Pre-Holiday Holidays with My Other Family

 They say there is the family you live with and then there is the family you choose. "They" forget that there is also the family you've spent so much of your life with that you have no choice but to hang out because if you didn't they'd start telling all of the horrible shit you did in junior high, high school, college, post-college, and/or at some point while living together for more than 10 years, which by the way, "is still six years longer than you've been living with your husband - did you think of that?"

This, friends and dear ones, is my real Other Family. Left to right: Me (duh), Cindy, Deb, Jen and Donna (also known as Mistress D).

And I am not using the word "family" in a Be-Fri, St Ends, Ohmigawd, BFFL, kind-of-way. I've known these women 25 years.

We've held each other's hands through death, sickness, surgery, miscarriages, disorders, syndromes and divorce. When the rest walk out, these women walk in. They get to work. They stay. They are my lifeblood. And if any of these women needed me, I'd drop everything to be there.

Hey! Here's a game: Guess which one of the group rode the porcelain bus by the end of the night last night - and is currently sprawled unconscious and half-nekkid on my sofa? (Hint: It wasn't me!)

We polished off a whole chicken, a bagful of salad, 6 huge sweet potatoes, a triple-berry pie with ice cream ... oh, and five bottles of wine.

As the estrogen-fueled hooting and laughter increased in volume, The Varmint sagely kept clear of the area. Well, mostly. His quivering nose was spotted ferreting scraps a couple of times, and he was finally busted foraging a huge plate of seconds later in the evening. He voluntarily scuttled back to his hidey hole, however, grinning like a madman, chased by snapping kitchen towels and talk of The General Laziness and Irresponsibility of Most Men as Compared to the Fabulousness of Women. (Which, I'll admit, is a favorite topic. ) 

Bewildered.jpgProps for The Varmint: He likes it when we have a houseful of women over to party because he's a guy that genuinely loves women as people, not parts. (Plus, he scores good eats and gets to play uninterrupted games all night. That helps.)

Anyway, if you think I'm crazy enough to reveal who's currently suffering full-body nap-rash from my textured sofa and sleeping in a puddle of her own drool, you're nuttier than a boy-squirrel at a peanut butter factory. Ain't happenin'. Uh-uh. I'd be killed. Then outed. Then killed some more.

So if you want to know, you'll need to get here before she wakes up and sees you. Or, you can just call me later.


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I am a writer and lazy artist who loves travel, architecture and design. Right now, I'm into photography. My fabulous husband (a.k.a. The Varmint) and I are also the principals of a San Diego-based creative agency - and new parents to the divine Baby Mak. Read More >