Dance dance revolution to the extreme

If one subscribes to a multicultural world, then one has ample opportunities to atone for past failures and start anew, invigorated, refreshed. A second chance at, say, an internal revolution. For example, I largely failed to maintain my few, meagre new year's resolutions. But, not to worry, a new year is upon us again! And I welcomed it with red and gold, squealing pigs and canto pop, dancing lions and dance dance revolutions all celebrated with a toast of bubble tea at midnight squished like sardines basking in the garish glow of fluorescent lights at the mall. I kid you not (and did I mention that I kicked a$$ at the arcade.) Don't worry, I'm not going to bore you with another set of resolutions for the second new year. I learned an important lesson from the first round: if you don't set yourself up for failure, you are on the road to blissful happiness.



A new year and a new life for two dear friends celebrated with dear old friends. The setting distilled my mood of joy. All I have to say is, who can resist fairycakes? They remind me of birthday parties and summer and backyard BBQs with burgers. Somethings never change and somethings are better when they are joined together. Congrats!

Aunty Afooa

An astute friend and fellow blogger in a flight of fancy noted that the whole world seems to be having babies right now. My friends have been averaging around one newbie per month since October. February and March are poised to be especially prolific. Based on this data, I would conclude that she has to be right.

On 30 January, my family decided to join on the baby bandwagon (which likely takes the form of a stroller.) That's right, I'm an aunty. Aunty Afooa. I'm already in love with Tuesday's child and poised to shower her with hugs, kisses and goodness.

There is one hitch that accompanies the otherwise joyous welcome of the little dears. Along with babies come the baby showers. How does the old poem go . . .

First comes love (well lust at the very least)
Then comes marriage (well sometimes the baby comes first)
Then comes the voracious consumerist baby in a designer carriage

Here's my solution. I own a lot of pink and blue as well as non-gendered yellow and green. I've been seriously tempted to toss my unwanted items into the clothes drier on high heat and reincarnate them as the latest baby fashions. The little ones won't know the difference and besides kids have very sophisticated tastes these days. Just a thought.