Holiday Celebration

Last night was the firm’s holiday bash. Twas an interesting night to say the least.

I didn't think I was going to go even though I had planned on it for the better part of the week. When yesterday came rolling around, I ended up having more work than I could deal with so I figured I would just skip it, get some sleep and work this weekend. The reason I couldn't do this was because for the first time in my work past, my sweetie was also accompanying me. We're allowed to bring 'a companion'. It was kind of cute. P came home early to get all gussied up so I had to run home in order to primp appropriately (which I did in record time) also and we headed over to the Ritz together.

So post events results...I'm glad we went. It was slightly crazy and I realize that P should definitely not be left alone with an open bar. Lord have mercy the man did enjoy himself some free drinks and the food...well that wasn't too shabby as well. I have to admit though, I had absolutely no interest at all in going to the 'after party party' but because I was told by one of my co-workers that 'yo ass ain't goin' home anytime soon and you best just get into yo car and take yo silly ass on over to the club' I basically had no choice, and neither did P. I went with grave doubts. I should have known better.

We parked on Mass Ave. and walked through the rain, me clutching P for dear life (teetering around on cute heels that were never supposed to see rain except from within the confines of it’s plastic shoebox) as he trudged on fearlessly chattering with me making me forget just how frozen I was. Citron was our final destination. The funny thing was that P had never been to a club in his life so this was going to be a new experience for him (a lot of firsts now that I think about it). I did my part though because I warned everyone that Citron was about a minute big and that dancing would be really difficult when room was so darn limited. Still, everyone insisted and who was I to disagree? I wasn’t going to be a naysayer when the others were onboard (forget the fact that I was more than ready to go home, shed the fancy party finery and watch endless episodes of the George Lopez Show, which btw I’m totally addicted to).

Now there's a strange phenomenon that happens when one combines free booze, free food and the right amount of holiday spirit together (a lethal combination at best albeit funny)...absolutely everyone becomes friends too. Even the most unlikely folks who would normally never associate with one another quickly find themselves buddy-ing up and dancing like a bunch of loons in a club that should only house about 10 people as opposed to the 100+ that are actually stuffed into the freaking place. On top of all that, the people that normally wouldn’t spend a dime to get you a band aid if you were bleeding from the head, was suddenly buying rounds of shots because, ‘you’re such a good person’ is being bandied around willy-nilly. Then add the endless bad jokes, more booze, goofy dance steps and late hour and you have a lot of memories in which to remember (though fuzzily at best).

By the time we left, it was about 2:30 am and we were feelin’ absolutely NO pain whatsoever. Well, that’s not true. My feet were killing me. I’ve never been one to not turn a bad situation good. As I was toddling down the street laughing out loud at nothing in particular at all, I suddenly stopped and declared out loud(in a fairly slurred voice) that my feet hurt, then promptly became proactive by slipping my feet out of the formerly mentioned cute heels (red strappy numbers with little silver and diamond jingly things in case anyone was wondering and since I didn’t give an appropriate description before) effectively leaving me barefoot out on a cold rain soaked sidewalk.

P and my friend’s husband looked at me as if I were lunatic. My friend however (which is probably why she’s turned into my friend from just being a colleague since like attracts like) exclaimed that if I was doing that, then so would she. Before her husband could stop her, she stood on the sidewalk sans shoes as well (at least she wore stockings unlike my dumbass whose flesh met the sidewalk with no bar). Imagine how ridiculous we looked, the pair of us in our dresses with our heels dangling from our fingers as we rushed down the sidewalk.

All in all, a good night. P was glad he went and he liked my friends (except for one person, which was understandable). Oh, another first, he danced!!! For those who know us well enough, you know one thing for sure, P can not dance and therefore he avoids doing so at all times (I have long since considered this to be the one small mercy of my life). I guess all the things I mentioned above that makes people unusually jolly during the holiday season, also counts for the reason my man decided to step up to the plate, channel himself some Fred Astaire (or Salman Khan) and decided to get freaky with me (let me make this clear, P’s idea of getting ‘freaky’ is to hold onto me the way I did earlier that evening out in the street, closely resembling a clinging vine, while all the while gawking openmouthed at the people who were joyously grinding to the music oblivious to any warnings their mothers may have given them that they would burn in hell for behaving so inappropriately in front of God while not really touching me with his body besides the occasional hug…hey, I get what I can take after 11 years of being hooked and cooked). I must admit though, I couldn’t control my laughter every time I focused on my sweetie. The rest of the time though, I was too hyped on ‘happy juice’ to really care and danced regardless of P’s non-human bippity boppity style of movement.

So…I don’t in the least regret having gone (though my body regretted it the next morning and P’s massive hangover). And now, P’s all about going to the city and hanging out with my peeps more often.

Yayyy...imagine all the future blog entries for yours truly!!!!