Renovation, restoration, no vacation.

I've got Alias: The Best of Seasons 1 through 5 churning on my Zune as I take a minor break from work duties to post this, and it's making me want to don a wig and start beating on people (in a stealthy manner, of course).


Who doesn't love dress-up, money in briefcases, and espionage mustaches? I mean, really?

I promise, I will return in a bit to discuss the disaster area that is my house, facebreaking, and other highlights of the past few days.

Right now, the unholy alliance of free lunch and Diet Barq's is a-callin'.

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Thirty and flirty and... oh, who am I kidding?

I swear, my main mission for the day was two-fold: get through work without killing anyone, and ending my evening watching 13 Going On 30, because, well, dammit, the day's here, and I owe it to myself. I also miss seeing La Garfleck on my tele on a regular basis, but that's neither here nor there.


Oh, come on. You know you miss them.

Alas, things didn't pan out exactly the way I had hoped. I did manage to complete my workday sans casualties, but I didn't have the time to watch La Garfleck "spectacularrrr" (imagine Uncle Jimbo from South Park during the episode when he went to Mexico with Ned to get illegal fireworks, and you've got it). Oh, well.

I did, however, manage to have a great dinner whilst sitting in a booth behind who had to be the strangest couple I have ever witnessed eating together (ever), and across from a booth occupied by what I could only conclude was a rehearsal for one of those "real-life" dining scenes on Laguna Beach.

It did get weird, however, when Mr. Pretentious (half of the Strangest Eating Team Ever power-couple) started to talk louder, thus drawing the attention of the LBers. This somehow encouraged him and he started what I guess was his style of flirting, which consisted of him getting even louder and having his two-person conversation heard by the whole restaurant, along with openly mocking the LB Rehearsal Girls. The two LBers (and the rest of the joint) grew increasingly uncomfortable, while I was just glad Ben and I were sitting behind the guy, so he couldn't really turn around and engage us in his general dickery.

Did I neglect to mention that when the Eating Team got up in the middle of their meal to burn one, it was only then that I noticed that Mr. Pretentious looked to be as tall as Danny Devito, and his female counterpart was a fucking Amazon? Sorry I forgot. But enough of my Birthday Dinner Theater.

So, this is thirty. Not much different from twenty-nine, except I referred to myself as thirty today, and the reality of those words coming out of my mouth somehow startled me. I'm not sure why.

As long as I keep getting carded for R-rated movies, however, I think I'm good.

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Tube tops and the Nativity.

And so, we conclude yet another Christmas Holiday with my family, complete with all the ensuing drama that comes with shopping like an idiot, encountering relatives and other people you don't see all year who routinely question your sexuality and/or your ability to produce viable grandchildren, and shoveling food into your face until you've gotten way past critical mass.

Makes me long for the days of yore when I had nothing to do but watch Alias DVDs and play online games.

APO members who play online poker together...

Or, I can watch them playing online games on the Alias DVDs. Whatever. My collection still lacks seasons 4 and 5, so I'm still S.O.L. anyway. Sigh.

Anyway, back to the holiday and the dreaded Holiday Party from Hell.

Every year, my next door neighbors throw this shindig. This family is originally from Canada, and moved down here permanently the same year we did. Coincidentally, the husband is the brother of the woman we bought our house from, who, not so coincidentally, is a classmate of my mother's from nursing school in the Philippines. Every time someone explains this scenario, I want to blurt out, "What does that make us? Absolutely nothing!"


Me, left, with my neighbor at this year's party.

Okay, I'm back.

So, I have traditionally hated going to this thing. Mostly, because their kids went to Florida State, and for every year during my college and grad school careers, I got nothing but shit from their kids about Florida, whether we beat them that year or not. During the ensuing years, I got less shit about going to Florida from the kids and more shit from the elders about whether or not I was happy with my job, and when I was going to give my parents grandchildren. This last one they spring alternately on my brother or me, whoever they happen to catch first.

This year, after my father pulled his infamous "disappear into the mist/back to our house to watch football" trick (that bugger is amazing; I don't know how he does it and stays under the radar), I sensed the interrogation would start soon after all the baby carrying and coddling that was going on. After just about having my fill of the holiday spirit, I bugged out of there graciously.

I would later find out that soon after my exit, they got to my brother, who was given the option of either getting together with some random girl there who I remember as annoying as shit when we were in high school together, or with the single mom in the tube top and jeans who brought her kid, who looked to be about twenty-two years old. The Old Sideshow politely declined both tantalizing offers.

Christ, we have to get better neighbors.

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