Welcome back.

Nice flash!

While the Boy and I were sitting on the couch recovering from our fried dinner, I sneakily took pictures of people looking at my art.

There were smiles. No eye rolling! Eye rolling is the worst.

There’s the dude who did my interview. I am both excited/nervous about seeing the final edited interview.

Real live painting.

“Perfect for the introverted artist,” remarked the Boy. “If they’re painting, they don’t have to talk to anyone.”

Brandon/Wispy Mustache’s art up close and personal.

I hear ya Brandon.

The d.j. for the evening.

Two of the Boy’s cousins showed up with their mates. Jimmy was very proud to show off his (hideous) clogs. “They’re all the rage in Alaska,” his wife told me. Alaska! Now there‘s a place I have no desire to visit in my lifetime, ever.

The first round of artists onstage for their introductions.

Flamenco dancer and band. They were good.

The Boy liked this art. He tried to find the artist, but was not successful.

The cousin of one of the artists talked my ear off for a half an hour but made up for it by offering to take this picture of me and the Boy.

The Boy’s cousins and mates.

There I am onstage, looking like 1. an Amazon and 2. a Barbie. Amazon Barbie!

The Boy said of all the artists, I was the most articulate.

He also said that the host and I had a nice rapport going on. “Well, he was kind of cute,” I replied.

Backstage I told all the waiting dancers that they looked adorable. They were thankful and sweet.

A troupe of girls did some 20s-style frantic dance moves, but it was the relaxed graceful fluid fan dancing routine that I liked the best.

“I want to do that,” I whispered to the Boy.

Oh I totally do. As long as I don’t have to show off my ta-tas.

They finished up with some spirited swing dancing, which I’m sure the Boy loved. He’s crazy about that stuff.

The fashion show was at the end. Awful clothes, but the designer was really nice.

Er…no.

My aunt kept text messaging me last night and I tried my best to convey to her (through text messages) that I HATE text messaging, but a little later after I was in bed reading she called and left a concerned voicemail that she thought my text messages were “curt” and she was worried that perhaps I was nervous about my cousin’s upcoming wedding. Nope. Just hate text messaging, that’s all. I’m not bothered by the fact that I’ve turned into a cranky old woman. Not at all!

She wants me to help her with eyeliner before the wedding. I told her I’d be wearing falsies. Naturally! Unless of course my sister-in-law buys me some eyelash extensions before Saturday (wishful thinking). She mentioned possibly paying me for babysitting this way. YES PLEASE.