Thursday, August 28, 2008
Albuquerque, New Mexico: The Wedding (Part I)
people at a wedding: so i went to a wedding the other weekend. the wedding was in Albuquerque, which i kept misspelling with an extra E or U, sometimes an extra R. it just seems like that first U should be an E, no?
the bride: she was a good friend from high school named Christie, who was and still is a stunning doll who never seems to age. just love this girl. she’s all sugar.
Mo and me: given that Mo and i attended the same high school, he also knew Christie, so we made the trek to New Mexico together, leaving the dogs and house behind to take our first real vacation this year. (he looks great in a suit, huh?)
more high schoolers: Deo, Mo, Tim and Damien. all Class of ’94, middle-class, Valley-bred SOCES graduates taking advantage of the open bar.
and even more: me, Shannon, Ann and Raidis. all dolled up and trying not to melt under the New Mexican sun.
20 years and counting: my girl, Raidis, and i have known each other since the 6th grade. in 40 more years, we’ll be looking at nursing homes together, where we can sit in rocking chairs, talking about boys and our hip replacement surgeries.
the family: in total, nine CESers flew in for the wedding. top row from left: Suzanne, Mo, Tim, Christie, Deo, Damien, Ann, Shannon, me, Raidis. we’ve all stayed close through the years and still hang out regularly. people sometimes find it strange that i’ve remained tight with my high school friends, but i can’t imagine not staying close to those who endured puberty right alongside me. i plan to know these people for the rest of my life, and that gives me great comfort.
there was a groom, too: his name is Michael — great, great guy. sweet, smart med student and very deserving of our girl. he also has fantastic teeth that rival Christie’s own beautiful chompers. together, they make quite the colgate couple.
the surgical cut: the cake was tasteful and perfect like the rest of the wedding. it was also neato to see Christie’s family, whom i hadn’t seen since high school, and to meet her new friends, who asked for dirt on our gal, wondering what her nicknames were in school.
valedictorian: that was her nickname, because that’s what she was. she was also voted most likely to succeed. she attended Brown for undergrad, UCSF for medical school and now works as an ER doctor in Albuquerque. congratulations, Christie, you won!
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Spring Fling
nothing helps cheer a girl up faster than a fabulous party, especially one populated by her dearest friends who rally in her home and raise a glass to nothing in particular. i think i will make this an annual tradition from now on: The Purposeless Party. no gifts, costumes or holiday greetings required. just people standing around drinking, which is, for all intents and purposes, the essence of all parties are anyway.
of course this could never replace the self-indulgent birthday bonanza extravaganza i host for myself each june. that’s still on the calendar for this june, when i will be turning the inconsequential age of 31. expect no melodramatic chronicles or lamentations. i might even make the party all about my pup Juice, who also has her birthday in june. she will be turning the all-important age of 5.
but back to real-time... here are a few party pix.
even purposelesspanties parties need a name: Mo and i called our the Ides of March Flirt-Fest and Cocktail Giveaway. the flirty Care Bear panties appeared on the Evite, and inspired guests to be very “creative” when leaving their acceptance or declination response. great examples of this were juan’s “going commando!!” acceptance and dee’s philosophical musing “what if you have menses?”
stocked and artfully arranged: was the outdoor bar.
the welcoming committee: Juice on the lookout for people whose faces she can lick.
it was 9:30pm: Mo and i started to get nervous, all like “no one is coming. our party is a dud. cancel the strippers.” just kidding, there were no strippers, only clowns.
hijinks & hilarity: the clown’s name was Damien.
and the people came: and they drank and rejoiced and blew cigarette smoke at me and my camera.
always auditioning: my favorite coworker and token actor friend Phillip gives a headshot smile by the tree.
it got cold: so we hauled our asses inside.
c/o ’94: Ann, Raidis and Damien representing for our high school daze, as usual.
talk talks: Mo and Phillip debate the word “conversate.”
the alien hand? Frank’s hang loose might be the reincarnation of Dave’s alien hand, which was sadly not in attendance this time.
laugh laughs: Juice told the funniest joke to Raidis.
lick licks: then she planted a sloppy one on Ann, who had crumbs on her face.
kiss kisses: wendy the goddess, with her fiery plant halo, smooches juan the lucky bastard.
and you should have seen the orgy that followed. but those photos are not for public posting. just kidding! we only had clowns.
of course this could never replace the self-indulgent birthday bonanza extravaganza i host for myself each june. that’s still on the calendar for this june, when i will be turning the inconsequential age of 31. expect no melodramatic chronicles or lamentations. i might even make the party all about my pup Juice, who also has her birthday in june. she will be turning the all-important age of 5.
but back to real-time... here are a few party pix.
even purposeless
stocked and artfully arranged: was the outdoor bar.
the welcoming committee: Juice on the lookout for people whose faces she can lick.
it was 9:30pm: Mo and i started to get nervous, all like “no one is coming. our party is a dud. cancel the strippers.” just kidding, there were no strippers, only clowns.
hijinks & hilarity: the clown’s name was Damien.
and the people came: and they drank and rejoiced and blew cigarette smoke at me and my camera.
always auditioning: my favorite coworker and token actor friend Phillip gives a headshot smile by the tree.
it got cold: so we hauled our asses inside.
c/o ’94: Ann, Raidis and Damien representing for our high school daze, as usual.
talk talks: Mo and Phillip debate the word “conversate.”
the alien hand? Frank’s hang loose might be the reincarnation of Dave’s alien hand, which was sadly not in attendance this time.
laugh laughs: Juice told the funniest joke to Raidis.
lick licks: then she planted a sloppy one on Ann, who had crumbs on her face.
kiss kisses: wendy the goddess, with her fiery plant halo, smooches juan the lucky bastard.
and you should have seen the orgy that followed. but those photos are not for public posting. just kidding! we only had clowns.
Labels: parties
Monday, July 03, 2006
The Thirty Chronicles: The Celebration
well, the world didn't end. thirty arrived on june 26 and incorporated itself rather seamlessly. no great fireworks or traumas or parades. it came, sat down with me for a drink and recessed into the laugh lines around my mouth -- the only wrinkles i enjoy since they reflect happy smiles.
the happy smile was much displayed during my annual birthday party, which drew the usual crowd of suspects, commemorated in the photo essay that follows. thanks to those who showed and brought gifts and booze and warm wishes. i felt loved.
Dirty Thirty: that was the title of this year's bash, and my architect superstar boyfriend Mo drew a handy floor plan on the dry erase for newcomers.
balloons & booze: the party was largely confined to my backyard and stocked with libations. my drink of choice for the night was vodka and red bull.
happy smile: happy dirty thirty to me.
the view from above: my birthday wish was to quit smoking forever. the monday after my party i awoke with strep throat and haven't had a cigarette since.
revelers: dan, kate, nick and jason cheese it up for the camera.
my future bridesmaids: twas a momentous occasion as Dee and Raidis, my longtime girlfriends, met each other for the first time. i must have a thing for ethnic, dark-haired beauties.
more ethnic, dark-haired beauties: Lacey and Michelle
chin on palm: Chad indulges in fascinating conversation with Tim as Polly looks on.
sorta sepia: Juan and I indulge in our own fascinating conversation in the corner.
you are getting sleepy: Juice got baked like the rest of us.
strike a pose: in an effort to not take the standard smiley picture, Jayson and I make the standard non-smiley faces.
festive brights: Mo inflated every last balloon before stringing them above the yard. then he gave me a special edition box set of all 6 seasons of "Sex and the City." and he helped me clean the morning after the party. i returned the kindness by not taking a single picture of him the night of the party.
blame the booze: there was enough for leftovers.
ok, found one: Mo and Dan talking trash by the trash.
going quietly: what 30 looked like after a few drinks.
it could be food! juice eyes the prized fortune Zee pulled out of her fortune cookie.
coolest guy ever: Nick is tops.
Juice agrees: the furry baby enjoys some mid-party playtime.
shiny happy: Niaz, Michelle, Kevin and Willow
the medication must be working! alien hand dave left his alien hand at home this time.
inner photo: KT and Zee in the doorjamb.
comedy in the hammock: Casey, Raidis and Ann catching a laugh.
more revelers: still reveling.
dang, i got a lot of teeth: thirty's alright.
thanks to everyone who came.
the happy smile was much displayed during my annual birthday party, which drew the usual crowd of suspects, commemorated in the photo essay that follows. thanks to those who showed and brought gifts and booze and warm wishes. i felt loved.
Dirty Thirty: that was the title of this year's bash, and my architect superstar boyfriend Mo drew a handy floor plan on the dry erase for newcomers.
balloons & booze: the party was largely confined to my backyard and stocked with libations. my drink of choice for the night was vodka and red bull.
happy smile: happy dirty thirty to me.
the view from above: my birthday wish was to quit smoking forever. the monday after my party i awoke with strep throat and haven't had a cigarette since.
revelers: dan, kate, nick and jason cheese it up for the camera.
my future bridesmaids: twas a momentous occasion as Dee and Raidis, my longtime girlfriends, met each other for the first time. i must have a thing for ethnic, dark-haired beauties.
more ethnic, dark-haired beauties: Lacey and Michelle
chin on palm: Chad indulges in fascinating conversation with Tim as Polly looks on.
sorta sepia: Juan and I indulge in our own fascinating conversation in the corner.
you are getting sleepy: Juice got baked like the rest of us.
strike a pose: in an effort to not take the standard smiley picture, Jayson and I make the standard non-smiley faces.
festive brights: Mo inflated every last balloon before stringing them above the yard. then he gave me a special edition box set of all 6 seasons of "Sex and the City." and he helped me clean the morning after the party. i returned the kindness by not taking a single picture of him the night of the party.
blame the booze: there was enough for leftovers.
ok, found one: Mo and Dan talking trash by the trash.
going quietly: what 30 looked like after a few drinks.
it could be food! juice eyes the prized fortune Zee pulled out of her fortune cookie.
coolest guy ever: Nick is tops.
Juice agrees: the furry baby enjoys some mid-party playtime.
shiny happy: Niaz, Michelle, Kevin and Willow
the medication must be working! alien hand dave left his alien hand at home this time.
inner photo: KT and Zee in the doorjamb.
comedy in the hammock: Casey, Raidis and Ann catching a laugh.
more revelers: still reveling.
dang, i got a lot of teeth: thirty's alright.
thanks to everyone who came.
Labels: birthday, parties, thirty
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Party Photos, Part II
party people: still partying.
notice his double fisting: Alex and Abel went into the stable to fetch a pail of vodka. a minute later, i created this fable and, and, and -- ah, fuck it, i'm out of rhyme.
dave and his finger: i'm guessing he used it to tease that pompadour he was sporting the whole night. i believe someone at the party referred to it as "John Larroquette hair."
avi and his two fingers: peace is best achieved at 2 in the morning after a few screwdrivers.
another cute couple: Jason and Katie make cutesy poopsey for the camera.
if you haven't figured it out (you might be retarded): Momo and i reconciled soon after i posted the big, dramatic breakup entry. and nowadays, things are terrific.
bitches brawl: i put my money on juice.
yet another cute couple: zee and nick sitting in a hammick, with a love so sweet it might make you sick.
that finger again: oh where will it land and why was it up so high?
no one likes a quitter: which is precisely why i'm still smoking (socially). Ann, Raidis and Damien join me in my debauchery on the couch.
two beauts: Juice and Zee share a calm moment after the roughhousing.
two
stare at this picture: there's just something about it -- polly the anachronism in her bright dress, chad with his raised eyebrow as if he knows some special secret, and corey's beautiful face as the apex. just kinda weird, but i dig it.
still going: dave's finger seems to have lost much of its momentum as it races up his nose and into his brain.
honey, not right now: but definitely later.
i'll have what he's having: like a cherub, that face.
make it a double: or even a triple.
think she likes him? Raidis and Damien actually went to prom together when all of us were in high school. class of '94, represent!
ice cracks your teeth: but in this photo it's harmless.
pet the pompadour: Dave and his finger finally came to rest on the porch, where they remained at rest for a good hour while his gorgeous wife Corey was inside getting hit on by a twentysomething. when i asked Dave if i could bring him anything while he sat on the porch, his reply was, "it's all your fault."
limeye: you can hear the ocean if you put it up to your ear.
this could be his album cover: Jason kicks it in the hammock.
game over (with spooky juice eyes in the background): thanks for playing, Dave (and love you much, please don't kill me for this).
the money shot: speaks for itself.
Labels: parties
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Still Partying Like I Used To
i had a party over the weekend. just because i could. i won't allow one stinkin hangover to bury me and my youth, so i threw something together very last moment and the people came. and they consumed alcohol and socialized and stayed very late. one of them even threw up on my porch. with that, it felt like a proper party and i had a terrific time playing hostess. here are some visual souvenirs. this part I of II.
bow to your hostess: i said bow, bitches!
this is my good friend (and hairstylist), Stevie: here you see him demonstrating the effectiveness of the nicotine patch.
The Milla Times salutes one of its newest commentators, Wade: visit him and his blog at juniorbird.com.
the bitches i bow to: Ann and Raidis being their radiant selves. i am the missing filipino triplet in this shot.
mr. laca: Chad is rad, dood, with a killer musik collection.
friendly beaver trailer park: Tim and his 40 have the kind of fun that only a man and his 40 can have at a Saturday night sausage fest hosted by a girl he went to high school with.
ditto the above: but apply it to Damien and his 40.
the triumvirate: ditto, now with Deo and his 40 (at left). by night's end we had the following stats: one 40 finished; one almost finished and the last one (a quarter remaining) kicked over accidentally by the partygoer who upchucked on the porch.
blue cups: other alkie was a-flowin as well, mostly of the vodka variety.
make my funk the p-funk: Polly won the best-dressed award in her cute retro thing.
the best smile award: went to my old college buddy Abel, who now runs the ultracool Livity Outernational clothing line.
avatar: me and the Avi-ster, my old grad school buddy whom I TAed a class with. (leave a comment someday, whiggah.)
three-headed monster: high-school mainstays Ann, Raidis and Damien doing their collective impression of The Blob on my couch.
pour out a little liquor for your homies: high school hunks Momo, with his whiskey, Deo and Damien make a toast to the host(ess) -- me!
why are they wearing the same shirt? Momo satisfies his munchies with Cherry Garcia while Damien visits the happy place in his head.
the night's lone tragedy: Dave was trashed fratboy-style -- and it was totally endearing. really.
more photos forthcoming.
bow to your hostess: i said bow, bitches!
this is my good friend (and hairstylist), Stevie: here you see him demonstrating the effectiveness of the nicotine patch.
The Milla Times salutes one of its newest commentators, Wade: visit him and his blog at juniorbird.com.
the bitches i bow to: Ann and Raidis being their radiant selves. i am the missing filipino triplet in this shot.
mr. laca: Chad is rad, dood, with a killer musik collection.
friendly beaver trailer park: Tim and his 40 have the kind of fun that only a man and his 40 can have at a Saturday night sausage fest hosted by a girl he went to high school with.
ditto the above: but apply it to Damien and his 40.
the triumvirate: ditto, now with Deo and his 40 (at left). by night's end we had the following stats: one 40 finished; one almost finished and the last one (a quarter remaining) kicked over accidentally by the partygoer who upchucked on the porch.
blue cups: other alkie was a-flowin as well, mostly of the vodka variety.
make my funk the p-funk: Polly won the best-dressed award in her cute retro thing.
the best smile award: went to my old college buddy Abel, who now runs the ultracool Livity Outernational clothing line.
avatar: me and the Avi-ster, my old grad school buddy whom I TAed a class with. (leave a comment someday, whiggah.)
three-headed monster: high-school mainstays Ann, Raidis and Damien doing their collective impression of The Blob on my couch.
pour out a little liquor for your homies: high school hunks Momo, with his whiskey, Deo and Damien make a toast to the host(ess) -- me!
why are they wearing the same shirt? Momo satisfies his munchies with Cherry Garcia while Damien visits the happy place in his head.
the night's lone tragedy: Dave was trashed fratboy-style -- and it was totally endearing. really.
more photos forthcoming.
Labels: parties
Monday, October 10, 2005
I Can't Party Like I Used To
years ago, i received one of those "You Know You're Old When..." e-mails, and one of the criteria that ages you was when the words "i can't party like i used to" replace "man, i think i drank too much last night." another criterion was when you realize you prefer VH1 over MTV. check and check.
my body hated me on sunday, especially my head, which was gripped by a killer headache. i didn't mean to drown it in so much red wine the prior night. i want to say that i never poured myself a single drink and that my glass miraculously refreshed itself the whole night through, but i doubt that's true. i also want to say that i never bummed the cigarettes that compounded my hangover the next day, that they magically flew into my mouth and lit themselves and the only way i could wrestle free was by smoking them down to their butts, but that's probably not true either. the truth is: it was my evil twin sister. yeah, it was that bitch. i can't take her anywhere. man, i should be able to do better than that.
ah, fuck it. i got smashed saturday night -- me. i did some party hopping. ended up at juan's fabulous fete downtown. he had a pinata. he also had a bunch of beautiful people there, most of whom i didn't know. i did get to know his stash of red wine very well, however. we got to know each other so well that it spilled itself all over my crisp white shirt, which i promptly removed -- very clever ploy, that sneaky bottle. then i began dancing around like an idiot in the black tank top i had on underneath. i think i started quite the flirtation with a sexy asian girl on the dance floor who was dressed like a pirate in black capris and a striped shirt. i asked her if i messed up my party dates and it was really halloween (i'm smooth, ain't i?). she said no, that she had come from a theme party and that no one else was in costume so why would it be halloween? i countered with the brilliant: "i like your tattoo."
the straight women in the world can be thankful i wasn't born a straight man. i would be the 40-year-old virgin with absolutely no game. the one who would assault them with trite lines. and with my luck i'd probably also be born with sweaty palms. talking to women is as complicated as performing brain surgery -- one misstep causes paralysis. talking to men, however, is as simple as window shopping, where there's always that option to buy.
i had made my purchase earlier, so i shuffled across the living room dance floor toward my mystery date and away from the sultry pirate. i figure by then she had grown sick of my insistence that i should be the one wearing her rhinestone-encrusted eye patch. yep, i'm nothing if not smooth. mystery date shakes his head at me and sips his whiskey on the rocks. through my blurry vision he looks a lot like Momo. he drives me home, throws some covers over me and lets himself out. i think it was close to 4am. i awaken the next day with killer headache and raccoon eyes.
sunday held a day of suffering. no amount of water or B vitamins or juice suspended the grossness entirely. and the litany of other quick fixes i found when i googled "hangover cure" were too much for my bloodshot eyes to focus on. so i spent the day mostly bed bound, in my baby blue jammies, eating spinach soup and watching the second season of Ali G on DVD. i can't party like i used to.
respek.
my body hated me on sunday, especially my head, which was gripped by a killer headache. i didn't mean to drown it in so much red wine the prior night. i want to say that i never poured myself a single drink and that my glass miraculously refreshed itself the whole night through, but i doubt that's true. i also want to say that i never bummed the cigarettes that compounded my hangover the next day, that they magically flew into my mouth and lit themselves and the only way i could wrestle free was by smoking them down to their butts, but that's probably not true either. the truth is: it was my evil twin sister. yeah, it was that bitch. i can't take her anywhere. man, i should be able to do better than that.
ah, fuck it. i got smashed saturday night -- me. i did some party hopping. ended up at juan's fabulous fete downtown. he had a pinata. he also had a bunch of beautiful people there, most of whom i didn't know. i did get to know his stash of red wine very well, however. we got to know each other so well that it spilled itself all over my crisp white shirt, which i promptly removed -- very clever ploy, that sneaky bottle. then i began dancing around like an idiot in the black tank top i had on underneath. i think i started quite the flirtation with a sexy asian girl on the dance floor who was dressed like a pirate in black capris and a striped shirt. i asked her if i messed up my party dates and it was really halloween (i'm smooth, ain't i?). she said no, that she had come from a theme party and that no one else was in costume so why would it be halloween? i countered with the brilliant: "i like your tattoo."
the straight women in the world can be thankful i wasn't born a straight man. i would be the 40-year-old virgin with absolutely no game. the one who would assault them with trite lines. and with my luck i'd probably also be born with sweaty palms. talking to women is as complicated as performing brain surgery -- one misstep causes paralysis. talking to men, however, is as simple as window shopping, where there's always that option to buy.
i had made my purchase earlier, so i shuffled across the living room dance floor toward my mystery date and away from the sultry pirate. i figure by then she had grown sick of my insistence that i should be the one wearing her rhinestone-encrusted eye patch. yep, i'm nothing if not smooth. mystery date shakes his head at me and sips his whiskey on the rocks. through my blurry vision he looks a lot like Momo. he drives me home, throws some covers over me and lets himself out. i think it was close to 4am. i awaken the next day with killer headache and raccoon eyes.
sunday held a day of suffering. no amount of water or B vitamins or juice suspended the grossness entirely. and the litany of other quick fixes i found when i googled "hangover cure" were too much for my bloodshot eyes to focus on. so i spent the day mostly bed bound, in my baby blue jammies, eating spinach soup and watching the second season of Ali G on DVD. i can't party like i used to.
respek.
Labels: parties
Thursday, July 08, 2004
My 28th Birthday Party
choose your booze: the bar was fully stocked and provided many alcoholic leftovers.
'it's my party': and i'll get as drunk as i want to.
the dynamic duo: Zee and Nick
lip service: Raidis puckers up porno style.
yogaman unveiled: Me with my (ahem) new boyfriend Justin.
dig my yard! Saba, Chris, Raidis, Justin.
ex's can get along: Juancho with his soon-to-be ex-wife Kiana.
the girl at the end of the alphabet: Zee and her beautiful bedroom eyes.
the furry chaperone: Juice had a good time, too.
hey, ladies: Chris is single.
whereas... Justin is not (and neither am I).
she calls me 'chinadoll': thanks for the wine glasses, Alsy.
my fellow M.A.s in journalism: Melissa (aka Gonzo) and Grace.
dig my living room! we move the ruckus indoors.
few are funnier: than Stevie (pictured with me) after a few cocktails.
fedoras and coronas: Nick parties in style.
burnt by the sun: Kiana's been incredibly tan lately.
my cream dream: ain't he cute?
the coolest gift ever: thanks to Garron for the Aztec thingy here.
