There's no place like hoaem

And no accent quite like a South Jersey/Philadelphia accent.  We took a trip back to the motherland this past weekend for a wedding and a birthday.  One of my oldest dude friends, from pretty much elementary school, got his marriage on.  It was a lovely, classy affair and my friends and I were completely sloppy and inappropriate.  Evan clearly had our needs in mind when he assigned us to the table all the way in the back and right next to the open bar.

The birthday was a covert operation.  My grandmother will by the big eight zero next month, and I hatched a plan, months ago, to try and get my entire extended family together for a surprise party, knowing full well that she would absolutely HATE (but secretly love) such an event.  My mom and aunt did a bang up job of lying, planning, and executing all the party details, and Grandmom was totally surprised and totally pissed (but secretly tickled).  I made a kale slaw that apparently was like eating a little green leafy pile of fire (because I come from a heat-intolerant family...we can eat our weight in pickled herring, but one chili flake and everyone's crying.  except me.  because I can totally drink a bottle of Cholula like it ain't no thang).  My mom made a cake that was 90% icing and almost certainly packed more butter into one slice than I normally consume in a year, but I regret nothing.  It was delicious.

While we were home, I had a chance to lurk around my grandmother's house with my new Nikon D5100 (the Christmas Present to end all Christmas Presents, which I am still learning how to use to its fullest capabilities).  What follows is a photo dump of my grandmother's house, my mom's dog, and some totally wild NSFW birthday party shots.

I love when we talk on the phone and I hear this clock bong in the background.  My childhood was punctuated in 30 minute intervals to the sound of this clock.

Do you see a robot face or boobs?  This is a real, working phone.  It's not actually a rotary phone, but it's almost certainly older than me.

These encyclopedias are from 1966.  In elementary school, I couldn't use them for a report on Neil Armstrong.  The index was all, "Lunar landing?  What lunar landing?  That's crazy talk."  So I went to the library.  Truth. 

I never got past Beethoven's Ode to Joy in my piano lessons, because the teacher was perpetually late.  When she did arrive, I could never stop staring at her eczema-riddled hands.  She was 1,000 years old and looked exactly like the grandma dinosaur from Dinosaurs.

Haunted basement.  I once watched my grandmom kill a snake with a shovel down there.   

Ancestors.  They're judging you. 

Nubbin

I wish I had a shot with a slice removed from this cake to show the icing to cake ratio.  There are no words.  Or, there would be words, but I'm choking on my brand new rolls of neck fat.  So delicious.