Anybody get the license plate of the truck that ran me over?
I’m a little late covering this, but I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the mega blowout bash that everyone missed a couple of weeks ago. Katy Perry flew in for a special serenade and my new catering buddies from Savory Avery’s prepared some of the finest crab dishes known to man straight from crustacean nirvana known as the Outer Banks. Anne’s Sweet’s and Treat’s provided the desserts (the apple pie is to die for) and needless to say we were all in sugar coma’s for one reason or another by the end of the night. Things were going so great the organizer’s even got the cast of Friends to quit counting their money long enough to give a special comedy improv for all the guests. What was the mega bash all about you may be asking?
The Skipah’s Realm birthday party that’s what! The little blogger that could hit publish for the first time on July 11, 2014, and has been wearing out keyboards faster than a pair of Chinese sneakers ever since. It was one hell of a shindig! You thought Marilyn Monroe singing Happy Birthday to JFK was sultry. You haven’t seen anything until you’ve seen Miss Madison and Ms. Perry singing it! The wine, beer, spirits and the pitchers of Shirley Temple’s (for our non-drinking guests) were disappearing faster than D.B. Cooper. Who’s that you may ask? Click on that link and you shall find out.
It was one hell of a party until Linda and Jenn started using the office equipment to Xerox their unmentionables and send them to their boy toys that weren’t able to attend. Martyn was on his 12th pint and hijacked the karaoke machine and proceeded to butcher Beatles hits so bad the ghost of George Harrison came down and politely told him to stick to Rick Astley songs. Of course, all he did was proceed to “RickRoll” every female in attendance. I remember the single days, you go Martyn!
The Indiana delegation got there fashionably late but made up for it with some good old folksy speak using words like ‘splaining that had my west coast posse pondering what exactly is considered English and trying to figure out this whole “Midwestern charm” phenomenon they had read about on the internet. I also learned that evening don’t ever try to trade Fireball shots and chase them with Stroh’s when drinking with a Michigan native. You will lose, you will slur badly in the process, and a decent chance your equilibrium is going check out on you also. Once Michiganders get “loosened” up though they tell great Canadian jokes!
My Japanese contemporaries even brought some of the finest Saki known to man. My super intelligent academic friends in attendance took a few belts off of it and suddenly became dumber than Colorado residents that over indulged on the hippie lettuce. The Jewish contingent in attendance thought the party was the craziest thing they had been to since old man Goldberg’s youngest son’s bris ceremony. The icing on the cake was when the Dallas Mafia showed up in their brand new R.V. and proceeded to play acoustic guitar and wow the crowd with Z.Z. Top hits!
Never argue politics with Californians and New Englanders, you will go bald scratching your head. I did learn a few golf pointers from my North Carolina compatriots, however, I must confess by the end of the evening I couldn’t even play miniature golf. This woman won the pirate costume contest, my Jack Sparrow look-alike kit I ordered off of Amazon apparently was for kids so I didn’t fare as well when it came to picking a winner. All in all, though everybody played well in the sandbox, and the hangover lasted so long it took me 11 days to write about it!
Thankfully the New York City Bouncer’s Society donated their time and made sure to confiscate all keys and cell phones upon entry so there aren’t any images to be found on the internet. Unbeknownst to the Strawberry Hill Gang though I dug up my mom’s Polaroid and snapped a few compromising photos, I will post them if my ransom demands aren’t met!
Seriously, though, It’s been a wild two-year saga for yours truly. A nasty divorce that in hindsight was long overdue, a custody battle that saw me landing more punches than a three armed boxer but in the end, I got the screw job on the judge’s scorecards. Damn North Korean judges! Crazy dates, super dad moments, meeting Miss Madison, there never is a dull moment in the Skipahsphere.
I would have taken a Denny’s gift certificate WordPress over an anniversary notification!
The past year after finding Miss Madison (or did she find me) has opened my eyes up to a new world I never knew existed. I think I’ve done more with her in 12 months than I did in 13 years of marriage. In almost 52 weeks, I’m doing a rough guess that we did “nothing” on a weekend maybe a half dozen times. With or without the kids there is a good chance I’m experiencing something for the first time. She keeps me young and spry!
Who knew some 25 plus years ago a good friend of mine would hang the moniker Skipah on me and it would still be synonymous with me to this day. Hmm, blog post idea just came to mind. Who wants to know the origin of Skipah? Drop me a note in the comments, like most things with me though it’s not nearly as fascinating as you think!
Thanks to everyone who has been here from day one and the many others that have jumped aboard ship along the way. Both foreign and domestic, I still get a tingling sensation every time I post and some photo blogger in Romania is immediately clicking to see how uninteresting my day was. I have no idea where this vessel is headed but it will still be sailing the seas of the internet for the foreseeable future. Again a big group hug from Mr. Skipah and let’s get started on year three of this social experiment!