A week ago, Alison came to Ottawa to pick up Darryl and I. The three of us headed so far South in Ottawa that no one has ever even been out there, and the maps are wrong because new roads exist due to the city's love for expanding. We arrived in extreme suburbia, to pick up Momma's 50th Birthday cake.
I had to hold this deliciousness all the way to Renfrew. It smelled like marshmallows.
We spent the afternoon decorating a pub. We also got super hungry, and ate some chocolate bars, because we needed the fastest available sustenance. Then, we drove out to Alison's place, changed, and drove back into town to greet the 20 or so guests we invited to the dinner. At 6:30, Momma and her boyfriend came in the back entrance, thinking she was going to a lovely birthday dinner for 2.
When she saw Darryl sitting at the end of a table, she freaked out because she knew I was obviously there, and not at work. She was incredibly surprised, which is awesome, because we thought grandma was lame and ruined the surprise. Grandma is usually lame like that.
We had a great dinner, and she assumed that was all the fun. But then the band she has recently fallen in love with came in and started to set up, and she freaked out about that too. They're an Ottawa band called Deja Vu Acoustic, and they are quite good. This is completely unrelated to this picture of Alison, our cousin Cheryl, and friends Leigh and Diana.
And my friends Rebecca and Lindsay were there, because over the course of the night, 60-70 people showed up to celebrate Mommma. She absolutely loved it.
There were former coworkers like Emmylou, and family like Cecil and DonnaLynn [we got most of the two-namers into this picture, for your reading pleasure].
We made Momma wear an cammo patterened birthday badge, because I thought it was her birthday as a 5 year old boy. I was mistaken.
The pictures all turned out fairly terribly, because I let Leigh take my camera around, but you can tell in all of them that it was a fun night, regardless of the fact that the bar staff was the WORST. [see: My "Manhattan" was a shot of whiskey and a shot of sambuca. very very wrong. But closer to right, after the bartender asked if I wanted my Manhattan to be vodka or gin based. FAIL.]
Finally, Momma use some wussy little steak knife to cut the cake, and it was extremely delicious.
By the time we went home, we were all dead.