Let me begin by saying: I'm sorry, Mom, for writing about this on my website. But there are fifteen (maybe twenty) adults in my living room below me singing "Pretty Woman" on a karoke machine that's hooked up to a television. This, of course, is after "Margaritaville" and "Wild Thing" (what else?). And they are singing AS LOUD AS THEY CAN. The comedy in this, of course, is that I have to get up early and kick ass in a piano competition.

Happy 50th, Mom.

(Thomas, your dad is in my living room singing "Sweet Caroline." -- !)

Oh sweet sangria. How would adult parties be worth attending without you?

So yeah -- my mom's 50th tonight, with full on decorations and food. My mom's college room mate drove up from Tallahassee just for the party. She's staying overnight, and when I came in from a brief outing to find the party congregrated around the karoke machine, she was sitting on the stairs, slightly separate from everyone else. "How long have they been at it?" I asked. "A good half hour," she said. "--Since they finished off the liqueur in those chocolate cups." I nodded. She was half-singing, half rolling her eyes. Her gift for my mom was a college tshirt as old as their friendship, and my sister's birth announcement -- a Baby Ruth wrapper with a pink ribbon around it, and "-itchie" added after the R in "Ruth" -- "Baby Ritchie." Every other present was based in alcohol.

My uncle, mime-pouring beer on me, actually poured beer on me, so I smell like alcohol even though I'm the only one in the whole house who hasn't had any.

I just hope no one minds when I get up at seven tomorrow and start banging on the piano. (Ahh...sweet revenge...)