On birthdays, for once, feeling awkward and anxious seem ridiculous. And a cloud of supreme confidence in everything you think and do encapsulates you. The inner child can come out and experience fun in pure, uncomplicated vigor. I guess, what I'm trying to say is
WE HAD MOTHA' EFFIN' FUN AT THE BOWLING ALLEY, SON.
Eyeball les pix:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BOY!
Hey! My new somewhat expensive digi cam makes photographs look like they were taken with a refractive oatmeal container. Cool ... NOT. We spent good monies on the new cammy, and this is what we get? :( times a million.
Awwww! We look like a real dating couple! AM I NORMAL ENOUGH FOR YOU NOW, GOD?!
STOP. CUT IT SHORT. It's time for GT.
Sometimes, I wish boys could understand the delicious, weird, hilarious banter of Girl Talk. On second thought, maybe not.
Bowling alley decor is mid-century ghetto fab.
It was very late, but the alley stayed open for us to finish our last game.
The cocktails in plastic cups and beer pitchers made us silly. And our flushed faces matched our tomato red bowling shoes.
We were awash in the wreckage of horns and Happy Birthday crowns.
By one point?!
Let us girls show you how to smize.
Cuter!
No, CUTER!!
NO!! CUTER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It's 2 o'clock. Let's play trivial pursuit.
Thanks, Meo - I'll send this one to Grandma Jane and Rabbi Perlstein. Also, did I drop cotton balls down my cleavage ... what is going on there?
Like I said, we had some fun.
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