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Saturday, December 03, 2005

Staff Christmas party

In my opinion, you can't be fully a part of workplace friendship until you've had one too many drinks and danced your ass off in front of co-workers, half in earnest, half in self-deprication.

Well, mission accomplished. Staff Christmas party last night. It was held in an old Victorian home turned restaurant/catering business. We had an almost passable meal of heavy appetizers, and did a strange gift exchange that involved standing in a circle and passing gifts as someone read "Night Before Christmas" with lefts and rights inserted in the text. It was BYOB, and I shared a bottle of wine with someone.

So by the time the DJ cranked up the volume on the music, indicating it was dancing time, it was a moderately surreal evening. I spent some extraordinarily anti-social time texting a few people about the weirdness, and then, somehow, I really got into it.

My boss tore it up. She goes to step dance clubs in Birmingham and Atlanta, and knows all the moves. It was so much fun just to sit and watch her, but she also taught me a few of the easier ones, too. Eventually, the party cleared out until there about ten of us, a few cases of beer, and loud music. The wine buzz had worn off by then, but everyone, regardless of having a lot or no rhythm, was dancing. One older woman, an art therapist I really like, told me my new nickname was "Catwoman," because of the way I danced.

Though she said it was a compliment, I'm still not sure. I like dancing, and I try to forget that I may look a fool while doing it. It took me about sixteen years to lose my inhibitions on the dance floor, and I don't want to gain them back.

The party wound down, and we diehards helped clean up (I felt we should, for we stayed late late late), then made plans for a few of us to continue the party at someone's home. We all pulled out of the parking lot to caravan there, and I heard a noise that sounded like a tire blowout. But I didn't start swerving or anything, so I kept driving. Fran was right behind me, and she slowed down. A few blocks later, I called her, and she said the noise was a gunshot! And that she saw a man emerge from the apartment building across from the restaurant holding a gun out in front of him, pointing it at someone. She slowed down to call 911. If we had been five minutes later leaving the restaurant, we would have walked onto the whole scene.

So we went to one of my co-worker's houses. She's probably about my mother's age, and lives in a beautiful subdivision in a stunning house. Five of us ended up in her favorite room of the house, that she calls the Birdcage. A tiny converted attic, it has sloping ceilings, skylights, and cozy furniture. We cuddled up with throw blankets, ice cream, and hot cocoa, and stayed up until 1:30 a.m. talking. It was cozy and relaxing.

I feel like I'm a part of a group of friends now. It's wonderful.


Blogger metrogeekboy said...

I didn't want to leave a comment about this here, but I don't know your email...

I changed my blog address name, so I just wanted to pass it on. I would miss having you come around every now and then!!



1:29 AM  
Blogger metrogeekboy said...

Oh yes....
Catwoman....Should I start calling you that from now on! -grin- Way to tear up the dance floor!

1:31 AM  

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