Pass the Torch

(Mama!)

On a harried and unshowered afternoon about three years ago, Nicola and I were pushing double strollers around Castle Island in an incoherent trance, bonding over a traumatizing evening involving FeverAll suppositories and cracking up, tears rolling down cheeks, over imagined sound effects. Back at Nic's, we plied all four babies with Goldfish and blueberries and lamented the fact that we couldn't even finish an afternoon glass of Mother's Little Helper. It was a time when we were straddling the ridiculously thin line between sanity and postpartum craziness, self-proclaimed “poor little bastards” with Boudreau’s Butt Paste in our hair.


That's when Nic declared that one day we'll be beyond this, things will be easier. "We'll be showered, sitting on our arses, drinking wine, and it'll be someone else's turn." Indeed, the ceremonial suppository torch was passed after the Bags' family's 2006 night with toiletries from Brooks but this past weekend at Jen's cocktail baby shower, we realized that the day has dawned. Things have gotten easier. There we were in the South End: Showered, sitting on our arses, and drinking vino as we watched Jen open gift after gift of bewildering babyware, mistaking several items for puppets. (“Exactly how many puppets did your register for?”) Nic, Code Red and I sat back in cockeyed rebellion, running a commentary like these guys, fancying ourselves pass-out-on-the-roofdeck hilarious. We've come a long way but are still capable of regression when in the company of Jen, etal. As she opened up some receiving blankets, I recalled the evening we took a corkscrew to a bottle of balsamic vinegar, having mistaken it for pinot noir. Then we considered putting Ollie in the Baby Bjorn and heading to Beehive. What a fantastic night all around.

Still --even more evidence that the day has dawned – a Memorial Day cookout at Jess’s house, a true Babypalooza, with LPD, Jess and Auntie fostering chaos on a baby blanket. For us, it was the first year we didn't have to worry about the kids eating pine cones. They were actually able to help out and party with the beautiful wee ones and enjoy them as much as we did. This also maximized everyone's enjoyment of the yodeling pickle that Bags brought. I had to Google it the next day to make sure I hadn’t dreamt it. I didn’t. And it sounded just like this. Best of all, in the spirit of cooperation, all mamas and papas were able to sit on their arses, finish their wine and enjoy some (with apologies to LPD) fantastically plump, moist & juicy steamers. Thanks Jess & Joe!

Enjoy a crappy low-res slide show of a superior afternoon.

Make photo slide shows at www.OneTrueMedia.com

PARTY!

I'm still in recovery from last weekend's party. As usual, in trying to talk to everyone, I really didn’t talk to anyone, but I'm assuming everyone had as much fun as we did. It was impossible not to be stirred by the high spirits the come from having so many good people packed into a small space. Not to mention our dial-in special guest -- EPB -- from Brisbane. And I swore I was hallucinating when I saw Mikey Carter in my kitchen. Being so accustomed to drinking outdoors --at the Pines -- most of the Weymouth guys tend to spend the night on the back porch clustered around the heat lamp and keg.

Then there was the music: Random iTunes DJs manning the laptop. Liz playing the entire Vince Guaraldi catalog on the piano, Jim Melody stopping by to play his holiday hit “Christmas in Boston." And as it goes every year, one minute it's 10:30 p.m., the next minute you look at the clock and it's 2:30 a.m. and T-Bag and Norty are ripping it up with some GNR in an acoustic jam. (that gets better every year --thanks, guys).

So take a peep at some party pix in this obligatory CLR slideshow. A special thanks to Code Red for taking up the torch as the resident photog. I'm usually taking the photos so I'm rarely in them. Now, unfortunately, I'm in almost all of them --looking progressively rough as the night wears on -- even though I steered clear of the Abominable Snow Monster martinis. Good times, all!

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com

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.

40!!!???

While I had disturbing dreams of hostile, swooping birds and a crushing hangover the day after DT's *surprise* 40th birthday party, I was nevertheless inspired by the debauchery and impressive vocabulary words going on at the Elephant Walk. To me, it seems that everyone involved in DT's party was intoxicated with the 1998 vibe of the Warren Tavern and Beastie Boys dance parties at Jamie's apt on School Street. So I guess we're doing just fine. Simply put: DT made turning 40 look so good that I almost can't wait to turn 37. Happy Birthday!