wearing a windbreaker zip up jacket with a big letterman-style "P" on the back with the word "Pooh" written down thru the straight line in the letter.  Also sans kids (should you think I think having kids makes it any more acceptable for me, it doesn't).   I don't know, but I think as a an adult you have to draw the line somewhere.  For me, it's saying no to Disney as outerwear.  Even the embroidered jean jackets with Pooh and the gang.  Yes, ladies, even those.

(and if it was a gift from your kids, then get new kids I say. that simple.)

What are we gonna live on? Love?

So, what did YOU do this weekend?

And Procrastination was her name-o

Things I should be doing instead of hanging out here on a Saturday morning:

Cleaning. 

No really, there is a lot of cleaning to be done up in here.

Seriously, I've been wandering around the apartment telling myself, "Just pick a room. Any room."

Get my car's new emissions sticker, seeing as it expired back in May.

May...2006.

Get the oil changed while I'm at it.

Which according to Jiffy Lube reminding sticker, maybe should have been done, oh I dunno, 2,500  miles ago?

(seriously, maybe I should start with just getting all my laundry off the couch. I can do that much, right?)

Find out where my friend lives so I can get to her house for her garden party.
Find out when garden party starts.
Figure out how far Marblehead is from Boston.
Figure out if I can even go as I am going to see Jim Gaffigan tonight and that is being held in opposite direction of Boston.

If my 20/10 eyes don't deceive me, I should probably make another bikini wax appt. 

Dry my hair before it takes on Rastafarian proportions.

However and instead, I will ruminate about the following:

1. That it's cute that my dad sends me text messages about how my house deal is going, adding "Love, Dad".  My dad sends me text messages, people.

Which reminds me, I should probably tell him I'm going to be showing up at his place in Chicago on Thursday, hoping he'll let me crash there til Sunday, because, uh, well...yeah, let's hope he remembered that I said I was coming for the weekend "at the end of July" for the "conference" I'm attending which is 1 mile from his sweet pad. Otherwise, I just may very well be fucked.

(mental note to add to Saturday's To Do list: Call Dad)

2. The realization that texting my friend Matt (after a night of hanging out/drinking w/ him) the clever phrase "P.S. Your mom" around 1 a.m. is not as funny as you thought,  though at the time you thought it was comic genius.

3. My new pretty friend, Hollow Squirrel ...
(Seen here:)

(See? pretty.)

...whom (who?) I met for the first time on Monday and with my local assistance, managed to get her out of hanging with fellow conference attending co-workers who, unlike me, did not know where the Sephora was. 

This is my secret way of telling you I took my new girlfriend to Sephora and people, my God, [/whispers] it was MAGIC.  Sephora is a woman's Disneyland. "Disneyland for Broads" they should call it.

However and as such, Sephora is definitely a place that requires a "wingwoman" because to be without adequate, skillful supervision,  there runs many dangerous perils, such as not benefiting from, say, a verbal soap opera slap, "PUT THE BODY GLITTER BACK, IT MAKES YOU LOOK LIKE A TRAGIC WHORE", ipso facto finding one's self with a shell shocking $300 Visa charge at the register for stuff you don't even want right before you're supposed to be drop some serious bank on a HOUSE in ONE MONTH, JEN-NIF-ER.

(in all seriousness, I put back some Benefit under eye concealer as she thought my expression was that of "placating Sephora rep" based on her observation of my head nod "confirming" the "difference I saw" and in doing so, helped me get out of there for only 60 bucks. A miracle, I can assure you.)

But it wasn't all wine & lipgloss.  We got into our first fight right on the very  fancy Newbury St.

(still have a few of her hair extensions on my dresser to prove it.)

Apparently lady is not down with me referring to the daily appendage I wear on my shoulder as a pocketbook. 

"A 'pocketbook'? That's not a pocketbook," she snitted, "THIS [takes out wallet] is a pocketbook."

Uh, no.  That, dear simpleton, is a WALLET.

The thing you keep all your stuff in? Pocketbook.  POCKET-BOOOOOOOK.

Were it not for the fact that she has a cute kid waiting for her at home, I probably would have cut her.

Maybe it's a Massachusetts thing?  Who knows. But it's always been a pocketbook to me.  Not a bag, handbag, or purse.  Pocketbook.

Deal with it.

Above: Her superior "that's not a pocketbook" face. Don't you just want to bean her with a complimentary piece of warm bread? No? Just me then?

So, aside from her unwillingness to acquiesce to my quaint "handbag" colloquialism, she was really nice (and she bought dinner, and also, I ate some of her food because I am awesome), and also talks super fast like me (which is good) and does this thing of saying random shit just to see if you're paying attention (to wit, at one point she randomly suggested I bring back the bridal hat.)

So, I hope you had a good time, HS.  Sorry the last words you had to hear from me as you drove off in the cab were "POCK- ET. BOOOOOK." in a Captain Caveman voice. But you're wrong and I am right and you will bend to my will on this one.

4. How sort of horrified I was when I walked into the bedroom wearing my 2 towel-post shower get up only to be chastised by Mike:

"Will ya STOP USING MY GOLF CLUBS' TOWEL ALREADY?! I KEEP THROWING IT ON MY CHAIR SO I CAN REMEMBER TO BRING IT OUT TO MY CAR and YOU KEEP. USING. IT."

"I use that to clean off my clubs."

Uh, my bad? And also, "thought it was small."

5. I have waited too long and now my hair now has dreadlocks.

6. Yeah seriously, that bikini wax appt. isn't going to make itself.

7. It is 1:30 in the afternoon and I'm still wearing a towel.

All is quiet on New Year's Day.

For the third year in a row now, New Year's Eve for me was spent sipping champagne cocktails, trying meals I've never eaten before at a beautifully decorated table, and announcing resolutions and predictions for the upcoming year {the only real notable in this last category was Meg predicting Pope John Paul II dying in 2005, which not for naught, but uhhh...wasn't he on the way out anyway? I digress...} in the home of my dear friends, Jess & Jeremiah.

The first day of 2007 quite frankly hasn't been all that.  I think I'm getting sick, and I only make mention of this because I think this is the Universe's way of flipping me off for even carelessly bouncing around in my mind that, "huh, I don't think I ever got sick in 2006." A back problem, a few sucky hangovers, some soccer injuries, but never sick-sick. So just to be a little punk and sneak in under the wire, the Universe 2006 tapped me on the shoulder all, "A word, madam" resulting me actually being the first to leave J&J's party because I couldn't hang.  Pisses me off, that. So for those anticipating pictures of dancing and shenanigans and tomfoolery, I don't have any because I wouldn't know. I had to go home, nurse my sore widdle throat, possible fever and sleep for what would be approximately 18 billion hours.  (Seriously, as of 6 p.m. EST I still haven't showered and I'm still in my pj's.) The silver lining, if one is to be had here, is that I am posting a lot and uploading pictures in a more timely fashion and my butt has been fashioned to the couch for most of the day. 

As far as resolutions go, I make them. Like the deals I cut at Lent, I try not to shoot for the moon and keep it manageable and measurable, else it wind up an exercise in lip service in front of my friends.

Anyway, here's what I came up with for 2007:

Work on some of my manners... specifically timely Thank You notes (and not just for gifts, proper old school ones) and RSVPing for events that require mailed responses (I'm usually pretty good with the Evites, the others, um, it could be said I have failed parlessly. Not happy about that.).

Get back to writing letters. I used to do this some consistency, but then with the advent of e-mail it's pretty nonexistent.  Understand, letters for me aren't these like Rachel's letter to Ross novellas where, "you had rambled on for 18 pages....FRONT. AND. BACK!" but a sincere page or 2 with a few thoughts of one's goings ons and you know, something considered better to get in the mail amidst the bill statements, jury duty summons and Jiffy Lube fliers.  Okay, so maybe this resolution is a little self-serving in the hopes I can also get letters. Whatever. I still think it'sa good idea.

Just Do It. I need to MAKE that doctor appointment. (oh, wait, that's right, I need to FIND a new doctor). I need to GET THINE ASS TO THE GYM. I need to CALL that person back. I need to QUIT that bad habit. I need to GET OUT OF BED ALREADY and GO TO WORK. Good God, there is a list, and you bet I procrastinate all of it.  Changing my mind set of stop bullshitting/setting myself back. Baby steps, I guess.

Take a photography class. Just because I think it would be fun to learn some new stuff and I feel like I have hit the wall with my current working knowledge.

Buy an SLR camera and retire the Nikon Coolpix 5700 before I throw it across the room smashing a window that I'll only have to replace. I am torn between Nikon and Canon.  Nikon's lenses I'm partial to I guess...The Nikon D80 has caught my eye, the D50 is supposed to be pretty great for the buck, abut the Canon EOS Rebel from what I've seen on Flickr is also taking some great shots.  Any opinions on this topic are more than welcome.

Take better care of my skin.  Okay, age 33 was the year I have seen some noticeable differences, none of which make me want to jump for joy.  While I get that change here is inevitable, I don't exactly want to roll over just because of that fact.  So, more water I guess (duh, I know but I HAVE cut the soda by a bit and God bless the makers of FIGI Water), SPF moisturizer (doing now, level 30), facials every few months (to-do), and getting a dermatologist (also to-do). 

Here are some of the last pictures I took from Year 2006.

(If you want to cut to the chase and skip a few stories, the complete set is here.)

My, look at the size of that head.  Like an orange on a tewthpick. Yes, I'm including me. Being that I was camerawoman, there are none of me from the party. I took this actually to test out my new camera's various settings, little did I know that these snaps pre-party would be the ONLY ones of me. Man, I really liked that top, too.  Too bad I couldn't get all of it.

Jess, I got a few pictures of the place setting for you for next year...

Our hostess, Jess, who I'd learn made a back up dish with me just in case me and my picky eating sensibilities didn't like the chicken marbella (a Mediterranean dish). As it turned out, I did like the Marbella and backup went untouched.  Though I must admit, hearing that she went thru the trouble of a backup dish makes me my heart melt a little. (dude, save it for The OC/The Office night and I will eat all of it!)

Our kind, tall host, Big J.

Bram & Suz toasting to someone's resolution. They are cute, no?

Oh, how I fucking LOVE this one. Meg (with head buried) had made the resolution to get up earlier (and do this and do that and walk the dog...) as she admitted to us all that she GETS UP AT 9:00!! (OMG!!1!) and is in the office for 10:00!!! And she's the head cheese! While Meg's a woman after my own heart in not being a morning person and also being on her side of "that's a soft '9:00', right?", I am with Susan's face on this one. Did I mention she also lives 5 seconds from work?

Truly, girlfriend really has no shame. I will LOVE to see how this plan panned out come December 31, 2007.

Just a cool shot I thought. I think Jer and Peace Corps guy were the only ones drinking this 40+ year old lighter fluid.

Another shot I liked.  My friends' tables are always elegant. I could take a few notes from these people. Maybe first step: get a dining room table.  No wait, first step GET A DINING ROOM.

Susan horrified YET AGAIN as I believe Jer (attendees correct me if I am wrong here) just used the word "twat". Oh yes, that word was uttered at this fancy table. If memory serves, it was in reference to hoping the Brits and Co. not showing said business by doing the world a favor and buying some damn underwear already. (Who was it that said, "Seriously, how old are you? 'Twat'??")

No seriously, with the group, it isn't offically considered a party until something spills, breaks or both. And don't let Jess' look of intensity fool you, on the inside Mrs. Donna f'n Reed here is giddy to be showing off her Dyson's magical powers.  Man, all she's missing here is a strand of pearls and a martini in her free hand for her husband who's surely to be arriving home from work any minute now!

"Tick Tock, Stubborn Clock"... Yep, that's our parting gift right there. Besides being a generous, thoughtful bonus for the night, I love the fact that there's actually a band out there called Say Hi to Your Mom. The song's not bad either.

Well, that about wraps the night up. 

Here's to hoping 2007 kicks a little ass for y'all.

Merry Christmas!

From the So We Know We Can Dance Super Duper All Star Dance Troupe

Steve is just beside himself around this level of talent.

Coming in on the line "WE ARE STRONG!" in Pat Benetar's "Love is a Battlefield".

Tho who had 2:24 when dancing on the chairs would commence?

"And winners do whatever they want."

Note Susan (far left) has a glass of wine in 97% of these photos.  For this I am happy to have a merlot colored rug. ("More of a burgandy actually."-- Jess) ("I'm not exactly JV, Jen...nothing spilled on your stupid rug."--Suz) ("P.S. Why does it look like I am groping Julie?"--Suz)

Jer states he "may be blinded for life."

Could not tell you whut or whut for.

Ah yes, "Spirit Fingers"! It has officially been branged!

I love this picture more than the earth and the moon and the stars, etc. for Susan's (far left) expression never fails to crack me up to the point of incontinence worries each and every time I see it. The embodiment of Party Girl Rock Star Who Knows How to Handle Her Wine.

As Jess wipes out ("Hi - how are ya? Maybe that backward tuck was not such a good idea."), Julie continues about her business belting out lyrics to "Freedom '90" or "Your Love" or some such, Suz's love of football finds an interesting time to present itself all, "AND IT'S GOOOOD! WHOOT! WHOOT!" and I just stand there clapping like a moron  simpleton good friend.

Maybe we need have to have a little chat about our "communication skills" as let it be known when I said "let's dance to Christina Aguliera's 'Dirty'" I did not mean, "hey, let's dislocate and reset my shoulder and make it look sexy".

Not the greatest picture quality-wise but my form/expression reminded me of someone/something and it was killing me that I couldn't think of who/what it was...and then it hit me.

I look like Steve Martin doing King Tut: