Category Archives: Andrea

A completely spontaneous photograph.

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That took several tries, two helpers and a minute and a half to get.

It caught us in the act of deciding what matching color scheme we’re going to do tomorrow.

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Celebratory bubbles!

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Today I told Drea that doing my hair and feeding me sandwiches and picking my outfits and playing bubbles with me is more practice for having a baby than most young women ever get.

If it's a girl she can borrow most of my accessories for preschool.

Yeah, you read that right.

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Drea’s a mama now, a transition she’s making with joy and reverence and wicked style.

Gawd that's gonna be a pretty baby.

It’s the best party in town.

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Buckman remarked at the coincidence of flying into San Diego just in time for the Gay Pride festival, but I explained that we just threw it together once we knew he was coming, that we organized the whole thing last minute just to welcome him.

If he asks you, that’s the story.

A pack of homosexuals and fauxmosexuals, otherwise known as my friends, drank and danced and picked up body glitter from assorted other revelers.

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Pictures do lie.

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For example, there’s this picture that caused mild consternation on my buddy Adam’s page, at the idea that he’d gone out and got himself a new girl on the heels of his last relationship.

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As much as I like playing the role of the scandalous new woman, I feel compelled to point out that I’m only hugging my own knees, not him.  In fact we’re not sitting on the same step, or even touching at all.

It’s funny what angles can do.  For example something about this photo says, you’ve stumbled into a witches’ coven meeting and it’s not going to end well.

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And after posting this photo, I hardly expect to convince any of you that we’re not all in a trendy new singing group.

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It’s so convincing that I think the only answer to this confusion is to simply from a girl group singing trio.  Coming soon to a karaoke bar near you!

The “Neale sisters” crash a wedding.

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We stood outside the reception area.

“This can’t be right.”

“There are like seven tables in there, and only a few more outside.”

“Crap.  This was supposed to be a really BIG wedding.”

We spotted the caterer and asked for a water.  As we sipped, we “smalltalked” the RSVP total out of him.  Fifty-seven.

“We’re out of here,” Drea hissed under her breath.  “You can’t crash anything under a hundred.”

“Ok, ok, so it would be idiotic to stay,” I admitted.  “But ……. just think of the bragging rights.  We can DO this.  We’re the fucking Neale sisters.  Sort of.”

And so we did.  For one solid … hour.

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Eventually the lack of a place card was becoming conspicuous and we made our escape.

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But not before we got the phone numbers of the Cal State baseball team.