Ten Years Equals PARTY!

I had a fantastic time at our anniversary party on Saturday. It was exactly what I wanted and needed it to be.


So many old friends, so much food and most importantly, lots o' liquor.


I hope we can do this again in another ten years!


I didn't take nearly enough pictures.















This is how we started, but somehow ended up with 12 bottles by the next morning. I don't have to buy wine for a year!

















Travis being surly and pervy at the same time. I love him.





Kim and Jill. This was at the start of the party, and Jill's being silly. The most ironic part is that she actually ended up like that by the end of the night. See where she's sitting? That's where she was standing as she sacrificed all her liquor back to my porch.





























We had keg issues. Three taps later, we finally had our Heineken.





Jim is no doubt saying something VERY important









Obligatory drunk hostess shot

Huh?

I woke up at 3am this morning to find I had taken off my shirt in my sleep.

I guess I was hot.

"You know what I love about summer?"

That's what our insurance guy asked us when we ran into him in the grocery store parking lot last night.

Answer: "Chicks in tube tops."

Was he leaning in my car window when he said it? Yes.

Was I wearing a strapless dress with a tube top-like chestal area? Yes.

Was he staring directly at my breasts when he said it? Yes.

Did my husband say anything? No.

Did I? You betcha.

We did find out we get some cash back after we close on the house because we somehow overpayed our homeowner's insurance.

Tit for tat I suppose.

Gonna' make you sweat

Why do they have to play such awful music in the exercise classes I go to? It's like a gay nightclub circa 1992, except without all the sexy sweaty homosexuals to dance inappropriately with. (*For the record, I LOVE going to gay nightclubs any chance I get.*)
"Cool down" is even more embarrassing. We travel from The Manhole to a cheesy, lite rock cruise ship. Celine Dion is a screeching mess of a woman. I have no interest in stretching while she's singing. Retching, yes. Stretching, no.

And why did they have to hire "Hot Guy Painters, Inc." to paint the gym? Management could have at least sent out a mass email warning me that I'd be doing squats four inches from the window they were edging. The worst part? They didn't even look up from what they were doing. Dammit people! Throw a girl a bone.

I like exercising. It makes me feel better, sleep better and ultimately squelches any guilt I feel about the cupcake I ate after breakfast this morning.

For me, it's not really about health though. If it were, I would have given up cigarettes and french fries a long time ago. It's about vanity.

I'm chugging through my 30's here and after a couple of babies, the body starts to rebel a bit. I absolutely refuse to wear "Mom Jeans". High-waisted, peg-bottomed pants will never hang in my closet. I also refuse to willfully wear anything with words printed across the ass, but that was an executive decision passed down in high school. And no sweat pants. Thank the babyjesus for yoga pants (all the comfort, none of the humiliating elastic).

In order to still be able to shop for fun clothes and not cry in the dressing room, I work out. I have to. My genetic makeup demands it.

I suppose the gym may be onto something hiring these delicious young men to repaint the walls. Maybe it's subtle motivation.

I'm not sure what they're thinking with the music.

Got MILF?

We're on Day Two of our snowed-in extravaganza. I haven't lost it...yet.

Snow days do have their advantages. For one, I don't have to participate in life outside the warm confines of my house. School is canceled. I don't have a job but even if I did, I would have called in. Our snow shovel broke this morning while my husband was trying to make a path to get his car out.

Since I am not leaving the house, I do not have to look presentable to the outside world. Not that I care one way or the other what I look like at the grocery store or post office, but one never knows when one might run into an old friend or worse, an ex-boyfriend. I hate looking like shit when that happens. I can just picture what they're thinking: "Geez, she used to take much better care of herself before she succumbed to "mommy guilt" and quit her job. Sad. Very sad."

Well, fuck you and your small dick.

It's hard to get motivated to keep up on personal hygiene when I'm trying to keep two young children entertained all day. I can't even go to the bathroom by myself. That's not really an anomaly exclusive to snow days, but it just adds insult to injury in this case.

Last night, as my husband and I were brushing our teeth before bed, I took a long hard look in the mirror.

I had washed my hair that morning, but instead of brushing it into a manageable style, I let it dry naturally. My hair has a bit of a wild streak. Normally I can beat the curls into submission, but if left to its own whimsy, I look like I got a perm circa 1984. After a day of rolling around on the floor, playing with the kids and the dogs all day, my hair looked like that of a crazy homeless person.

In addition to my Mariah-Carey-on-crack-esque coif, my skin is depleted of any moisture whatsoever (forced air heat + old house + winter weather = very dry skin). This, in addition to PMS has caused a bit of a revolt in the skin department. "No problem," I thought, "I'll just use a bit of this handy-dandy face mask stuff I have for such an occasion."

My uniform all day pretty much consisted of what I had worn to bed the night before plus a ratty-looking but very comfortable sweater. Another reason staying in the house can be a treat is the fact that I don't have to put on a bra. Sometimes the girls need to breathe, ya know.

If you haven't been keeping score, let me recap:

My hair is caught in a time warp.
I have a smear of white face mask slapped haphazardly across my face.
PJ's from the night before, accented by a sweater that probably needs to be retired.
No bra (which would have been kinda' sexy about 6 years ago, read: pre-babies, but now not so much).

So, my husband and I are brushing our collective teeth at the bathroom sink and I stop and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, toothpaste foam forming a slow crawl down my chin....

"Jesus Christ, wouldya' look at me?"

(husband stops to gaze upon his lawfully wedded wife, most likely frantically trying to interpret my tone)


"Darling husband, I gotta' ask you, how on earth are you resisting all this hotness?"