24 is the new 25

GASP!!!

Do you ever audibly gasp at something that in no way deserves an audible gasp and then everyone looks at you and you have to explain that you just extended an arrow farther than you intended on a PowerPoint slide and they look at you funny and return to what they were doing, vowing never to pay you any heed when you emit a sound of total shock ever again?

Yeah, me neither..

Last night

was epic.  I love working at an agency that values team bonding and sees the merit in getting the hell out of the office every once in awhile.  I’d been hearing stories for weeks leading up to last night’s holiday party, about parties of years past and the…well, I was going to say shenanigans, but I don’t even think that does the stories justice.  Two years ago one girl punched a partner in the face; last year a cab ride destined for Jersey resulted in a detour through both Brooklyn and the Bronx, a partner getting down to “Insane in the Membrane” at a karaoke bar in koreatown…  As such, my expectations were perched quite high.

I was not let down.  Trying to get a group of fifteen out the door can be quite a feat, so we didn’t set off for a watering hole til about 7.  Dinner reservations were at 9 at il buco.  Probably a bad choice on my part, but I decided to share a fun fact about me, that the restaurant was the site of my very first ever real-live date.  After realizing I hadn’t provided context, I realized everyone was now under the impression that I didn’t date til after college.  Quickly I assured the table that, while I was a late dating bloomer, I wasn’t that late, and that the aforementioned date had occurred the first time I lived in New York.  When I was eighteen.  Still kind of pathetic, but not as pathetic as 22.  23?  Wow, I’ve been here too long…

Where was I?  Oh right, dinner.  I had a pate that I tried in vain to convince my tablemates tasted like Lucky Charms (it did!) and someone smuggled a bottle of wine out in their purse.  At this point, I was still doing pretty good.  I had taken precautions to maintain my sobriety, or at least a shadow of it, for the night, after a particularly embarrassing night out with co-workers at my first job out of college which resulted in a lost wallet and the inability to look my HR director in the eye for months to come (note to recent college grads:  you may think you can drink as much as you did in school, but I’m here to tell you you can’t.  And even if you could, you shouldn’t.  Life lessons folks, life lessons…).

Stylish flats, a purse with a zipper, a pared-down wallet, and a drinking strategy that prohibited beer from entering the mix all contributed to my ability to still be a functioning human being today with no, ‘oh god, what did I do?’ regrets.

Dinner was followed by bowling, where I got two strikes! Or maybe one strike and one spare…regardless, at two distinct points in the game, I knocked down all the pins.  I know.  I’m awesome.

The bowling alley kicked us out at two, but no one was ready to go home, so off we went to a karaoke bar on Avenue A.  I’d never been to a real karaoke place like that, where you have individual rooms, but man it was weird.  It seemed about as likely that you would find small Asian women waiting to walk on your back as finding a large tv displaying the words to power ballads and pop songs.  My stellar rendition of Jay-Z’s “99 Problems” brought the house down, if I do say so myself.

After the karaoke bar kicked us out, the group finally disbanded for the evening (morning?).  I jumped in a cab and crawled into bed a little after four.  And yes, I am proud of myself.  It was a Tuesday!

My nemesis

Hiccups are to drinking as tells are to poker. You don’t mean for them to happen, they’re a huge hassle and inconvenience, but you just can’t seem to shake them…

karaoke

at 230am. God bless company holiday parties.

Not to brag, but...

Not one, not two, but THREE people at work today have commented on how awesome/big my boobs look today.  Maybe there’s something to this whole ‘wearing a bra’ thing after all.

I accepted all compliments as they were intended - not in creepiness but rather a platonic, aesthetic appreciation of true beauty.

One of those days

I’m having one of those days where you say to yourself, “God, I need a drink,” and then you’re kind of horrified with yourself because you’re like, “When did I turn into Dennis Franz on NYPD Blue?” but then you’re all, “But no, seriously.  Somebody get me a scotch.”