As 2009 limps out like the broken down bitch it is
End of year, schmend of year. I take one damn day off in addition to the Christmas holiday and come back to what looks like the afterbirth of a humpback whale in my office. Literally, mess as far as the eye can see and a stack of panicked emails from people running about with their hair on fire as the dread DECEMBER 31 approaches.
Honestly, this place was neat as a pin on December 24. What the hell happened?
So I am rushing about as my brain is moving like molasses at the North Pole. I had to take an, er, assistant to help me sleep last night and I still cannot "brain" effectively. I'm cranky, stupid, need a haircut, my beard is shaggy, and I think I generally just look like heck. To top it off I left my good winter coat up in the country and had to wear a FUGLY coat to work today that clashed horribly with my new Paul Smith bag. I looked like a homeless dude who mugged a stylish man. Well, at least I hadn't pooed myself (unlike someone I encountered recently on the subway). This is why I am avoiding our large conference room - they thought it a good idea to provide a buffet lunch from a local Chinese restaurant as an end-of-the-year treat. That stuff would race through me like a hot knife through butter today. Best avoided, lest pants-pooing on the subway occur.
Galloping trots - not the way to spend the day.
New Year's Eve should prove a test. We are going to a dinner party that includes the hubby's main nemesis in life. The two of them get along like nitro glycerin and a good hard shake. My job will be to keep the hubby's English gob shut for the entirety of the meal every time Nemesis says something to set him off. Then we are going out drinking (God forbid on New Year's Eve), where even more opportunity for clashes will arise. I am already stressed about this. I haven't been drinking on New Year's Eve in New York City in about twelve years now. The last time I got vomit all over my shoes. Sadly, it wasn't my vomit. Or even anyone's I knew.
Endless crowds of suburban heterosexuals coming in to the city to drink until they vomit so hard they burst blood vessels in their eyes, BEFORE making out with each other and attempting ugly sex in bar bathrooms. The gay bars are moderately better. Guys on drugs don't vomit as much as the beer drinkers do.
Ah, it will be fine. I'll soldier on through it. Still, I remember back many years pre-hubby when friends and I would rent a house in Quebec City every year for New Year's Eve, and enjoy an evening of good food, music, and a late night call at a dance club for the moment itself. Then off to bed, and skiing the next morning. It was much more wholesome.
New York City sucks on New Year's Eve.
Honestly, this place was neat as a pin on December 24. What the hell happened?
So I am rushing about as my brain is moving like molasses at the North Pole. I had to take an, er, assistant to help me sleep last night and I still cannot "brain" effectively. I'm cranky, stupid, need a haircut, my beard is shaggy, and I think I generally just look like heck. To top it off I left my good winter coat up in the country and had to wear a FUGLY coat to work today that clashed horribly with my new Paul Smith bag. I looked like a homeless dude who mugged a stylish man. Well, at least I hadn't pooed myself (unlike someone I encountered recently on the subway). This is why I am avoiding our large conference room - they thought it a good idea to provide a buffet lunch from a local Chinese restaurant as an end-of-the-year treat. That stuff would race through me like a hot knife through butter today. Best avoided, lest pants-pooing on the subway occur.
Galloping trots - not the way to spend the day.
New Year's Eve should prove a test. We are going to a dinner party that includes the hubby's main nemesis in life. The two of them get along like nitro glycerin and a good hard shake. My job will be to keep the hubby's English gob shut for the entirety of the meal every time Nemesis says something to set him off. Then we are going out drinking (God forbid on New Year's Eve), where even more opportunity for clashes will arise. I am already stressed about this. I haven't been drinking on New Year's Eve in New York City in about twelve years now. The last time I got vomit all over my shoes. Sadly, it wasn't my vomit. Or even anyone's I knew.
Endless crowds of suburban heterosexuals coming in to the city to drink until they vomit so hard they burst blood vessels in their eyes, BEFORE making out with each other and attempting ugly sex in bar bathrooms. The gay bars are moderately better. Guys on drugs don't vomit as much as the beer drinkers do.
Ah, it will be fine. I'll soldier on through it. Still, I remember back many years pre-hubby when friends and I would rent a house in Quebec City every year for New Year's Eve, and enjoy an evening of good food, music, and a late night call at a dance club for the moment itself. Then off to bed, and skiing the next morning. It was much more wholesome.
New York City sucks on New Year's Eve.