Beware Of The Pregnant Lady In Row 12!

Last week I flew home to Maine alone since my husband was at the Raiders game in Oakland (he was going to meet me in Maine after the game). I usually don’t have an issue flying solo but I am 7 months pregnant and had to be on the red eye flight to JFK for almost 5 hours, which I knew would be uncomfortable. I took my window seat, got out my blanket and headphones, took off my shoes and got ready to watch TV and pass out. (Side note- unless I am extremely tired or next to my husband, I need the TV to help put me to sleep). So, to my surprise, the TV on my seat was not working. Of course, everyone else’s on the plane were fine, but mine? Stuck on a channel where they were interviewing Al Gore over and over again….not something I could fall asleep to! So I called the flight attendant over to see if there was anything she could do to help me out. She said that once the flight was in the air and the TV’s were all reset again, maybe mine would also reset and start working. So basically, she couldn’t promise me anything but fingers crossed…great! After being air born for almost 20 minutes, my TV still didn’t work and I started to get really frustrated. Everyone around me was watching TV and having a good ole’ time but I was stuck staring at Al Gore talking about the environment. I called the flight attendant back over and told her that my TV was still not working and she said that she would help me after she finished the drink service. I tried to remain calm and patient but after almost an hour of her not returning, my blood was boiling. I don’t know if it was the pregnancy hormones or what but I began to cry and rang my call button furiously. When a different flight attendant returned, I asked him if he had found a solution to my problem (through my tears). He said that unfortunately he was not trained to fix the TVs and that in order to do so , they would have to be on the ground and take apart the seat, blah blah blah. I told him that he better find me another window or aisle seat ASAP because I was not happy! (I have no idea where this ‘Erin’ came from because I usually hate confrontation and am extremely patient). Again, I think it was the pregnancy hormones. I told him that I was 7 months pregnant and uncomfortable already and he needed to find me a working TV! The poor guy next to me offered up his seat after seeing how upset I was but I declined and told him I would be just as uncomfortable in a middle seat but thanks for the offer.

I heard the flight attendant mumble ‘upset pregnant lady in row 12’ as he rushed to the back to consult with the other flight attendants and HOPEFULLY solve my problem. About 15 minutes later, he returned and told me I had two options. He said that I could take the empty middle seat in front of me with a working TV and take a Jet Blue voucher or move to the back where there were a few service dogs (as long as I wasn’t allergic) but I could have either an aisle or a window seat. I immediately declined the middle seat for obvious reasons and told him that I would sit with the pooches. As I began to wipe my tears away and gather all of my stuff, a vision went through my head of what the remainder of my flight might look like. I pictured a Mastiff and a German Shepherd sitting in the two seats out back, all buckled up with their headphones on watching TV. As I approached them, they would roll their eyes and growl as they were forced to move over and let the upset pregnant lady in just so she could have a working TV. In reality, it was a nice couple with two little white dogs, one in a carrier and one on their lap who nicely let me sit in the aisle seat. I thanked the flight attendant and my new neighbors, switched on my TV to The First 48 and passed out for the duration of the flight.

You Say Meyer, I Say My-uh

Coming from the Northeast, I have heard 'wicked pissah,' 'pahk the cah' and 'lobstah roll' my whole life, especially coming from my parents, who have thick Maine accents. But I didn't think my future daughter's name would be caught up in this wicked mess. When I told my mom that I was naming our daughter Meyer, I had to confirm that she heard and would pronounce it correctly- 'Meyer' and not 'Maya.' So I told her it was like Oscar Mayer, Meyer Lemon or Fort Myers. As far as I knew, she had it down perfectly. But when she would pronounce it 'Maya' on the phone, I told her again, "yes, Meyer, like the lemons and chalked up her lack of an 'r' to the Maine accent. Apparently, I was wrong. When my mom sent out the invitations to my East Coast baby shower, she wrote "It's a girl! Baby Meyer (pronounced My'uh)..." Ummm, what the what? I cleared it up finally (hopefully) but I still think Meyer is going to be confused when she goes to visit her Grandparents in Maine. I can hear it now-"Mommy, why do Nana and Peep call me Maya and Paco-lina?" Don't even get me started!

Orange You Glad That Color Wasn't Permanent?

Last week, I decided to change up my hair and go chocolate brown so I asked my friend Nicole (the only person I trust with my hair) for some advice. Since Nicole moved to Sacramento, it's not as easy just to walk over to her place to get my hair done, so she had to buy the products for me and ship them to my place. Once I got everything I needed, I called her to go over the step by step process of dying my hair. She walked me through it as I wrote every detail down in my notebook and she assured me that it wasn't that difficult and she had faith that I could do it. I have dyed my hair before so I had all the confidence in the world that it would turn out okay. Since I still had blonde in my hair, the first step was to brush the copper color over all the blonde sections, wait 20 minutes and then wash it out. It did that and patiently waited the 20 minutes until I could lean over the tub and rinse it out. When I took off the towel on my head, I noticed that my hair was bright orange. I wasn't that nervous considering that it was still saturated with the copper and I figured that it would all wash out. As I bent over the running water in the tub and the bright orange started to wash out, I noticed that my hair was still creepy clown orange. I immediately started to freak out and thought about what I was going to do for work in the morning- wear a headscarf?

There was no way I was going to show my face in public like this! I looked Merida from Disney's Brave. I looked at my notes and read that Nicole told me after I did the copper dye, to dry it and then apply the chocolate brown dye. I held my breath as I followed the steps, had faith that everything would be fine and the dark brown would cover up my nectarine head and I wouldn't have to apply for a position at The Ringling Brothers Circus. After another 25 minutes of patiently waiting with my now dark saturated hair in a clip, I was relived when it turned out perfect. After my heart stopped beating a mile a minute, I texted Nicole and asked her if that was normal. She said, "yeah, it is and I probably should have told you that your hair was going be bright orange beforehand!" Phew!

I'm Taking The Pessimistic Route On This One And Calling The Gate Halfway Down

This morning, as my husband and I do every morning, we left the apartment at 5:50 am to walk those couple of blocks to our parking garage. We noticed that the automatic gate was stuck halfway down and knew that we were in for it. The security guard who works in the parking garage every morning moves about as fast as a turtle and as much as this was a matter of urgency for us, as we had to get to work, we knew that he could care less that the garage door wasn't working. Once we got inside the building, I alerted the security guard of the situation. His response? "If your car can fit under the gate, just go ahead, you'll be fine!" I looked at Anthony and started to laugh. Um, unless I drove one of those red Fred Flintstone cars for kids with the yellow top, I don't think either of us will be driving out of the garage anytime soon. He told us that he would get right on it, so we walked to our cars hoping that by the time we got down to the first level, he would have solved the problem.. Nope.

When we got to the ramp leading to the street, the security guard was standing next to the gate scratching his head. This had to be a ridiculous sight. The security guard standing in front of the half closed gate scratching his head, my car halfway down the ramp in park and Anthony's truck behind mine waiting in line to get out, like we were in some sort of parade. Finally, the security guard told us that someone had thrown the chain that would manually lift the gate up on top of it and he would have to get something to get it down. Oh Lordy! Now we were really going to be late for work. A few minutes later, he returned with a broom, walked down to the gate and attempted to get the chain down.. After a few tries, the chain successfully came free and he began to pull up the gate. We were so close...yet so far away! Not only was this guy working as fast as a turtle stuck in quicksand, but the gate seemed to be moving as slow as molasses. Finally it was open enough for me to get out and surprisingly, I was on time to work! Happy Thursday! : )

Sidewalk Conversations...

Last week was unusually hot in LA and since my parking garage is a few blocks from my apartment, I have to do that daily grueling walk from my stuffy parking garage down the street to my apartment. It was no fun last week when every day seemed to be at least 100 degrees- especially when you are carrying 20 lbs. of groceries (I can't leave anything behind!) So, here I was, at the corner of disgustingly hot and my building, waiting for the light to change. I'm pretty sure I had pit stains, a sweat mustache, red cheeks and my baby belly was out and about when a 'homeless' guy stops next to me and asks me how I was doing. I say 'homeless' because he appeared (and smelled) homeless yet he was carrying a brand new cell phone. I answered, 'fine' and asked how he was. He didn't make eye contact with me (in fact he was looking above my head) but rambled on and on about how he was fine until he went into the Metro PCS store down the street to get his new phone and they wouldn't give him one. And he's been a loyal customer for four years! The nerve of them! He wasn't going to take it anymore and made them call their manager to settle this out. Mind you- THIS IS THE LONGEST LIGHT EVER! Finally, just as the light changed, he asked me how my day was and I replied 'great!' His response? "Well, you are modeling all day so I bet your days are always great!" I wiped off my sweat mustache and smiled. Thanks?  

Now That's A Shit Storm!

First, I would like to warn you that this post is not for the queasy at heart....As some of you may know, my parent's had a fire in their house while we were at my wedding in Austin, Texas (not a good thing to come home to after such an amazing weekend). Although the actual house didn't burn down, the damage was immense and while their home is being restored, they have been living in their camper in the yard. At least they don't have to live in a van down by the river! So, for the past five months, it has been a great big happy and tight-knit Demchak family living situation in the camper. My parents, Nelly (the dog) and Riley and Stella (the cats). 

For the past week, my parents had been smelling something funky around the front door of the camper and my dad was convinced that there must have been an animal that crawled up into one of the panels underneath the camper and died. They were regularly getting the sewage tank pumped out, so it couldn't have been that! My dad was on a mission to find the root of the smell and since he happened to be on vacation that week, he had the time to search the camper thoroughly and finally find the culprit. He cleaned out every single cabinet, drawer, nook and cranny on the inside of the camper looking for some sort of dead animal or rotten food that could have been left behind. Nothing. The smell still lingered. Next, he cleaned out all of the storage spots on the outside of the camper and still he found nothing. The smell still lingered. He was at his wits' end and decided to crawl under the camper and remove all of the panels to see if somehow the dead animal had crawled beneath the camper, died and was stinking up the neighborhood! One by one, he removed the panels, looked around and found nothing. He got to the very last panel, obviously frustrated, and slowly removed it. And down came the shit storm!!!!!!!! Apparently, there was some sort of blockage under the sewage tank and even though the tank was being pumped out regularly, there were some 'stuff' that was left behind, building up in that panel and stinking up the place. And now it was all over my dad. He jumped up, stripped down, hosed himself off (and I am assuming he ran around the yard naked, screaming like a girl). Then he took two showers, hosed down the camper, hooked it up to the truck, drove to the hardware store to buy some lime solution, came home, hosed down the lawn, then doused it with the lime solution, Then, he hooked the camper back up to the truck, moved it back to the 'designated living area' took another shower and called it a day. Since my mom was at work the whole time, when she got home, since nothing looked like it was moved, she had no clue what had happened until my dad told her about the 'shit storm'........EWWW!

And Baby Makes Three....

You Know What They Say About Big Feet...

Here is the play-by-play of my lunch hour today:

Me: Went into Trader Joe's to grab a juice and salad then proceeded outside to sit on the bench, enjoy the day and eat.

The cutest old man ever (still wearing his bike helmet) comes outside of Trader Joe's with a bunch of bananas.

Me: Smiles at cutest old man ever.

Cutest old man ever: Smiles back at me and comes and sits next to me on the bench.

Me: Watching cutest old man ever put his bunch of bananas into his reusable bag to load into his bike basket.

Cutest old man ever: "You know, when I was in high school, I used to work at a shoe store."

Me: "You did?"

Cutest old man ever: Pointing at my shoes.

Me: Thinking he is going to tell me that he likes my choice of shoes.

Cutest old man ever: "Back in those days, I never saw a foot that big!"

Me: A little taken aback/ shocked/ dying laughing inside. "Yup, I do have big feet!"

Cutest old man ever: "Have a nice day!" Gets on bike and rides off.

Crochet Me Not

Even though I absolutely love my long, crochet-knit vest,  here are a few reasons why that article of clothing is not the most practical in the real world:

When wearing the vest to the BottleRock festival last weekend, I took home every single thing that was on the ground that night.....hay, bark, brambles, straw, grass. Every time I walk by my dresser, it gets caught on the drawer knobs and I have to untangle myself and shut the drawer. It's so long that it got stuck in between my legs when I was carrying bags of groceries from my car to my apartment on the busy streets of Downtown L.A. and made me trip. Every single time I stood up from my chair at work today, I was stuck on the lever that makes the chair go up and down. I shut it in my car door. Twice. While walking by an electric wheelchair at Trader Joe's today, my vest got caught on the arm and I was yanked backwards.

DJ Tanner In Tha House!

Last weekend, I think I found my new hobby…..(How many times have I said that one, right?) First there was the pickling, then the hand modeling, now it’s becoming a DJ. Anthony and I were at Sarah and Paul’s house for Memorial Day weekend when Paul showed me his DJ equipment. I was intrigued and had to learn how to do it- it can’t be that hard especially if Paris Hilton does this in clubs all over the world, right? Wrong! This is why Calvin Harris makes over $60 million a year I guess! (I am still convinced that Paris has someone mix her set for her and she just pushes the ‘play’ button on her iTunes and moves her hands around the turntables all night while wearing headphones). After I watched Paul, he explained the system, the board and all of those buttons to me. It was quite overwhelming at first but after a few tries at it (and a shot of vodka, of course) I found my groove. I even found my name (thanks to my favorite childhood TV show Full House) - DJ Tanner. Next up, buying all that equipment….Ibiza, Miami, Vegas, here I come!

Girl, You’ve Got To Get A New Trick!

A few weekends ago, Beth and I had our yearly Stagecoach trip, of course equipped with our flasks. Last year, we thought we were geniuses because Beth discovered flasks that looked like tampons and sunscreen and no one suspected a thing! This year apparently, they are catching on and our little flask tricks are stale. On Day One, Beth filled her sunscreen bottle flask up and confidently walked to the entrance where they were searching bags. I went through fine since I wasn’t smuggling any contraband this time but when I turned and watched Beth’s face as the guy reached in her bag and picked up the ‘sunscreen bottle,’ my heart dropped. I mean, the worst thing that is going to happen is they are going to dump out the alcohol and take the flask, but it’s the part about getting away with it that makes it the most exciting. I was staring into Beth’s eyes as he was shaking the ‘sunscreen bottle’ for what seemed like a full minute and as I tried to stay calm, she looked like she was about ready to take off running. I swear she was like a cartoon and her feet started gaining speed and spinning as the dirt formed a giant cloud behind her. Eventually, he put the ‘sunscreen’ back in her bag and we were on our way into the festival, thanking our lucky stars we had ‘free’ vodka for the night. But things weren’t as easy on Day Two….

As Beth walked up to the guy who I told her looked like the best option in laid back security that day, he immediately turned into a highly decorated FBI agent who was not going to let us get away with anything. He took out her ‘tampons’ and held them in his left hand while he did a thorough right hand only search through every crevice of her bag. Beth and I were actually feeling on top of the world at this moment and didn’t suspect any foul play when he handed her back the bag sans the ‘tampons.’ When Beth kindly asked Sergeant McHardass for her feminine products, he laughed and said, “girl, you’ve got to get a new trick!” Cue the cartoon feet and the cloud of dust…..and we're off!

Just Call Me Bo!

Last week, my new husband Anthony and I went on our honeymoon to St. Maarten. Most newlywed guys would ask their wife to bring that sexy lingerie on the trip, or perhaps request a couples massage at the hotel, but my husband? He wanted me to get my hair braided on the island! So of course I said hell yeah! I found a sweet local lady named Emily who told me she could braid my hair for $2.00 per strand, and thinking that there was no way she could get any more than 40 strands out of my head, I figured I would do it. She took Anthony and I to a bench on the boardwalk, instructed me to hand her the aluminum foil and beads after each strand, and got to work. I'd have to say that I have the best husband in the world for sitting with us during the whole process in the sweltering heat for two and a half hours. I had no idea it would take that long and I couldn't see what she was doing but knowing that I had handed her way more than 40 beads, I figured I'd be reaching into the bottom of my piggy bank to pay her off...

After she finished, she told Anthony she was going to count the strands for us while he watched- she didn't want to rip us off! One, two...turned into ten, twenty...thirty...fifty...seventy....83!!!!! Holy crap, 83 strands! I laughed while Anthony shook his head. I handed Emily the cash and shrugged my shoulders- hey, I'm on vacation! I immediately felt like Monica from that episode of Friends when she gets her braids caught in the shower curtain and then I felt like a six year old who had just returned from the carnival.....I needed to put on some makeup ASAP and turn this hairdo into a sexy Bo Derek look! After an hour in the bathroom (trying to pin back some of those beaded strands was a nightmare) I thought I had achieved as close to Bo Derek as I was going to get.

The worst part about the hairdo (besides getting a scalp burn in Anguilla the next day due to the visible scalp exposure) was taking out the braids. Even though Anthony almost paid me to wear my braids to work on Tuesday when we got home, there was no way I was walking into my office in 'Caribbean Business Casual' attire. So, on Sunday night, Anthony helped my take out all the beads (again, I have an amazing husband) and I went with just braids for the next couple of days. But I knew that it was time to take them out when I arrived at the airport in New York and people were staring at me like I was trying to be Fergie from The Black Eyed Peas circa 1999. So I began the grueling process of undoing the teeny tiny strands of braids in the American Airlines lounge (oh the stares I got) until it was time to board the plane. At this point, I looked like I had a mini afro only at the top of my head. Of course when I got on the plane (thank goodness for business class) we were sitting by Leeza Gibbons and David Tutera and I was mortified that they would have to witness me taking out my braids but I had to do it! It took me the entire Birdman movie and half of The Theory of Everything to get those things out and I swear I looked just like one of those Silkie chickens when I was finished. Note to self- tell Emily next time to cap off the braids at 25 strands...

It's Not a Wedding Ceremony Without the Heimlich!

As you all probably know, I got married last weekend and as much as I would love to say that the ceremony was flawless, I would be lying if I did. But the element of surprise is what makes most weddings stand out and those little moments that go 'wrong' can actually be the most memorable of them all. Like at my sister's wedding, just as my dad gave Grace away, JJ's niece walked right up to her and said, "Grace, you look so beautiful!" It was one of the most special moments of the day. And although my little moment that went 'wrong' was nothing like that, it was extremely memorable to anyone that may have witnessed it....(hopefully the videographer got something).

My adorable two year old nephew Saigen was my ring bearer and since it is so hard for any two year old to follow directions, we made a deal with him that if he walked down the aisle with the ring box and gave the rings to the Best Man, Ray, he would get a treat. So once he handed over those coveted rings, Ray gave him a piece of candy. And while Amber usually doesn't condone hard candies for two year olds, she knew that he would take one lick of that peppermint, consider it too spicy for his taste and spit it out. She quickly assisted in the unwrapping of the candy and sent him over to hang with the guys as she took her place with the girls as my Matron of Honor. Well, apparently this particular hard candy was lime flavored and actually tasty to Saigen and he swallowed it immediately. Mind you, I was apparently so wrapped up in the ceremony that I never saw any of this but here is how it allegedly went down...

Saigen swallowed the candy whole, Amber saw his eyes get big, realized that he was choking and ran over to him. She picked him up (bouquet still in hand) gave him the Heimlich Maneuver, grabbed the candy off the ground and threw it like she was trying to throw someone out at second base and ran back in her place just as the ceremony began. I saw nothing and Saigen was quickly scooped up by one of Anthony's groomsmen and was as cool as a cucumber for the entire ceremony......Luckily there were a few photos to document this event and hopefully Saigen will laugh at this in about ten years.

Lessons Of The Week...

I've learned a lot in my 33 years but it seems that this past week, I was very overwhelmed with a few life lessons that I hadn't experienced yet...Lesson One: Don't heat up your Brussels Sprouts in the kitchen microwave at work. Your boss will run around the office asking why it stinks like broccoli and then your co-workers will make fun of you all afternoon. Lesson Two: If you try Frank Body Scrub (it's literally overpriced coffee grounds that you scrub all over your body to get rid of your dead skin), only take one handful of the coffee scrub in the shower with you. Otherwise you and your bathroom will smell like the local diner at the peak of the breakfast rush and your tub will be stained black.

Lesson Three: Don't have any packages delivered to the San Diego Hard Rock Hotel, they will sit in the mail room for a week. My good friend Rania sent a bottle of champagne to the hotel for me to receive upon my check in this past weekend since she wasn't able to make it to my Bachelorette Party. She texted me yesterday asking me how I liked the champagne and I was like, HUH??? Come to find out (after almost a half an hour on hold with the manager at the hotel) it had been sitting in the mail room all week. Awesome! Lesson Four: Don't day drink in excess on the night of your Bachelorette Party...you will pass out at 10:30 PM. Lesson Five: Don't get a spray tan before you get a manicure and pedicure. The water will turn brown and you will look like you are wearing white socks and gloves. Lesson Six: Don't drink a lot of vodka when you usually only drink beer at your sister's Bachelorette Party. You will puke in front of all your big sister's friends and then again on the street in front of a little boy and his dad. Dad to his son as Grace is puking- "that's why you don't drink so much, son!"

No Worries, I Can Fix It!

I've been known to pull some MacGyver moves in the past and I think it's due to my father being the best handyman I have ever met. This week, our fridge started to make a loud rattling noise which was driving Anthony and I nuts! It only seemed to stop when you would push it to one side but clearly we can't stand there all night and apply pressure to the left side of the fridge...we do have lives! I was at my wits end (and yes, we do have a handyman that should be en route to fix this problem any moment) and needed to fix the problem ASAP, so I used my (blonde) brain and came up with a great solution- a paper cup! I shoved it between the wall and the fridge to give it that pressure it needed to stop the rattling...I'm a freaking genius! Although the noise stopped, it does make a loud crackling sound every time you open the fridge, which freaks both Anthony and I out because we forget that it's the cup making the noise and not a monster living in our wall. I guess you win some, you lose some.....

Blonde Moments Part Deux

I had another blonde moment month where it seemed like I was consecutively saying and doing dumb things back to back...and frankly even I laughed after each of these incidents. Duh! Here we go. On our direct flight to Austin a few weekends ago, I was thinking about how my friend Beth is terrified of flying but she is graciously heading out to Austin for our wedding. I was hoping that her flying experience would be perfect on the way to the wedding and I turned to Anthony and asked, "do they have a direct flight from L.A. to Austin?" We were on it...

Anthony and I did a three day juice cleanse last week and since I didn't have to work on MLK Day, I agreed that I would walk the 6 or 7 blocks to Pressed Juicery to pick up the juice. It didn't occur to me until I was cashing out that I just bought 36 bottles of juice and had to walk the 6 or 7 blocks back home. By the time I arrived at our apartment, I was sweaty and practically bruised from the bag straps.

Anthony and I went to Drago Centro for a few drinks earlier this month (it's a pretty trendy and happening spot during Happy Hour) and I had to pee really bad. I walked over to where the bathroom was (in plain sight of Anthony at the bar) and pulled on the door, which didn't open. I assumed that it was locked but thought that it was weird that there was only a single stall at a busy restaurant like this one. I waited almost five minutes and decided to go back to the bar and wait there. I told Anthony that there was someone in the bathroom and I would have to suck it up and deal with the pain of having to pee when I saw an older lady walk right up to that same bathroom door and push it open. I looked at Anthony, smiled and said, "apparently you have to push the door, not pull!"

Party Trick Gone Wrong....Part Deux

You know the old saying 'screw me once, shame on you. Screw me twice, shame on me?' Well, in this case it was 'screw up once, shame on the champagne bottle. Screw up twice, shame on me.' I should have learned my lesson not to perform my champagne bottle trick on New Year's Eve (see my previous blog ironically titled 'Party Trick Gone Bad') but I was feeling good that night (and a little drunk) and decided I wanted to show off. I bought a cheap bottle of sparkling wine at Trader Joe's so I didn't have to waste any of the good stuff as we rang in the New Year. In my head, I had it all planned out. The countdown would begin as we all went outside to witness my amazing trick. I would hit my mark just as it turned midnight and everyone would cheer and throw confetti while sipping on champagne. This was the first time anyone I was celebrating with would see me perform my party trick. Anthony has seen it before, but his mom, sister Sarah, brother-in-law Paul, our friends Phil and Ivanna and their three sons would be seeing it for the first time. Talk about pressure! In my defense, it has been a while since I did the trick, it was sparkling wine, not champagne and it was a cheap bottle. (I bet you can see where this story is going). So here we all were, standing outside as we count down the last seconds to 2015...three, two, one! I sliced the blunt end of the knife across the seam of the shaken up bottle, just as I do every time I successfully do this trick. Nothing. I slice it again. Nothing. On the third try, I am getting a little aggravated and thus hit the top a little harder, smashing the bottle in half and spewing glass all over Phil and Ivanna's patio. Dammit! I tried to muster up a smile but I was left speechless, holding the bottom end of the champagne bottle as everyone around me is dying laughing. Trying to convince everyone that I could in fact complete my trick successfully, I looked over to Phil and Ivanna's youngest son, Abram and his upper lip has a speckle of blood on it. He told me that the cork hit him in the lip and I immediately thought I was never going to be invited back to their house ever again. Instead, they let me try my trick one more time (I nailed it on the first try) and Abram asked me to autograph the cork for him. All in all, I think it was a successful New Year's....