Yesterday at work, one of the coworkers sent an email to a bunch of us. "Anyone up for going to happy hour after work, for a bit?"
I immediately screamed back an email: "GOD ,YES."
An hour later, that same guy re-emailed. "So far, all I've gotten was a 'GOD, YES' from June. Anyone else?"
Corporate ladder. Climbing it.
Fortunately, other people wanted to go, too, so we all headed downtown to that brewery we go to. I parked where I always do, which is on the street near the antique store, where in the back of the store is the little courtyard that is my future wedding venue.
"OUT OF BUSINESS SALE" read a sign on the antique store.
Son of a--ARE YOU SERIOUS? Now I have not only a lack of groom, but a lack of VENUE? I feel like my wedding plans are falling apart.
I groused on into the bar, wondering what I was gonna do about that deposit on the polka band. We all kind of arrived at the same time, as did the rest of the world, because Friday at 5:30. I went to the bar with a coworker and waited an interminable amount of time because they only had one poor guy working, a guy with a ton of thick, wavy hair. I tried to picture our children, and came up with with maybe a Fabio and Bernie from Room 222 hybrid. A Berbio. As I turned from the bar to head back to my table,
there was Ned.
It deserved its own line. "Hi, Ned," I said, cool as a cucumber. Or as my mother said recently, calm as a cucumber. "This is my friend from work, Eugenia." Now I'm wondering if all the Alexes from work are gonna be mad I gave this particular coworker a whole new name, or they're gonna be grateful I didn't call them anything stupid like Eugenia.
Ned introduced us to his friend, who's in from out of town, and that was that. I returned to the coworker table no worse for wear.
"How do I look?" I asked everyone nervously. "You look beautiful," one of the nicer Alexes said, and clearly she had on her 1990 wine goggles, which is the last time I remotely looked beautiful.
Eventually, my boss came in and went to the bar. When he returned, he was all, "WHAT A SMALL WORLD! DID YOU SEE WHO'S HERE!? NED BOUGHT ME DRINK!!"
I mean, between the Ned sighting and my wedding venue and my boss turning all Benedict Arnold, which I just typed as Benedict Arthur, I was so ready for what was next. You won't BELIEVE what happens next. Click here.
There was a dance party at Proximity, the hotel I like to go to when I do my freelance whore work. Kaye and Marty Martin and I were all set to go. "Kaye is tired," texted Marty, at like 7:30. "She's going home."
"TELL KAYE TO SUCK MY DICK!" I wrote back.
"If you show it, she'll blow it," wrote Marty, and incidentally I love Kaye.
So that left just MMartin, Esq, who is not remotely an Esq., to get up with me at the dance party. We sat in the lobby of the hotel, where I sit to do my whoring, so I felt super comfortable. Actually, it occurred to me that getting a drink and taking it to the lovely lobby is a great date idea. Space to talk and still enjoy that nice hotel. Now I have a first date locale, but no wedding venue.
Eventually, the music started and we headed to the main room. This dance party was totally for people our age. It was like in the early '90s, when I had this old lady friend who asked me to take her out to a senior dance one night. I was the only person under 70 there, and you can imagine what a Scarlett-at-the-barbecue I was that night. It was so fun to watch my little friend Millie cut a rug. She could SUPER DUPER dance, the way old people can, like they know actual dances and stuff.
Anyway, at that dance, they played Glenn Miller and...other old people bands that I don't know. Plus Stayin' Alive. Last night at the pop-up dance, they played all songs from my youth, like Heart of Glass, Dancing Queen, Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, and then also Stayin' Alive.
MMartin and I moved to a table right on the dance floor. We'd try to guess what song or artist was next (we were right about Janet Jackson). There was a foursome who were inexplicably visiting from Belgium, and they were good-looking and well-dressed. Then there was a guy who looked exactly like Benny from ABBA.
Seriously. Like, Doppelganger. Oddly, I am wearing a tshirt exactly like that today. I got Benny on the brain.
While Marty and I were dancing to Dancing Queen, this person got on the floor who looked exactly--EXACTLY--like Pat. From SNL. That Pat. I've seen this person out before, when I've been with Ned, and I was sorely tempted to text Ned but did not. Pat, as usual, had on a plaid shirt. It's like this person is TRYING to do a Pat impression.
"This whole evening is like an '80s prom and White Power," observed Marty. Mostly we spent the whole evening loving our own selves for our pithy observations. We listened to Bad Girls.
You ask yourself
Who they are
Like everybody else
They come from near and far
