Posted in c'est ma vie , high-jink , photoholic
For mankind's sake, this year I've been slightly less concerned over nitty-gritties concerning my Christmas home party.
Experience tells me, for every 10 RSVP-ed homo sapiens, three will be no-show. Anything goes, ranging from menses to headaches, change of schedules to change of diapers, there will a reason to not show up. Name me one reason I haven't heard. And so, I rather fuss over which Ella Fitzgerald songs to play or whether my cocktail dress goes well with the shade of cranberry jam for the turkey than to bang my head on the kitchen top when another tells me she couldn't come to my party because she just broke the nail on her pinkie nail. You get the drift.
I'm just glad Karen, Joshua and Wanjun came this year. I've longed loved to have them at my parties. Since it's so difficult to get Wanjun 'The Superwoman' around, I think I must have struck the jackpot.
The usual suspect at the spread would be The Mother's fresh mango prawn salad. The girls couldn't stop raving about it and the boys couldn't keep their forks off the large prawns sat nicely atop the sliced mangoes. But really, nothing secret about the recipe. Just fresh ingredients and lotsa love. =)
Nothing healthy at this table. Absolutely nothing.
For the insatiables. It's been a long time coming since I bought my first bottle of Moët & Chandon; just waiting for a significant day to pop its cork. Unfortunately for The Crazy BF, the honour of popping the first bottle of champange (which incidentally has too much gas) saw him spilling the overflowing foam on the floor.
No bucket? No sweat.
You don't wanna mess with Joshua. He asked for cleaver to cut up the turkey. 
Hello, Karen!
And you couldn't have caught me at a better time.For the past donkey years, Christmas Eve always bring awfully heavy rain with it. Last year's outdoor dinner plan was thwarted by strong wind and sick wet rain. Since the break of dawn, I started my 'communication' with God. It was more like a plead to have Him stop the rain and not flood my corridor with splashes of acid rain. Bless Him! 'Pee' from heaven's arse-hole took a break and the night air was cool and breezy. Perfect for getting the peeps to sit out there and enjoy their dinner 'under the stars'. Harmless lizards on ceiling included.
The strategically-placed speaker pumped up the atmosphere with my favourite club music while I left the peeps for an hour to 'say hi' to The Crazy BF's family. And when I returned, it was time to play Taboo and get high on the bubblies.The Crazy BF's home-made ice cream had its public debut. All in the merry Christmas spirit he made creamy eggnog ice cream and of course my all-time favourite - mint ice cream with rum raisin chocolate bits. Should have taken a picture of the yummies and started promoting his home-made ice cream for sale.
Pocahontas.The party flowed on with the second bottle of Rose Moët & Chandon popped. If only I have a third bottle... I always feel bad for the boys who need to drive. There they are, watching us girls downing the champagne like tap water, but they could only swallow their saliva *gulp* and get high on green tea.
I certainly don't have a $250 Christmas tree to boast of (nor the bucks to burn for). But I do have a 10-dollar 42-inches tall fake Christmas tree in gold to be surrounded by pressies from everyone for everyone (with love). Anyway gift exchanges are always unfair, unjust and unethical. LOL. At least the ones at my parties seem so. I guess I don't have to explain why the boys always have to give up their gifts to the girls next to them and end up with nothing except for chocolates in their pockets. Last year we had a photo-frenzy trigger-happy session. So preoccupied with Taboo this year, I even forgot about a photo op with The Best Friend. But whatever, we had fun. That matters. And I had lots of bubblies. That matters even more.
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