Last night, my friends Libby and John had a party to celebrate Libby’s birthday. We were instructed to bring games, which scared me a little. I’ve been labeled (unfairly if you ask me) a “Game Nazi” by someone who admits that she only thinks that about me when I’m not on her team.

Just because a person knows all the rules and wants the game to be played right and is pretty good at the game herself, does that make her a Game Nazi? Oh, shut up. Who asked you?!

To me, this looks a little bit like pornography:

Our hosts, Libby and John, in their spacious kitchen that made my teeth hurt from the envy:

Don’t be fooled by the fluffy fatness of this cat and try to pet it while talking in a soothing baby voice. It bites.


Roasted Red Pepper Hummus, Spinach/Artichoke Dip, Pico de Gallo, Chicken/Cheese Ball

Tyra, Sara, Michael, Steve

Getting ready to sing to Libby


Singing “Happy Birthday” and then “Feliz Cumpleaños” to Libby. Lucky for you this photo doesn’t come with sound.

Then, all of the Mexicans in attendance taught Libby an ancient tradition. As we shouted “Mor-di-da! Mor-di-da! Mor-di-da” at her (“bite”), Libby had to take the first bite directly from her cake.

She looks a little suspicious, but gamely goes for it. After all, it’s tradition!

The Money Shot. With friends like us, who needs friends??

Bring. It. On.


Could everyone please just STFU!! I can’t hear what John is saying! GOD!

Leslie, Steve, Claire, and Antonio…hustlers every one:

Jaime not only hums “Born to Be Wild,” but he plays a mean air guitar as well:

First time Antonio’s ever played a game in English and he spanked our bottoms:

Dammit, Jaime!! I KNEW THE ANSWER TO THAT QUESTION!!

Libby, consorting with the enemy:

VICTORY!! VICTORY!! Suck it, bitches!!