Archive for the 'holidays' Category

We’re still trying to lick those shoes clean…the balls, not so much

Considering at least one random couple usually has raucously audible sex in the upstairs bathroom at some point during our holiday party, and the fact that there was no evidence of such activity having taken place this year, I’d say our holiday party this past Saturday was quite tame in comparison to years past. Which is to say that maybe all of our guests are just that much wiser and more mature. Which is to REALLY say they’re probably sneaking down to one of the four downstairs bedrooms for more discrete tomfoolery. (Which is probably for the best given the fecal atrocities that are perpetrated against the porcelain in that bathroom, what with four men in the house.) I just don’t want to know which room.

I’m also happy to report that the three solid days of baking leading up to the party went off with but one minor catastrophe. The Brit discovered, rather suddenly and inconveniently, that one of our oven mits is more than sufficiently worn down in all the important places. (Like where your fingers go.) So he had just enough time to take the honey caramel tart with apricots out of the oven before the synaptic signals made it from his exposed fingertips up to his grey matter and told him to drop the molten hot dish all over his shoes. This made for a few blisters and some rather delicious Skechers. I constructed a second honey caramel tart which landed better.

Lastly, it can’t conceivably go without documenting that this year, several of our friends took our suggestion to don their “Christmas Best” to mean that they should wear “Cliff Huxtable’s Christmas Finest”:

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Charmingly enough, this meant there were Christmas balls on more than just our tree…

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Without luck, though, they’ll get my ass, his acne, and a narcissistic need to write about their life in a public forum

Monday morning I was awakened from my residual post-tryptophan stupor by a racket that I could only assume was what a root canal would sound like on a really bad acid trip. Turned out our landlord decided to bring in a gaggle of workers to tear apart the balcony and rebuild it. A post-holiday gesture which screamed, no, DRILLED AND HAMMERED, “Back to the grind, dear tenants!!”

This after a late night arrival back into SF on Sunday night, and a 5 AM trip BACK to the airport Monday morning to drop The Brit off for a business trip to Chicago. I can only assume that somewhere in that 6-hour interim period (while I was diligently studying the back of my eyelids), The Brit somehow managed to unpack, do a load of laundry, and re-pack. Because if not, The Brit’s work colleagues are probably right this second trying their best to overlook the current state of his dress shirts which surely have a little caked-on mashed potato and gravy…carnage from a Thanksgiving holiday dinner that mostly made it into The Brit’s cakehole.

And oh, what a glorious holiday it was! Boston was many things…among them: Great! Fun! Pretty! And let’s not forget: WICKED COLD! Yes, ‘twas indeed quite frigid! But the risk of flash-freezing my mucous membranes every time I stepped outdoors was well worth the treat of finally having my family meet The Brit’s. (Though a few heat lamps, preferably along the entire length of the Freedom Trail, wouldn’t have hurt…Mayor of Boston, get ON that, eh?) It’s not too often that both of our families are on the same side of the pond, much less in the very same city, MUCH LESS in one of the very cities that is so deeply steeped in our country’s historic separation from…errr…Britain. So, it was…special, to say the least!

Yes, there was much fine dining…and much fine drinking…probably in some of the very same places that our forefathers dined and drank. (And when I say “our” I mean any of “you” that fit into that category, because there certainly wasn’t anyone in our group who ever had a forefather in the New England area.1) Between several dinners out and many visits to cafés and a walking tour there and a shopping expedition here, Mamacusa and Lulu had plenty of time to get acquainted. And I have to say everything went swimmingly…not that I expected anyone to bust out their nunchucks or anything, but still! It went fantastically! So, yay for that. And, of course, Mamacusa got to tell all of her 3 decade old jokes about my ass (her favorite one being the one about how she didn’t need an episiotomy to get my head and shoulders out but BOY DID SHE NEED IT WHEN SHE HAD TO PUSH MY ASS OUT…HA HA HA) and I got to smile politely and pretend that I thought it was funny for the gazillionth time. And, of course, Lulu got to share stories about her son. And, bless her, she came armed with pictures!

Exhibit A:

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Is that not the cutest 7 month old chubbers you ever did see? Yep…he was a good eater, that one. To be fair, though, so was I…

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With any luck, our future children will get his dimples, my hair, and his easy going temperament.

1. Considering our group of people consisted of mostly British, a few Cubans, one Gibraltarian (The Brit’s Uncle) and one Vizsla (my brother’s new adorable puppy). Only one of our group members insisted on chewing on everything in sight…let it be known that’s the last time we invite the Gibraltarian anywhere!


Hark!

The madness featured here is mine and mine alone. It does not, in any way, reflect the madness of my employers, colleagues, patients, nutty family, or my colorful friends. The privacy of my employers, colleagues, patients, nutty family and colorful friends is sacred & deeply respected, so no names. All words Copyright © la cubana gringa, no method, just madness 2006-2010. All comments © their authors. Don't steal; it's not nice. (And my Grandfather knows people.)

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