2004-12-15 - 3:54 p.m.

We had our “Holiday” party on Friday. I use the ironic parenthesis because you have to be PC and all these days. You can’t call it a Christmas/ Chanukah/ Kwanzaa party anymore. Unless you are the Virgin Mobile advertising firm, then you can call it Chrismahanukwanzakah.
Our company is one boozy crowd. Every Friday (actually it could be any day of the week) we all go out and drink at the local pub. We are not averse to drinking our faces off together. However, a holiday party seems to bring out the craziness in people. The last few years we have rented out a space that has offered open bar. There is something magical about the words OPEN BAR that turns people into dribbling idiots. Is it that free booze tastes better? Or is it more that throw back to college when you had to “pre party” before you went to the bar because you couldn’t afford the $2 pitchers of budlight and the cover charge. Whatever the reason, there were more than a few that got their drink on and their swerve on.
I am pleased to announce that there were no embarrassing colleague hook ups this year. Last year they seemed to be pairing off left and right. Casually scanning the room you would see someone’s hand on someone else’s butt, another couple snogging in the corner and drunken confessions of undying love. Too bad P works at the same company, I could have gotten lucky. Kidding P. This year it seemed like everyone brought their significant other and for the obvious reason I didn’t see much hooking up going on. Of course I hooked up with P… again.
This year it was held on a Friday because last year when it was on a Wednesday too many people could not crawl out from under their hangovers to make it to work the next day. I made it in but I was about an hour late. And I was one of the early ones!
Anyhoo, last year we had DJ Sucky McSuckypants, so this year the organizer went to great pains to make sure this year’s DJ had some music other than acid trance jazzy monks. I was dancing like I was working for the kids and rent was due. I always thought I was a fairly good dancer. I have now seen photographic evidence that contradicts that thought. Thanks E.
E. brought her digital camera and documented the evening. When she downloaded all those photos for us to see I was shocked at what I saw. E. currently holds the largest collection of unflattering photos of me in existence. No, seriously. In each photo she has managed to catch me in some kind of action shot, mostly dancing with my arms is a weird position. Although there was one shot of me and my ponytail seems to be defying gravity. Out of ninety-nine photos there are, oh I don’t know, 83 of me looking like a complete moron. I look like I am having seizure in most of them. Someone should have shoved a wallet in my mouth I could have seriously hurt myself and others. Most people are their own worst critics when it comes to photos, but holy cats, I look mentally challenged in the bulk of them. Again, thanks E.

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