Monday, December 20, 2004

Please Stop That Man Before I Drink Again...

Went to two holiday parties on Saturday, one of which was my former employer's annual event.

If only I could avoid human contact at these affairs. I got stuck in a bunch of conversations with former colleagues where we tried to pretend that we were interested in what each of us had to say. By my third glass of wine, a remarkably effective truth serum, it got harder and harder to come up with small talk and feign interest. "So how do you like it at ___?" was a repeat question. Range ofavailable answers: "Love it." "It's great." "Really liking it." "Its a lot of fun." "Great work." "It's fine, but more importantly I have really gotten into drinking goat milk." (ok, didn't say the latter, butI was tempted twice to do so). These conversations were about a pleasurable as eating glass. Glass, glass...let's see...ah, there was some glass at the bar in the corner. And everyone knows that glass is even tastier when it is first filled with booze. To the bar.

As I enjoyed a glass of a passable Cabernet, another set of people came up to me to say hi and reminisce. I call them the unrecognizables. I referred to the unrecognizables as "man." As in"Hey, man, how have you been?" I can safely report that "man" is/are doing fine. For the most part. Man suggested we get a drink. And so we did. The Grey Goose and tonic did not make them any more recognizable, but the conversation was better lubricated.

About the most scandalous thing that happened at the party was the shamelessly bad dancing. I was traumatized by this one financial expert's spasmatic grooving to "Play That Funky Music White Boy." It was so horrific a scene that I almost wrestled the bass player to the ground; seriously, he was encouraging people by smiling and pointing at them. Sicko. When the managing director started doing something that resembled the cabbage patch mixed with the worm mixed with a seizure, I was driven back to the bar yet again.

So, in sum, I spent Saturday coming up with reasons to drink. And the folks at my old company came up with a variety of justifications for my top shelf descent into inebriation.


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