A one, two three

What do you call a drunk blog post a dost ? a Dlog? I don't know, but I feel compelled nonetheless. Not too wasted to remember my password, but just enough to walk with a tilt. It doesn't happen too often, so there is just a little shame but not enough to stop me.

We did it, we went to the Sunnyvale Ballroom, founded in 1930, and danced to the eighteen piece orchestra, the vocalist, Diane took our picture. It is all I could have dreamed of for a New Year's eve, I have never had more fun, we were so not dressed for it or trained in the art of ballroom, jitterbug or the token south of the border ditty! It was amazing. It was a painful endeavour for Eamon, yet he pulled it off, in fact, when we couldn't find it, after about a half an hour of driving around, he suggested we use the Verizon navigator; that's when I knew that he had actually committed himself to the experience, and oh, my friends, if only you could see through my eyes, past the drop ceiling, you could actually smell 1930 in that place. It's what I've been looking for my entire life, and then some.