It's just not New Year's without a kick in the head and a visit from the Froggy Carrs

Remember Wednesday when I woke up and I was all wtf in a frenzied, kenetic type of way and I was excited and nervous and ready? Yesterday I woke up and my wtf was all low and slow and gutteral and whispered and drawn out to a quiet wtffffffffff and I had to lie in bed for a few minutes before I could move to try to remember if at any point I had been kicked in the head by a horse the night before and then I threatened to call the spousal abuse hotline on B because he was up and looking quite chipper which kind of made me want to puke in his shoes and blame it on the dog and I felt so bad that I swear he must have been the one who kicked me in the head and he was all you can't call the spousal abuse hotline because we're not espoused yet and by the way, it was probably that bottle of pink champagne you drank and wtf pink champagne?

But there was no time for lallygagging because it was New Year's Day and I had a parade to get to. But then I stood up and decided to take a nap instead. And then I jumped up and took a shower and got ready and then I took another nap because oh my gah pink champagne and/or spousal abuse. But then I was ready and by ready I mean I was walking and really craving something fried.

And in my family, a longstanding tradition is to drag yourself to the New Year's Day Mummers Parade in Philadelphia. Because in my large family of Irish drinkers, the only thing to do after a night of heavy drinking is to wake up and drink some more.

And a big part of that tradition is our love affair with the Froggy Carr Comic Brigade.

And every year my aunt opens up her South Philadelphia house to friends and family and Mummers and we watch the parade and drink champagne and try to eat enough food to soak up all the booze from the night before. And a number of years ago one Mummer-enthused party-goer wandered down to the parade and came home hours later arm in arm with a number of equally intoxicated members of the Froggy Carr. And every year they return to drink more booze and eat more food and do the Mummers Strut in the kitchen and chant the Froggy Carr song. And hello, have you met hundreds of drunk Irish men dressed in drag the Mummers Strut?



So B and I spent yesterday afternoon in my aunt's crowded kitchen listening to the Froggy Carrs lament about the parade's budget cuts and drunk suburbans and have you ever heard a drunk South Philadelphian lament? Because in South Philadelphia, you're one of three things: an Irish Catholic, an Italian Catholic, or a moron.

And after a day of food and booze and family, we dragged ourselves home because after this week my body has consumed so much rich food and alcohol that it's currently staging a rebellion and I can't control my limbs or maybe I'm just dying of some horrible tropical disease that I got from drinking too much tap water and I just haven't noticed yet because I've been intoxicated for the past eight days and now I just want to go to sleep. And when we got home I checked in with one of my favorite blogs ever and OH MY GAH I'M ON BOSSY. So I frantically jumped to my stats page and OH MY GAH, BOSSY, MARRY ME? And welcome, all, to the first Yellaphant post of 2009. Let's take a nap. Tweet