Right After This

I went to my work's Christmas party on Friday night. After a very busy week, I was looking forward to drinking, drinking, and drinking some more until I fell asleep in the gutter. There had been predictions of rain, but I figured that we might get a little bit before it passed over, which had been the case for the rest of the week.

Alas, it rained all night. Which does not bode well for a barefoot bowls event.

After our dinner, we huddled under the shelter and chatted. About 80's cartoons and the like. And then as people started filtering away, there was just a handful of us left and the conversation turned to the inevitable subject of work. And listening to work talk, at a heightened volume (i.e. screaming), with the soundtrack of a man vomiting behind our table, started to suck a bit. This, on top of my puffy rain hair, equals not that great a Christmas party, overall.

We sat there politely for a while before putting up our umbrellas and running to wait for our taxi. Y'see, this is the problem with work people. Work people at work functions. Too much work talk. Work. Work work. And God knows I do enough of that on here already. Work work. Work.

On Saturday night we went to a barbeque (yes, two social events in a row, OMGOMGetc) which was full of Beardie's work people. So I got to play the role of Person Who Doesn't Work There, which Beardie had played the night before. Much Singstar (or Screamstar might suit better) ensued, and after crashing the night and eating leftover bacon for breakfast, we headed home.

And today I had a day off work, and had lunch with my mum. In today's episode of The Sordid Lives of the Mountain Dwellers!!!!!!!: "The neighbour's four-year old grandson is a little bastard, who screams all the time! They're raising that child all wrong. Oh, and the neighbour-across-the-road's cat was flattened by a car the other day [said within earshot of large group of children] and it stayed there for days. What a smell! Oh well. You're not covered in tattoos, I see. You're one of a few! Every man and his dog is covered in tattoos!"

My mum and my brother gave me my Christmas present, which consisted of unusual, imported beer. I must look like I need it. And a very boozy Christmas, indeed.