Sorry for the belated holiday wishes, but I haven't had much computer access, and if I were to be completely honest, when I did, I just didn't feel like writing.
It was a psychotic tempest of a holiday for me, but what else could it be? At least it wasn't like the
Worst Christmas Ever - a post which I feel the unhealthy need to read every so often.
We have been in Houston since Christmas Eve and just came back tonight. No major family feuds or anything, but definitely some interesting turns of events, one of which I will blog about at a later date, and another of which was Jethro's mother springing upon us the news that she was going to have a complete hysterectomy the day before she did. The girls and I stayed in Houston after Christmas while Jethro went back to New Town to support us. He came back in on New Years Eve and we went to a party at a friend's house.
Now that was a bloggable event.
Our friends are great. They just bought a new house and they quite understandably wanted to throw a New Year's party. Jethro and I arrived around nine. The karaoke machine was just getting revved up and a drink of pomegranate champagne punch combined with some pseudophedrine was enough inducement for me to sing Angel of the Morning in a duet with some chick who's name I still don't know. I sang harmony.
I wish the other guests were as cool. Sadly, one of our friends from college, who was a last minute invite, decided to bring two of the most wretched humans on earth. They didn't know anyone, but had no problems asking where the beer and the refrigerator were (because they didn't like any of the food that was set out). They were already pretty drunk when they arrived (or high, or quite possibly just very very slow-witted). I don't know. I didn't care. I just wanted to not talk to them, but who gets buttonholed? Me. The wretched humans were a couple. And the female of the species kept me for 5 whole minutes of my precious life to tell me about a money-making scheme involving our friend sexually assaulting me, which would invite my husband to punch his lights out, which could net us some cash by betting on the outcome of the ensuing brawl. Maybe this made more sense in her head, because I couldn't see the point of organizing a betting event where the only thing we knew for sure was that I would have my boobs manhandled. I mean of all the variables, that was the only sure thing. This just strikes me as witheringly bad logic. But just so you know, this is why the poor stay poor. If anyone tries to tell you differently, punch them in the face for the backwards, incompetent, malcontent, communists that they are.
And just for the record, I was not in bad form that night. I wish I was thinner, as always, but hair was good, make-up was great, boobs were buoyant. I was feeling pretty hot until that very weird interlude.
But still in all, it was a fun night. There were tons of fireworks (which I don't actually like much), my friends' house was beautiful, and I got good and buzzed. So mostly a win.
I hope everyone else had a fantastic holiday. I'm sorry I didn't get around to the blogs, but I hope to make up for it by visiting more this year.