The whole weekend was one big party

This weekend we celebrated our birthday and Mike's and my first anniversary. On Friday my sister and Mike and my friends threw me an amazing (and surprising) surprise party. It was great. My friend Johnny made cookies and Ali made queso and Mike made burgers and chicken tacos and somebody made margaritas and boozy Arnold Palmers (Firefly and lemonade) and it was magical. There was even a theme. We all really love the song Electric Feel by a band called MGMT. The music video is amazing and psychadelic. Your basic hip young sexy people partying in the jungle, with an appearance by the Country Bears, and then the band rides bikes to the moon. You get the idea. So they decorated our house to look like the video and everybody dressed up like the people in the video and it was really perfect and great. These people know how to throw a party. I wish I had pictures to show you, but alas I am one of those people who complains about never having pictures of anything and always forgetting the camera or feeling awkward making that squinty I'm-taking-a-snapshot face. You know the face.

Then on Saturday we went with my family and Mike's parents to The Melting Pot, and I'll tell you right now that the only way to improve your very own electric surprise party is to follow it up with a trip to The Melting Pot. I don't know what they do to those little hunks of teriyaki sirloin or those brownie bits, but you should prepare yourself for the day that I find out, because there will be rejoicing throughout the land. Man was that dinner good. I hope for your sake that you have been to a Melting Pot, unless you happen to be someone who's terribly practical and has a problem spending a week's worth of your salary just to cook your own dinner. In which case, I'm sorry, but I don't think it's going to work out between us.

In closing, I am happier every day that I get to be married to my best friend and my favorite person and I hope we have 700 more years together.

I love you but those bread cubes are mine, heifer.

It's my birthday today! It's also my sister's birthday, on account of we're twins. But whether we're identical or fraternal is still up in the air, because apparently in 1986 the most reliable way to tell was some type of scale that ran from 0 to 20, and all they could tell our parents is that Emily and I scored an 11. It's a fool-proof scientific measurement they've worked up, isn't it?

Anyway. There is a picture of us from last summer. You can decide for yourself whether we are identical or fraternal. Just, you know, be sure to go about it scientifically.

And happy birthday to my beautiful hilarious sister! Whom I will see on Saturday for the most dramatic episode of Birthday Dinner ever. Cause we're goin to the Melting Pot, and those fondue forks are very stabby.

I had a crabcake at dinner that almost changed my view of the outdoors. The underwater outdoors, anyway.

Saturday, my best friend from middle and high school, Lauren, got married. She can make me laugh like no one else can, and I love her slap to pieces. She and her husband Jon are adorable, hilarious, caring people. Totally MFEO. Lauren works in a bakery, and I can tell you that paid off in spades for her wedding. Not only were the cakes delicious, but Lauren had a hand in making them! The groom's cake was an edible recreation of their engagement spot- some hikey mountain locale. These two are big into the outdoors. Biking, hiking, camping. They like to commune with nature. In this way we could not be more different. Mike can make peace with the outdoors, but since meeting me he's grown tired of the beauty of the land, as it pales in comparison to me. That, or he knows how miserable the outdoors will make me, and in turn how miserable I will make him, so he knows to steer clear. I get itchy, frizzy, and paranoid when I am out of doors. But not Lauren and Jon. They get engaged.

The wedding was sweet and perfect. All the bridesmaids cried like babies when we saw her coming down the aisle. It was over fast, like all weddings are, and then we went into town to have dinner with some friends. On the way out of the park where the wedding was held, our caravan made some poor driving decisions (pdd) that led us to a toll-booth-like road where two (live) giant geese flanked either side of the drive way. The first 2 cars made it through, but when it was our turn (my sister was driving, I was riding), the goose on the left chose to switch sides. We slowed and waited. He hesitated. We moved forward. He started walking. We stopped. He stopped. Jake, driving the car behind us, honked. The goose slowly ambled across to the other side. Finally we were able to get through, only to come to some strange dead-end. It was so frustrating, and we were highly put-out with the lead car for steering us wrong. Jake, who was in back, drove past us to instruct the front car how to get out. We rolled down our window to hear his instructions. And he said:

"That goose was really rude, by the way. F*** that bird. Let's go."

And we nearly died laughing. It's probably one of those stories where you had to have been there. Is it? Lord, it was funny to us.

Imagine how many people will offer to buy me some green beer when they see me wearing that!

This weekend Mike and I went to Charleston. He had a school thing for part of the time, and we decided to make it our anniversary trip so I could go along and we could shell out the big bucks for a nice hotel and round-the-clock hush puppies. Do you love hush puppies like I do? I love them about 4 pounds worth. As in, this weekend I gained 4 pounds. So. Probably you don't love them like that. And that's for the best. Because when they say to add more seafood to your diet, I get the feeling they mean salmon or tuna, not so much battered and fried cornmeal blobs slathered in butter and, judge me if you must, ketchup. But you just can't go to Charleston and not eat seafood, and you REALLY can't eat seafood and not have hush puppies. There've been many studies. You can't.

Regardless, we (me + the new 4lbs. on my belly) had a wonderful time. We got to spend some time with some friends who we never get to see anymore, and we also enjoyed the most juice-like wine you will ever find. It's called Red Cat, and if you cringe at the sting-y smell and painful burn of red wine like I do, this wine will make you cry tears of joy. Because nothing is less cool than having a wine night or going to a bar with friends and being the girl who 'just can't stand the taste of aclohol. I just can't.' Am I the only one? I feel like the only one. It's just all so burny. Plus it all gives me a headache, which really bums me out. So while my friends are all light on their feet and happy after a few glasses of wine, I become fairly hostile and incessantly ask everyone for some Advil. And if I've learned anything from my dad the paramedic, it's that you're not supposed to mix one glass of 13% alcohol by volume wine with 2 over the counter pain reducers. That's just gambling with your own life.

I also got a beautiful green sweater at J. Crew that, in an ironic hush-puppy related twiste of fate, I won't be able to wear for Saint Patrick's Day tomorrow unless I can somehow find a way to sleep and tread my mill at the same time. No? Not possible?

I guess I'll just wear this tomorrow.

I anticipate many garlic cheese trials in my life.

Last night we went to a surprise party to celebrate my uncle Gene's 50th birthday. Uncle Gene is my mama's baby brother, and I think he looks like a salt-and-pepper haired Kevin Kline. I've possibly heard him speak five or ten times in my whole life. Once when he was little, the family was celebrating my uncle Barry's birthday, and they all got to singing happy birthday, and even though nobody was singing to him, Uncle Gene was so embarrassed that he slinked under the table. He handled himself much better last night, probably thanks to his fabulous wife Kathy. She is truly an all-star, that Kathy, and I love her to bits. She makes up for Uncle Gene's terseness, but in the good way and not the way that makes you want to crawl under a table. One of the first times she ever met Mike, she had a lengthy discussion with him about vegitarians and how it's a personal choice but God made animals to be eaten and hell if she isn't going to take advantage of that.

The party was a lot of fun, despite a few hiccups. Aunt Kathy had the party at restaurant and everybody was supposed to get there at 6 and sit down so we could all be there to surprise Uncle Gene when they arrived. But we were late. Surprise! Didn't see that one coming, did you, Gene? Then, despite ample warning and advising from Aunt Kathy, the restaurant staff was ill prepared. I never counted, but I'd guess there were probably 40 of us. And without giving away too much information, I can tell you that it took far too long for the cheddar bay biscuits to show up, and when they did, the baskets were all one biscuit short, forcing a lot of that "we can share it" baloney. We can share it. It's a biscuit, not a math book. Get your own. We had to all but send up flares to get a refill, and then good luck getting the waitress not to pour tea into your empty Dr. Pepper glass. And there wasn't even a free birthday dessert! Lastly, and most troubling, my granny nearly choked herself to death. Thankfully she made a timely recovery, despite every attempt from the waitstaff to leave her with an empty glass in a time of crisis. Still, it was scary to watch. And a little frustrating. I love my granny like a madman, but for heaven's sake, WHY does she insist on shaking pepper all over everything? Of COURSE she's going to have a coughing fit at every meal. But it always seems to take her by surprise. ::hack hack:: I don't understand. ::cough, wheeze:: What could be the cause of this? ::eyes watering:: Can't identify a culprit! ::hoist another forkful of peppered food to mouth::

Oh Granny. There are plenty of times when I love her slap to pieces and it's all I can do not to melt because she's so cute, like when she buys me decorations for every single holiday or when she cracks up while watching one of those goofy prank shows. Ha ha! You thought the water was going to come out of that spout, but look where it's coming out instead! On your pants! Man she's cute. She really is, and she's a great granny. She just sometimes makes me a little crazy. Is this normal?

Also, if a heart for the elderly isn't my spiritual gift, I am wont to wonder if perhaps my talent falls more in the realm of eating a lot of biscuits. If I could just figure out how to use my abilities to glorify the Lord.

From: Erin

To the citizens of Aiken county: Your Senator looks like Clint Eastwood. Except he is much more concerned about your tax dollars than Dirty Harry will ever be.

To the rain: Please stop. I swear to you that it is actually raining UP right now. UP. How?

To Jeopardy winner last night: It was a real class act how you wagered just enough to tie the other guy so you could both come back. Even if that guy blew it.

To Friday: Can you get a move on, because I am about burned out.

Behold! My long-awaited, highly-anticipated, exciting and new, intriguing and delightful, insightful and... okay I can't think of anymore, return!

All right, I'll say it. It's been a sweet forever. But Christmas vacation wasn't over until last week, and then I had to catch up on everyone else's blogs. Which took a looong time. Thanks for being moderately to extremely dedicated to your blog and your readers, everyone. Way to make me feel like a heel. Oh well. What can I do but aim for better from now on.

I could tell you about our beach vacation, wherein I purchased many things on sale at J. Crew outlets and also a fire alarm forced us to stand outside in the cold just minutes after midnight on New Years. Or I could tell you about my aging Granny and our family theory on how growing old makes you not care if what you say is nasty or hurtful. I could talk about All The Football Games and Speculation About Football Games and Analysis of Football Games I've had to endure lately. I could tell you about how one of my best friends got a job in the building behind mine, or how my dad retired, or about these fabulous chairs I found on craigslist that I desperately want. But I'll tell you what's on my mind. It's the Twilight series. Somebody help me. I can't quit reading. I don't even like the writing that much. It's just sort of plain. And the dialogue is often forced and awkward and I spend a lot of time thinking enough with the paragraph-long descriptions of the weather and the scenery and the trees and the dang rain already, can we please have some more mediocre dialogue? I'm pretty sure the books could actually be about half the length without sacrificing any substance. Still I read, though. And I won't lie, I'm more than a little intrigued by the notion of becoming a vampire myself. I'm already alarmingly pale.

Ordinarily I tend to read children's and adolescent literature. It's always the first section I go to in a bookstore, the children's. They don't mess around, those authors. Lemony Snicket, Roald Dahl, Louis Sachar, Jerry Spinelli. The books are so quenchy. And they don't get all bogged down in page after page of 20-adjective descriptors of every single thing. Students are always taught to be descriptive and specific and give as many details as you can, and frankly I think that better advice is to be entertaining, for heaven's sake, and if you can do it in five words instead of five hundred (I'm talking to you, Mr. Grapes of Wrath. It's really dusty, we get it already!), then God bless you. I'm not too proud to admit I skim right over those lengthy description paragraphs to get to the talkin. Hear me, Stephanie Meyers? I did. I skipped RIGHT OVER all that nonsense about the rain or the truck or his perfect skin and trembly hands.

Tell me this does not make me a lazy old Philistine.