Red Hot and Rio
The Christmas party lived up to the legend.
We arrived around 730, and within about 2 minutes had been handed Caipirhinas. My black lace cocktail dress makes me look hour-glassy and shows a good bit of cleavage, and since I tend to be a bit of a tomboy by English standards it was really funny watching my male colleagues respond to the girly, made-up me. Got a lot of compliments, always good for the ego.
Dinner sucked, as usual, but you figure they're cooking for 1000 people in a tent so there's a limit on what they can do for the price. The wine was flowing freely and I was sitting next to our MD, who has a tendency to fill your glass when you're not looking. Every time I'm by him at a function I end up much drunker than I should be, and I definitely believe it is his fault. My Christmas cracker contained a little fortune fish that, when placed on my palm, revealed that I am in love. Would be nice if it had a name for me, too, but I'm willing to go on faith. I woke up one morning about eight months ago positively convinced that I would be married within the next year or so, which is not at all like me...so I guess it isn't surprising that the fortune fish could identify my own true love, even if I can't. As long as his name isn't something stupid like Basil I'll be fine.
Anyway, the evening progressed with more caipirhinas, more wine, much dancing and very stupid conversation. Two colleagues confessed that they find me fascinating. One of the women on my team grabbed my boobs and proclaimed them fabulous. So did one of the guys on our sales team. My friend Michelle and I were chatted up by two Scottish blokes with shaved heads. A drunk married colleague snogged TWO of our co-workers (one married, one not), and another fell asleep on the dance floor after snogging Random Guy (we think he was blond). People were dancing like John Travolta. This is England, so their eighties pop music included Stand and Deliver. We boogied up a storm to Stuck in the Middle and Thriller. When "carriages" were announced at one AM, it was all I could do to find my cab and get safely home. And my MD couldn't find his, so he had mine drop him at his hotel and then paid the driver for my fare, too, so all of this fun cost me absolutely nothing.
Woke up with a bit of a hangover on Saturday, which never quite got better since I had to spend the day at the office working on a proposal. But once a year I can do this. And there's always Berocca to help out.
We arrived around 730, and within about 2 minutes had been handed Caipirhinas. My black lace cocktail dress makes me look hour-glassy and shows a good bit of cleavage, and since I tend to be a bit of a tomboy by English standards it was really funny watching my male colleagues respond to the girly, made-up me. Got a lot of compliments, always good for the ego.
Dinner sucked, as usual, but you figure they're cooking for 1000 people in a tent so there's a limit on what they can do for the price. The wine was flowing freely and I was sitting next to our MD, who has a tendency to fill your glass when you're not looking. Every time I'm by him at a function I end up much drunker than I should be, and I definitely believe it is his fault. My Christmas cracker contained a little fortune fish that, when placed on my palm, revealed that I am in love. Would be nice if it had a name for me, too, but I'm willing to go on faith. I woke up one morning about eight months ago positively convinced that I would be married within the next year or so, which is not at all like me...so I guess it isn't surprising that the fortune fish could identify my own true love, even if I can't. As long as his name isn't something stupid like Basil I'll be fine.
Anyway, the evening progressed with more caipirhinas, more wine, much dancing and very stupid conversation. Two colleagues confessed that they find me fascinating. One of the women on my team grabbed my boobs and proclaimed them fabulous. So did one of the guys on our sales team. My friend Michelle and I were chatted up by two Scottish blokes with shaved heads. A drunk married colleague snogged TWO of our co-workers (one married, one not), and another fell asleep on the dance floor after snogging Random Guy (we think he was blond). People were dancing like John Travolta. This is England, so their eighties pop music included Stand and Deliver. We boogied up a storm to Stuck in the Middle and Thriller. When "carriages" were announced at one AM, it was all I could do to find my cab and get safely home. And my MD couldn't find his, so he had mine drop him at his hotel and then paid the driver for my fare, too, so all of this fun cost me absolutely nothing.
Woke up with a bit of a hangover on Saturday, which never quite got better since I had to spend the day at the office working on a proposal. But once a year I can do this. And there's always Berocca to help out.
Comments
It sounds like you had a great time.