The party last night went off smashingly. The Boy and Wikus looked like stoned zombies by the end of the night, but I read that as a good thing. I was pleasantly buzzing on many mimosas and a bloody mary (with bacon vodka, also known as "Fetus in a Bottle"). There was so much tasty food. Unbelievably tasty food. I love my friends, and I love my boy, and I'm so glad that everyone came out to play with us.
There were only two accidents during the evening. The first was when I was hugging my friend goodbye, and she accidentally bumped my hand with her ass (or at least that is how I remember the story, she may have her own opinion of how it happened), and I spilled my drink all over her back. There's a poorly taken picture of my trying to wipe the wetness off with my hand. I am obviously a fucking genius when tipsy. Hands are such great absorbent paper towels!
Then there was The Boy, quite smashed and aggressively hugging someone goodbye (probably an hour or so later), and with the flailing of his gleeful limbs, he knocked a wine glass of the table. That thing shattered like you wouldn't believe. There are probably pieces in the back office that we just haven't stepped on yet. The people closest to the accident all scrambled to clean it up, while I'm all blase about how we never drink wine so who cares about a broken glass. Guess I was missing the point of cleaning the floor. Oops. Another failure in logic was letting someone put the glass in a paper bag that was sitting on the floor. That was made clear at 2:30am, when one of the cats knocked over the bag to stomp in it, and made the glass smash in the tile floor all over again! Good times.
One of the highlights of the evening was feeding ET. You would not believe the pleasure one can derive from watching a tortoise (or a rabbit!) eat. It is exciting. Here's a wonderful action shot to prove my point:
If you need to know how big he is, his shanty is a (now-empty) 12-pack of Shiner. He is almost to snug in it. He has a hard time turning around without the box getting stuck to his shell. It is high time to build him a pen in the yard. Wikus feels we can accomplish this; I feel we'll need to call down my martial-arts guru, who also happens to love building things, from Dallas for some serious assistance (read: he does the hard stuff, I provide beers).
We missed the Orange Lover at the party. It is sad he couldn't make it through to the glory of The Boy's 40th. Here is a blurry picture of The Boy's arm with a bit of the Orange Lover on his wrist:
We miss you little guy.
As mentioned, we spent all of Saturday trying to find certain furniture bits to really make our new floors look as gorgeous as humanly possible, and we basically came home with not much. However, Saturday night, while perusing Craigslist, I find a goldmine. It's very unfortunate that I found it after spending all those hours in dusty, junky consignment stores. The Boy went there as soon as they opened on Sunday, and we now have a gorgeous red loveseat, a tall dinette table, and red stools (which we put at the counter, and put the black bar stools we found on Saturday at the dinette table). It totally completes the look, and once we clean up from the party, I'm sure we'll be very happy.
I am not cleaning tonight. I went to work, I felt that was enough. I will wash all those dishes tomorrow (yes, I refused to buy paper plates and plastic cups, because that is wrong and wasteful).
Seems that it wasn't just The Boy (and Wikus!) who was hung over this morning. Check out the Bear:
Check out that camera to the left of him. Do you think he was taking pictures of himself before he passed out?
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