fakesgiving...

The annual Fakesgiving Feast has passed. It is a time to eat, drink, drink, eat, and laugh laugh laugh.

Darren stuffs some chips down with the wood-spoon-seasoned queso sauce; Game Guru Tim destroys me at Settlers of Catan, and that wine joined at least a gallon more in my gut.

While I have made some great friends in the Mid-Atlantic, people I hate to go even a week without seeing; the friends I got to see this past weekend are life-long, and I'm reminded that friendship knows not of time nor distance. This is not to say the Mid-Atlantic folk are not life long; it's just easier to know what you're missing when it's gone.

I got to give Rosie her new bike!

I don't think I've laughed that hard since last Fakesgiving. And I certainly have not made myself nauseous with food since then. My ribs ache and my stomach is churning, and I'm already looking forward to our next reunion

Will and I on the merry-go-round of death. Steve Timmenson found the secret to propulsion that seriously made it impossible to hang on to that thing.

It's hard to believe that we are all "adults". We still act like kids. Laugh like idiots. Tempt fate like the invincible 18 year-olds we used to be. We're not old... far from it, but we're definitely not growing up yet... not succumbing to the inevitable.

Clean plates.

I stole this from Tough Cookie's blog, but I'm sure she stole it too, so it's ok: "hand me the world on a silver platter and what good would it be with no one to share with... no one who truly cares for me?"

Scotty Don't has a killer beard. I am humbled and a little jealous.

All pictures taken from Rosie.