I don't know why Diego's upper lip is white in the last picture. Let's just pretend that Mexicans have a New Year's tradition of drinking glasses of milk to ward off calcium deficiency in the coming year. What we don't have to pretend is that they eat a ton of food, drink a ton of champagne, and stuff a dozen grapes into their faces in the minute before the ball drops. It is a testament to our union, and a sign of the universe's approval I think, that I am so comfortable around Diego's family, since the part of my brain labeled "Being a Human Around Other Humans Without Getting Sweaty or Wanting to Cry" doesn't always work all that well. So, yes, fa la la la la la la it's over. And now we just have to get past my birthday so that we (I) can gratefully settle in to the part of the year where the only holidays revolve around small mammals and beer.
I have to write more. It has to be a priority.
Also: haircut, finish organizing apartment.
Vegetables.
