It all starts with a holiday office party serving drinks made of lemon juice, vodka (or gin) and champagne. Picture agents, all in their 30s and 40s, pounding these surprisingly ridiculously strong drinks in the office. Now imagine that starting at 3pm. By the time I leave at 5, I'm 3 deep, have a very healthy buzz on, and hear that the party went til about 7, complete with one assistant spitting on the carpet and proclaiming "I need something for my nose." Unfortunately, one can't stay for everything in life, and I had a club run to get to, so I'll have to hope she gets drunk and starts spitting at the next party.
I make the club run and meet up with Za, who's invited me to the SFJC.Center for their Hanukkah party. I walk in, can't find her, but that's never stopped me before, especially when I find bars of free beer and sake shots. I've downed two by the time I find her. The atmosphere is sweet...the place is crowded, everyone keeps shooting sake and the dj is keeping things moving. At one point, following an awkward conversation attempting to explain my Jewish heritage, we get out on the dance floor. Then a slow song comes on and I recreate middle school by asking a girl to dance. I don't remember the last time THAT happened. From the look on her face, I don't think she remembers either. I felt like some sort of antique.
By 10, Za is plastered, McButter is playing den mother and I'm furiously pounding water to get back into tip top shape. I get home at 11 and after seriously considering doing all manner of things that may or may not have gotten me in trouble, I decide on the water and bed course of action. An excellent decision as it turns out.
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