Party on, Garth

It seems like every Monday I rattle on about how busy the weekend was, but I seriously think the Hula-gen's broke a personal record this past weekend for how much we can squeeze into one weekend.  A record for the post college years anyway.  And when I woke up yesterday morning, it felt a little like college.  I think it was the dry mouth, which was probably due more to talking than it was alcohol, although I will say I found a keeper of a sangria recipe.  Thank you, Bobby Flay.  We have now determined that the maximum number of parties we can host at our house in one week is three.  We managed three, counting Hubby's regular poker get together.  A great time was had by all, and I wouldn't have changed a thing, but I definitely think four parties would have put us over the edge.  It would have at least decimated our paper plate supply I stockpiled last winter.  Thank you, Kroger clearance aisle.   

As soon as I left work Friday, I ran home and set up the man cave for a mini reunion with a few of my old elementary school buddies.  There was also a grocery store/ bakery/liquor store run squeezed in there prior to the party.  As a side note, did you know they'll carry your purchases to the car for you at the liquor store if you buy enough?  Who knew.  My school buddies arrived precisely on time, and we spent about five hours yakking and laughing and talking about old times.  They stayed so long, one of them got texts from his teenager wanting to know when mom and dad were coming home.  I love how our kids always assume we never have a social life that doesn't revolve around their activities.  It was a great visit, and I can't tell you how much I enjoyed reconnecting with old friends like that.  And we haven't changed at all, except for a couple of gray hairs here or there.  And weaker eyes.  Good times.

Before I went to bed, I made banana pudding and sangria for the next day, and Saturday morning we loaded up and headed 45 minutes north to our family reunion.  It was a good time with family.  And ham.  A lot of ham.  And dumplin's.  And desserts.  We raced back home, set up our patio furniture as we had disassembled the patio the day before when the concrete man suddenly called after weeks of phone tag and said he was coming to stain the concrete.  Thank you, concrete man.  Then my cousins came and swam and drank and ate and talked.  And talked.  And talked.  We had another great time.  By the time we finished cleaning up, it was late, so Hubby and I dropped into bed and arose in time to go to church yesterday morning.  Yesterday went like this:  Church, lunch, photo shoot, change clothes, set up for second photo shoot, second photo shoot, clean up mess, pop popcorn and plop down onto the couch.  Finally.  At 9:07pm.  It was a blur.  A good one, but a blur nonetheless.  Which brings us to today.

I'm so pooped I didn't even run at lunch.  Of course it was 92 degrees outside, so it didn't take much to kill my motivation to exercise, despite the fact that my body is begging to be purged of all the grease and fat and alcohol I had over the weekend.  Is it possible to feel puffy and dehydrated at the same time?  Of course, the swelling in my feet could be from standing on them so long this morning at the county fair.  I stopped by there to drop off a couple of photos for their arts and crafts competitions and was met with the line from hell and back.  I was right behind the valedictorian of crafts who literally brought the maximum number of entries for every category they had.  The line was as constipated as my Aunt Tilly.  I waited and waited while she filled out a card for every stinkin' item and then left her husband in that line with her stuff while she jumped to another line to clog it up with sewing items.  Her daughter was in a third line with her seasonal crafts.  I slowly watched my lunch hour and break times for the day slip away, and after the third time of taking a deep breath and counting to ten I figured I should just leave and come back.  Besides, the mean part of me was on the verge of screaming, "I've seen bible school kids make better candles than you!"  An hour and a half later, when I dropped back by there, she had just finished registering all her entries.   Let's hope she gets a blue ribbon for SOMETHING.  I, on the other hand, want a blue ribbon for waiting on her arse.  I suggested to the organizers that they consider a three items or less line or online registration for you see, I am the valedictorian of offering my personal opinion. 

Lots of water, a good night's sleep, a trip to the grocery store and a few loads of laundry should get me caught up, and then we'll be ready to go again.  Hubby said this morning that he thought this coming weekend might be a little slow compared to this last one.  I said that was okay.  That will give us a little time to catch up.  For the Fourth of July party we have planned.

Sixteen Candles

A long time ago in a far away land called delusional, the king and queen of the Hula-gen's promised a certain young princess that she could have a big blow out for her sixteenth birthday if she made good grades, stayed out of trouble and quit asking for a birthday party every year. She did, so they did. Celebrate that is. With a bunch of teenagers. And while the king and queen were a little nervous about wild behavior and party crashing by outside villagers, their worries were for naught. The party goers were just a bunch of jesters who had a fabulous time, and aside from a little cake throwing and a few wild hip moves, caused no problems for all of the extra chaperons on hand. No one got hurt. Nothing was damaged, and the king and queen got everything wrapped up and made it home and in bed by 1am. The end. And now the queen is scheduling a massage. And counseling to adjust to the fact that her baby, who was just two last week, is now sixteen.

As Scarlett says, "I'll think about that tomorrah," and show you pictures of the party instead. Here are Chris and Seth, the deejays.

Everybody say hi to Chris and Seth. Chris gives Teen Angel guitar lessons.

There was plenty of dancing. Of course there was the cha-cha. Criss cross!
And a conga line.
Hey, that reminds me of the time we were on a cruise and.... um, never mind.

They even did a little Cotton Eyed Joe. Hula, quit playing with the shutter speed!You know how's there one person who always lights up the dance floor? Meet C. I love this boy. Don't let the Hot Topic garb fool you into thinking he's some kind of disturbed goth youth. He had great manners, offered to help set up and even went to the trouble to RSVP before the party.

Dancing always leads to shoes getting kicked off. The blue and pink Crocs came to the party on the same body. I am officially an old fart because I missed that trend. Speaking of farts, don't even ask about this gift. You don't want to know. Oh, you want to know about the hat? Teen Angel's BFF bought her one as a birthday gift after T.A. bought BFF one for Christmas. Odd hats kept popping up all night. How much food can teenagers eat? As much as you can serve. I wonder what we'll think when we look back at this picture twenty years from now? One of the highlights of the night for T.A. was unveiling this. While recently revisiting the land of delusional Queen Hula agreed to let T.A. drive Hula's little red coupe when T.A. gets her license. Hula drives a company car, so she rarely drives the little red car, although she hearts the little red car lots and lots and lots. We were NOT buying T.A. a new car but agreed to dress this one up a little. The king of the Hula's took T.A. shopping for new chrome wheels last week. It was kind of a father/daughter bonding thing. He had the car detailed and helped her design a special decal in memory of her cousin.And was she pleased? Of course.Oh, I'm so not ready for her to be behind the wheel. Maybe I need a facial too.

Elfing Around

I have been accused of being somewhat of a Grinch when it comes to Christmas. That is completely untrue. I like Christmas. Really. I pinkie swear. Even if I may grumble about the overspending. And the crowds. And the materialism. And the heartburn. And the party/potluck circus. I don’t know where folks got the impression I don’t like Christmas. Unless it was the fact that I didn’t put up a Christmas tree year before last. Or that the 2006 tree was a skinny prelit number I propped up in a corner right before the big day and spent about fifteen minutes decorating. Or that I quit putting up our outdoor lights. Or that I spent a total of about three hours shopping for presents last year. Come on, guys. Just because a gal doesn’t wear jingle bell earrings and a Santa sweater from Thanksgiving until December 25th doesn’t mean she doesn’t like Christmas. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not a yuletide junkie, but I have Christmas spirit. It’s just shy. It doesn’t like to come out of hibernation until around December 20th.

I haven’t always been this way. I used to get really revved up this time of year. I think the death of my nephew in 2000 took the wind out of my ho, ho, ho. He used to spend Christmas eve and Christmas morning at our house, and his absence looms large this time of year. Also, all of our extra obligations during the season started to spin out of control. We could hardly keep up. I felt like a train had mowed me down by the time the holidays were over. Two years ago I started to push back. I didn’t have any choice. It was either that or collapse because in 2005 Papa T. had eye surgery in late November and required a lot of after care. In 2006 we were in the midst of a remodeling project and spent the weeks before Christmas sleeping on a mattress on our dressing room floor. I went into self preservation mode, started saying no and caught a lot of grief over it. Finally, I’m ready to dip my toe in the yuletide waters again and am wading in slowly. Even though I would gladly settle on just a Christmas eve church service, dinner with family and no gifts, I will jingle my bells a little bit this year.

I put up a tree on the day after Thanksgiving. The big one, not the skinny one Teen Angel called a weed. I put a few decorations around the house, and I’ve stirred up a bread starter I will use to make bread for the neighbors. I loaded Christmas music into my iPod last weekend, and I have purchased three gifts. My first holiday party is tonight. And just to show that I’m not a Scrooge, here’s a little gift for you. Thanks to the good folks at Office Max, you can hit this link and watch me shake my booty in an elf suit. When it’s over you can paste your own face in it. Ha! There you go. Merry Christmas, dang it. Ho, ho, ho and jingle all the way. Now, go Elf Yourself while I cook some cocktail wieners for party #1.