Yesterday, I held my annual Easter Party – Hop, Bok, Chirp, Meow. I have two annual parties – Easter and Christmas. The rest of the parties happen organically. Because I am more than slightly OCD/ADD/neurotic, I start planning for my parties months in advance. By last week, I had the plastic eggs stuffed, the menu planned, and I had been over-messaging the guests on Facebook. My other party is a more sophisticated affair with good wine and I let people use the real china. Easter is all about the candy and the cheap champagne and the chaos. The beautiful, awesome chaos. And I am really really into Easter.
I love Easter for many reasons – it is Spring! Spring! Spring! (and yes, I am bouncing as I write this)! It is such a gift to have survived another winter in Seattle and see my plants start to thrive. Easter was my favorite holiday as a kid because my mom would make it into an adventure game. She would hide little clues in eggs written kind of Dr. Suessish and I would have to follow egg trails to find the clue to my next chocolate or stuffed bunny. It beat the crap out of Christmas. Most importantly, there is never any drama on Easter. No one’s weird uncle ever gets drunk at Easter dinner and tries to make you sit on his lap and starts yelling about sports. That NEVER happens at Easter. Thanksgiving OWNS that sport. Although I hear Groundhog’s Day is making a run for it. They got a Twitter account and flyers and stuff. I think they are in it to win it.
The party has evolved through the years. Now that we are getting older, people are bringing their kids and the tune is changing from pure Bacchanalia to a mix of kid and adult silliness, although I still crash out at 7 p.m. for an hour and I don’t think that is ever going to change. I put Ian in charge of the younger kids because he was the oldest that wasn’t legally an adult. (Look, Sean, I KNOW you want to sit at the kids’ table, but you are 40 years old. Stop picking your nose – that is gross.) That worked really well because he is a hard worker like his dad, Mark. If I ever go back to Burning Man, I am going with Mark because he can tear down a petting zoo in like 5 hours. Why would one need to tear down a petting zoo in 5 hours? That is next week’s blog post! Anyway, Ian rocked his job as Assistant Manager of People Under 18 and asked if he could use me as a reference.
This was important because there were people and dogs and cats and eggs and chaos all over the place, so someone needed to be in charge – don’t ever send a 40 year old to do an 11 year old’s job. I woke up this morning at 4 a.m. to start cleaning and found in no particular order:
- A lacrosse stick
- A hockey stick
- A jump rope
- Someone’s underwear
- Peeps in my bookcase
- A baby
- A Corgi
This is a diversion, but for some reason I was reading about ANOTHER class action FLSA law suit at Wal-Mart so I looked at their home page and they have the most foxy doctor on their home page. Remember how everyone fell in love with Kal Penn in Harold and Kumar when he was in the ER? Indian doctors have some kind of crazy hotness factor that I can’t even begin to understand. It is like they get an MD in yum.
Back to reality! Sorry about that, dear reader. A mind is a terrible thing to waste.
So the most important part of yesterday (besides seeing my friends and their kids and their honeys and their critters and my friends – mwuah mwuah mwuah (that is the sound of me kissing you)), was that The People got to meet The Boi. He will inevitably dump me now that I made him official, so I just have to roll with that and handle. I hang with Canadians, so I know they can help me if I get into a bind and get emotional. They will beat the crap out of me with hockey sticks until I man up. It usually takes about 45 seconds. Thanks, buddies! Eh!
The Boi (gushing like a fricking geyser ovah heah) is awesome. He wore the chicken hat and The Nose and played Hockey Bunny and taste tested the food and was just standing around being hot. Haute. Hawt. I don’t know how many more times one can describe his hauteness. Hotness. Hawtness. Oh. My. Yum. AND that isn’t to say I just like him for his body. I think he can spell and everything! And he helped Team RDI win the second round of trivia last week. And he is a fellow HR Guy, so he actually coaches me when I get out of line. I can’t wait to write him up for a serious violation of law, safety or policy. He makes me laugh my ass off. I like. If I get too clingy I will ask my people to scrape me off him like opihi off a rock (yes, you do in fact have to be Hawaiian to understand this sentence).
So the Easter Bunny, the Pope and a rabbi and my mom walk into a bar on Easter. They play hockey. Bunny. Wackiness ensues.