New Years Resolutions

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Hi friends, family, and anyone else who cares to read about my life,

So here I go...starting a blog of my own. Why am I doing this, you ask? Well, I'm not really sure. I guess I just wanted to give it a shot, and therefore decided to make it a New Years resolution. My life tends to get pretty ridiculous at times, and I wanted to record these adventures somewhere besides the semi-regular (or not so regular) emails that I send to my best friends. Maybe people will like to hear my stories about hallucinating co-workers and New Years spent with geriatrics...and maybe they won't...but at least I'll have fun writing about it, right? Right.

My most recent adventure involves spending New Years week in Boca Raton with my family, some family friends, and my boyfriend. We were at the Boca Raton Resort and Club. Why? I'm still not quite sure, but I will say this...the resort was spectacular...for a LOT of reasons. It was gorgeous and so very, very nice and so very, very pink.

Breakfast every morning was a smorgasbord of every conceivable type of breakfast food, and I stuffed myself with omelets, bagels, smoked fish, and amazing coffee at the beginning of each day in order to look fabulous by the pool. I would follow this with a sweaty slog (=slow jog) of as far as I could bear or maybe some poorly played tennis with the BF. It must be noted that, while my group contained all Southerners and five "kids" between twenty and thirty years old, the VAST majority of the clientele at the resort were from New York and either geriatric or below the age of nine. That resulted in some interesting people-watching throughout the week.

In the interest of brevity, I'm going to fast-forward to New Years Eve at the resort. We had decided to attend the Gala (yes, I said Gala), thinking that it had to be the best (i.e. most toddler-free) party at the place. Well, think again! Let's get the visual...giant (admittedly beautiful) ballroom with projectors silently showing PBS on the big screen (we asked for a football game but that was aggressively shot down); we are the ONLY twentysomethings in the football field-sized area; the worst band in history is playing lounge-y "hits" from 1933 without the benefit of any percussion; an overly enthusiastic Asian woman is flailing her arms and futilely attempting to add some pizazz to the dance floor among the geriatric Yankee couples; and our waiter didn't speak English, so drinks were very slow in arriving to dull the pain. The BF and I even took a spin on the dance floor, but after a minor wardrobe malfunction and the admission that it's hard to jam to Big Band music from a synthesizer, we gave up. Needless to say, the moment our lukewarm dinner was finished, we sprinted towards the exit and to the sports bar in the resort. The rest of the evening quickly become fuzzy, but things that I do recall include: 1) my mother peer pressuring me into a tequila shot, 2) limoncello, 3) balloons falling from the ceiling, 4) my brother kissing a complete stranger, 5) a VERY sketchy man asking me if my mom was a swinger...WHAT?, and 6) the BF telling me that I needed to be put in time out (i.e. go to bed) because I was not longer forming coherent sentences. Aaaaaaand scene.

The rest of the trip was pleasant, if hungover, and the trip back to SF...well, let's just say I saw my first screaming fight ON an airplane. That may be fodder for a subsequent blog. Over and out.