Friday, December 12, 2003
Having hubby's holiday office party just days after the hubby's office Open House was just a tad much i.e. why didn't someone think of killing two birds with one stone? Why not show off the new everything-is-yellow-to-match-the-company-logo office along with the fancy espresso machine AND have the holiday party there at the same time.
No instead we were a table of the same twenty people I don't know particularly well and whom I had just seen a few nights before. Having dinner we were. On Boston's Odyssey Cruise ship. Like I said, in the beginning the parties are always as flush as a venture capatalist's bank account. But take my advice and don't ever plan an office party (or any other kind of party) on one of these evening cruise ships. It's like a bad Disney ride. Really. Especially in December when you're looking out the window at essentially nothing but twinkling, swaying lights that give you the feeling you've had more to drink than you actually have. During the dinner they basically park the boat somewhere out on the ocean and subject you to course after course of swaying meals. Once you get past the sprigs, swizzles, and puree of plate ornamentation, you discover, heh, underneath all the decorative goop are just an overcooked steak and underdone potato! The live music is loud and lounge-lizardy. I have to give them credit though for having played one good round of "At Last" (Etta James I think did the best interpretation of that song ever).
The loud music made dinner conversation a yelling match. Just as I had engaged myself in a delightful scream with the CTO of the company, a whispering software nerd who lives in a refurbished castle in the countryside of England, we were beseiged by a wait staff very nosily clearing away the dessert dishes, glasses, and napkins. As if their lives depended on it. We had been talking about one of my passion subjects (sustainable agriculture) when along came someone who thought it might be OK to take away my half-finished chocolate mousse. "Ummm, excuse me but could you kindly put that back. I'm not finished..." But I guess the guy who came over loud-and-clear on the intercom thought I was finished because the lighting suddenly went from romantically dim to a fluorescent glare -- the bright light accentuating the interior decor that had obviously seen one too many Jr. Prom. "Thank you for joining us this evening. We have now docked. Please remember to collect your belongings before you go..."
"Gee honey, I guess it's time to go!" Oh look at me being so catty. It was a lovely evening. Really. I got to wear my velvet Ann Taylor pants and beaded sleeveless top. The shoes are the kind which have prompted an alarming number of women to get toe surgery so that they can squeeze their feet into them every day (I discreetly changed into my Steve Madden black suede sneakers before disembarking). I got to dance to "At Last." And hubby's colleagues are mostly delightful, intelligent, interesting English chaps. So I can't complain. OK, ok. I forgot to tell you about the half-bottle of J.Lohr I drank before going on board. Just to take off the edge. BECAUSE GOD YOU CAN'T IMAGINE HOW MANY OF THESE COMPANY CHRISTMAS PARTIES I HAVE BEEN SUBJECTED TO. No, no I didn't drink the bottle all by myself -- swigging it, as it were, whilst hailing a cab to get to the wharf. No, my long-time friend I can thank for my job at the State House accompanied me to a new place right near the wharf called Sel de la Terre.
And I'm pleased to report too that my duct-tape-smile-red lipstick did its job although I did lecture the CEO's wife just a little bit that she really ought to start buying organic milk for her three toddlers. I also commended her for not having given in to buying a big, fat Suburban. She would like one but Mr. hubby CEO is taking my side on this one so far. Trying to change the world, one reluctant person at a time....
No instead we were a table of the same twenty people I don't know particularly well and whom I had just seen a few nights before. Having dinner we were. On Boston's Odyssey Cruise ship. Like I said, in the beginning the parties are always as flush as a venture capatalist's bank account. But take my advice and don't ever plan an office party (or any other kind of party) on one of these evening cruise ships. It's like a bad Disney ride. Really. Especially in December when you're looking out the window at essentially nothing but twinkling, swaying lights that give you the feeling you've had more to drink than you actually have. During the dinner they basically park the boat somewhere out on the ocean and subject you to course after course of swaying meals. Once you get past the sprigs, swizzles, and puree of plate ornamentation, you discover, heh, underneath all the decorative goop are just an overcooked steak and underdone potato! The live music is loud and lounge-lizardy. I have to give them credit though for having played one good round of "At Last" (Etta James I think did the best interpretation of that song ever).
The loud music made dinner conversation a yelling match. Just as I had engaged myself in a delightful scream with the CTO of the company, a whispering software nerd who lives in a refurbished castle in the countryside of England, we were beseiged by a wait staff very nosily clearing away the dessert dishes, glasses, and napkins. As if their lives depended on it. We had been talking about one of my passion subjects (sustainable agriculture) when along came someone who thought it might be OK to take away my half-finished chocolate mousse. "Ummm, excuse me but could you kindly put that back. I'm not finished..." But I guess the guy who came over loud-and-clear on the intercom thought I was finished because the lighting suddenly went from romantically dim to a fluorescent glare -- the bright light accentuating the interior decor that had obviously seen one too many Jr. Prom. "Thank you for joining us this evening. We have now docked. Please remember to collect your belongings before you go..."
"Gee honey, I guess it's time to go!" Oh look at me being so catty. It was a lovely evening. Really. I got to wear my velvet Ann Taylor pants and beaded sleeveless top. The shoes are the kind which have prompted an alarming number of women to get toe surgery so that they can squeeze their feet into them every day (I discreetly changed into my Steve Madden black suede sneakers before disembarking). I got to dance to "At Last." And hubby's colleagues are mostly delightful, intelligent, interesting English chaps. So I can't complain. OK, ok. I forgot to tell you about the half-bottle of J.Lohr I drank before going on board. Just to take off the edge. BECAUSE GOD YOU CAN'T IMAGINE HOW MANY OF THESE COMPANY CHRISTMAS PARTIES I HAVE BEEN SUBJECTED TO. No, no I didn't drink the bottle all by myself -- swigging it, as it were, whilst hailing a cab to get to the wharf. No, my long-time friend I can thank for my job at the State House accompanied me to a new place right near the wharf called Sel de la Terre.
And I'm pleased to report too that my duct-tape-smile-red lipstick did its job although I did lecture the CEO's wife just a little bit that she really ought to start buying organic milk for her three toddlers. I also commended her for not having given in to buying a big, fat Suburban. She would like one but Mr. hubby CEO is taking my side on this one so far. Trying to change the world, one reluctant person at a time....
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