My company had their annual Christmas party last night, which in the nearly 4 years I’ve been there is really the first annual Christmas party we’ve ever had. It was…classy. I mean, just look at that guy. He’s totally oozing class, no?
It’s hard to believe that that guy can’t seem to find a girlfriend who loves him even with his overwhelming faults, isn’t it? I’m not bitter, why would you say that? Actually, I’m not bitter, I’m just terribly disappointed with myself. I pretty much screwed it with someone very special to me…which is something I excel at. Something I also excel at is changing the subject.
It was a pretty fancy affair, and it was weird seeing people in ties that you otherwise have only ever seen in T-shirts. There was a lot of alcohol that I took personal responsibility for drinking, and there was a buffet that I didn’t attack as much as I would have if I wasn’t already feeling the effects of whiskey and DayQuil. There was a raffle with things like big screens and laptops, and there was a general feeling of partying.
I got there late enough that people had already started eating and claimed their seats at the cool table. Under the aformentioned effects of DayQuil and whiskey I just took over my friend’s abandoned spot and put my plate of chicken kiev and shrimp on top of his. I’m fairly certain I also used his napkin, which I’m going to say now was in the interests of saving the environment somehow.
There’s only so much one can do when in the company of all of your co-workers so we went around the corner to Seven Grand. It was my first time in what is definitely the best whiskey bar I’ve ever been in. To re-use an overused descriptive: it was classy. I wasn’t out of place in a suit even if the hipsters were in jeans and logo tees.
And there was dancing. You’ve not lived until you’ve seen me dancing. I’m not saying it’s good, I’m not saying it’s bad; I’m just saying you ain’t lived.