A Smash

(Cameo, me and Brownguy in the Red Room)
As you know from my nonstop bitching, my digicam is busted. So, for illustration purposes, cheesy ClipArt and random Google images will be used in lieu of photos until I get a new camera. Much thanks to Code Red for providing three actual photos of last Sat.





(Hey, I like your dress. You're a good looking lady.)

For this year's Christmas party, we decked the house out with lighted garland and pine scented candles. Even Vito was fresh as a daisy having had a date with the dog groomer the day before. This was so partygoers wouldn't leave with last year's unwanted party favor of eau de Vito on their clothing. The pug, however, still attempted to brand several lady guests by sneaking up behind them and licking their calves.


Still, Sat night was mostly about good friends, special cookies and a crappy crantini mix. I've found a number of partially-smushed cranberries in the couch cushions, which is actually a refreshing change from our usual rancid finds.

In every room, a different scene went down. In the kitchen: My brother -- high on Fresca -- tormented Michelle D. who "confiscated" said Fresca. In the dining room: Partygoers gathered to gawk at the embarrassing 80s and early 90s photos I taped up of all of us, our puffy faces retaining Bass Ale. In the living room: Music. First, Liz banged out the entire Vince Guaraldi catalogue on the piano...



...then, T-Bag, who honored my request to have the only Christmas party with G-N-R covers, played one of his smashing acoustic sets. And that damn John Denver tune.





On the back deck: Half of the Weymouth North Class of '86 clustered around a rented patio heater that burned with such intensity we feared it might melt the Christmas keg. James, however, did not bask in the glow of the heat lamp, but his high school glory days. He refused to socialize with anyone who couldn't feel the pain of their tragic loss to Longmeadow in the state finals 20 years ago.


And when conversation grew tiresome, we danced. Most memorable: The Scissor Sisters ' delicious Bee Gees-esque groove "I Don't Feel Like Dancing" and Jonzun Crew's "Space Cowboy," which was almost perfectly timed with the Taylor's 1 a.m. arrival.






The next thing I knew, it was 3 a.m. I fell asleep in my dress with a contact high and a crantini buzz.

Good times, everyone. As always thanks for bringing the spirits and vibe. We'll have to have you all down again soon to help us polish off the surplus of Ketel One and vino.