O' Christmas Party

Oh Christmas party, how do I detest you?
Let me count the ways.

I actually do not detest you.
I detest in general and so you, my dear little party, are on the list of detestation.

And for the record, my secret activity is causing me to have these strange but lovely feelings of benevolence and nurture and I just might not be as full of hate as I purport to be.

So, last time we checked, it was 11 am on the day of the party and all I had to wear was pants.
And a coat.
But this homey don't play half-ass when it comes to dressing up.
Between the hours of 2 and 5:30, I did the laundry, took the dog to the park, and found the perfect cocktail dress. By the time my friends picked me up to go to the party, I felt great.
Of course, embarrassment ensued.

In the form of a distant co-worker who was stinking drunk before they even sat the party down for dinner.
We don't work that closely at all but we work in the same building and live in the same neighborhood.

I care for the girl, I do, in that she is a kind person going through a hard time and I'm not a monster. Unfortunately, I can't emphasize how much I have to stay away form her right now. I am not going to risk being in the wrong place at the wrong time because I am "being a good friend." I'm over that shit because I have learned that you can be a GREAT friend and keep a wide berth between you and the people and places that might lead to your legal demise. You can call me whatever you want but guilty by association was over last century for me.

Right after dinner, I run into her for the first time in the evening and I realize that she's 100% trashed. Not only trashed but going on about this dude who is B-A-D. Not only that, but she takes the time to "confide" in me that she thinks she's pregnant.

Hey! Let's do shots!

And fuck you. I have no respect for that behavior. If an adult thinks she might be pregnant, she better figure it out before drinking 53 Heinekens and acting the fool at her company Christmas party. Or for God's sake, don't tell anyone because in George W. Bush's America, what you are doing is child abuse.
But mostly, it's just gross to me, now that I have found the Softer Side of Sarah and am feeling all grounded and stuff. You don't drink like that if you think you are pregnant.

Her announcement to me was early and it was right after dinner, before most people commenced to the heavier drinking that usually happens at that party.

So picture it: I am in the prettiest periwinkle cocktail dress - classic cut, beading at the neck and the hem, I have the coat and a bag and adorable shoes and my friend Emily made my hair look like a modern take on a Mod bee-hive and frankly, I looked and felt really good. The people with whom I work most closely enjoyed dinner and we were doing some shots with the department and checking out everyone's outfits and I was having fun, you know? Good, clean, in-control fun.
We are at a gorgeous resort out in the desert and the pool below is all lit up in different colors - we were up on a balcony portico that open into a ballroom and bar. Looking out over that balcony while I was all dressed up and feeling perfect was enough of a party for me. I seriously would have had a cocktail and smiled and left if I had been on a dinner date or something. I was getting all filled up on the appreciation that I felt for being really beautiful, in this beautiful place and with these amazing people with whom I work.
And I was really full on that feeling, I really felt satisfied with every single thing in my life.

Meanwhile, my neighborhood pal was losing it.
I went inside to refresh my drink and find my work friends and I get spotted by my neighborhood pal. Her thigh-highs were showing under the slit in her skirt.
Her eye make-up was oozing down to her chin.
Her language and carriage were just....
Sad for a company affair.
Now, I realize that open bar is open bar but man! I cannot believe at what face-value some people take that, you know? You WORK for these people.
I WORK for these people.
I might indeed get drunk and righteously so but if I am, I am going to do it with my managers. If they aren't drinking heavily, neither am I.

It never fails to amaze me that there are people in the world who don't even blink when they miss the social cue exit because they are going 178 miles per hour on an alcohol binge-drinking festival that is completely unnecessary and totally embarrassing.

But I digress.
Here's what happened that made me snap. I'm feeling all pretty and effective, you know? I'm feeling like I have pulled my shit together and things are working out for me now.
I'm feeling GOOD.
Iíve gone back inside and danced with my friends a little and I'm standing at a table talking to a Phoenix VP and the woman sits in a chair behind me and grabs my dress.
With her fist.
I turned around, bent at the knees and manually uncurled her fingers from my dress; all while maintaining conversation with the Vice President, much in the way a parent might continue to speak to you as if manually removing children from their clothing is second-nature.

Hey, good job on keeping cool, Sarah!
Until she reaches up to grab my dress again.
I turned around and caught her wrist and squeezed it so hard that I bet she has a bruise.
How do you turn back to the VP after committing abuse toward a co-worker who has been harassing you all night and be all, "Well, it was my pleasure to work on that project."

At best, you look like you are BFF with a train-wreck of stale smoke-smell and falling thigh-highs and at worst; you look like you might be in the midst of some lesbian break-up drama.

By the time I returned my attention, as best I could, to the Veep, all I'm seeing is a whiskey-fueled warning sign going off in my head and the sign is bright red and flashing to the cadence of my name when I say it out loud and over that beat, it is screaming at me with its enormous neon arrows: "Move away!!!!!!! BACK UP! GET OUT! Save yourself! Retreat! Retreat!!"

You can imagine that I was LOSING my SHIT with embarrassment and you would be right on about that.

And you know what's sad?
I have this feeling that if I were to talk to her about it, she would think that I was a bitch for being offended by the grabbing. I have this sad, empty feeling that if I took the time to talk to her about her behavior recently, and most notably at that party, I have this feeling that she would either snap or she would think I was joking and she would think that it was funny.

It's not funny.
It's sad.
I'm not putting myself into sad situations right now.
I can't do that for you and I can't make you feel better right now because I cannot risk losing the ground I've gained.

And because she was in my general vicinity at any given time, waiting, I guess forÖ
Hell, I donít even know what for.
But because she was around me all night, guess whoís in every fucking picture that this other girl,a new girl, sent to my entire department?
I totally lost my patience and in a very calculated manner, told the picture-sender to recall her email.
Nobody in management needs to be photographically reminded of weekend debauchery. Send those pics to the people at our level but not to the fucking PRESIDENT OF THE COMPANY.


H O W?

I pretty much want to crawl under my desk and start bawling right now.

arizonasarah at 11:04 a.m.

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