A couple friends came over for New Year's eve. It was pretty mellow, but the getting ready part was a bit stressful. See, one of the friends is from France. And so, in making appetizers and buying champagne, all I could imagine was this French girl judging the cheese and the booze. She's really not judgmental, in fact, she's awesome. I'm just projecting my own inadequacies.
I thought about making the very-American baked brie with jam on it, but thought it would have been butchering a fine French cheese, so I didn't. Turns out, she had the stuff over Christmas here in America and - despite liking it - was still kinda horrified about it. She was fine with the (California) champagne - no, it wasn't Andre. Though it was served in quite beautiful yellow plastic glasses that are normally only reserved for summer drinks. Like sangria and margaritas.
I was proud that the first time she saw Dick Clark and the ball drop was on my TV. Proud in a "Now you know our tradition. And I'm sorry about it." sort of way. Fuck yeah, America.
Compared to last year, we were raging.
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