Wednesday, December 31, 2003
Parties Past and Present
Just a short post today. I'll pick up tomorrow evening. But there is much to do. I'm getting ready for our second annual Brunch with Booze party.
Kids put a crimp into the New Year's Eve drinking bacchanalia. Babysitters are scarce and pricey. Grandparents have their own gigs. So, we're at home thinking about parties past. Like the time we went to Times Square on the unusually warm night to watch the ball and then to McGovern's with a gang of guys from Cleveland. There were several six hours drinking fests at the Dublin House. The time we went to see the Macio Parker concert.
This year we'll be home preparing muffin batter and an Apple Brown Betty. Setting the table with bright plates and bowls from the 50s. Cleaning out the green pitcher for mimosas.
It's all so mature. So very Martha Stewart. (So very Martha before the nasty insider trading case and the bloated face from bingeing on Mallowmars and Ring Dings out of despair and regret. The nice Martha.)
The plan is to completely ignore our kids as they trash the bedroom and form little mean cliques. (Boys only! No babies allowed!) We'll listen to the Stones and drink champagne and orange juice and pretend that we are the same people that we were before the little savages arrived.
Just a short post today. I'll pick up tomorrow evening. But there is much to do. I'm getting ready for our second annual Brunch with Booze party.
Kids put a crimp into the New Year's Eve drinking bacchanalia. Babysitters are scarce and pricey. Grandparents have their own gigs. So, we're at home thinking about parties past. Like the time we went to Times Square on the unusually warm night to watch the ball and then to McGovern's with a gang of guys from Cleveland. There were several six hours drinking fests at the Dublin House. The time we went to see the Macio Parker concert.
This year we'll be home preparing muffin batter and an Apple Brown Betty. Setting the table with bright plates and bowls from the 50s. Cleaning out the green pitcher for mimosas.
It's all so mature. So very Martha Stewart. (So very Martha before the nasty insider trading case and the bloated face from bingeing on Mallowmars and Ring Dings out of despair and regret. The nice Martha.)
The plan is to completely ignore our kids as they trash the bedroom and form little mean cliques. (Boys only! No babies allowed!) We'll listen to the Stones and drink champagne and orange juice and pretend that we are the same people that we were before the little savages arrived.
