October 12th, 2005

Wedding day

That bwessed awwangement, that dweam within a dweam...

This would be a great day for me to go home and go to bed. I'm not going to do that since I'm only groggy, not sick. Coffee isn't doing much. I'm struggling through another cup, and struggling is the right word for what I'm doing. Today's flavor is "Hot Buttered Rum," but it tastes a little like pine pitch.

One of my coworkers is getting married in Las Vegas on Halloween, and I came in to find an invitation to the reception in my inbox this morning. It's about a month away at the VFW Hall. I've been there once before, and I don't have the fondest memories of the place. The urinals in the men's bathroom (as opposed, I guess, to the ones in the women's bathroom) have Asian faces in them, which is the sort of thing that only happens at a VFW Hall (and specifically only the bathroom in the bar -- the dance hall does not have this particular uh, feature). When you enter the building, you have to walk through the bar to get to the dance hall. I had long hair at the time, and as I was traversing the bar, somebody at a table full of what must have been World War II vets shouted, "paint it black and cut your hair, you twink!" I'm really not sure what that means.

Anyway, the invitation to the upcoming reception is an attractive little thing, gracefully printed on tasteful faux parchment. It's heavy and it looks expensive, and it says:

Are you in the mood
to mingle with the cream of society
at an elegant little-get together?

Or would you rather come to our party?

It's incredibly fitting. I usually refuse to engage in social activities with my coworkers, but I'm trying to convince myself that I should go to this one. Last year I avoided our company Christm-- uh, I mean Employee Appreciation Party on the pretext that I was dating Ellen at the time, and I like her too much to subject her to my coworkers. The truth is really that I get uncomfortable when the people who normally hold me at arm's length start to lose their inhibitions and let their business-casual guard down. I'm not suggesting that anybody show off their Prince Albert at the water cooler, but you can't call me Mister for 364 days out of the year and then expect me to discuss which of your underlings I'd like to sleep with.
  • Current Music
    faint Muzak