I'm still in the process of figuring out what the heck I want my little bloggy thing here to be about. In that vein, I'm not really writing about running because, well, I'm not running anymore. I quit about 3 months ago when I had to go to physical therapy for my knee and have since started Crossfit. BEST workout EVER! (as evidenced by my capitalized enthusiasm).
So anyway, I won't be writing about running anymore because . . . I'm not running. Hence the title of this post, Something Different.
Last night we went to my husband's holiday party. It was super fun as it always is and we made it home in one piece, but not holiday party will ever live up to the first year he was an associate. Back then (say three years ago) we went to said holiday party thinking there would be, you know, something to eat to counteract all the alcohol consumption. Not so much. Instead there was like two pieces of cheese and half a finger sandwich. And those two things are severely insufficient for a good "base" as we like to call it. So there we are trying to make the most out of the saddest food display at a holiday party ever, but still fully taking advantage of the all night open bar. (Surely you can see where this is going.)
So Clark (we're pretending my husband's name is Clark Kent in case you're like, WTF? Who is Clark?)(try to keep up here), starts with the scotch and water drinks and he means business. Those things are going down like water. And mostly scotch.
A couple hours later and Clark is in rare form. He is giving awkward hugs to work people. At one point he is planning the after party somewhere else and I am agreeing while going behind him and telling people there is no way in fuck we're going somewhere after thankyouverymuch. Long story short, we're on our way to the door and CK tries to high-five a partner at the firm. Except, a regular ole high-five is insufficient to express the enthusiasm of the moment. No, Clark needs to go straight up Top Gun on said old partner and tries the high-five, low-five move. Yeah. You really can't pull that off unless the other person is in on it.
Next there is an incident at the valet stand over who is driving. This is because Clark drives an old person "sports sedan" that happens to be a stick and your girl LGG here can't drive a stick to save her live.
[Side note here: Clark tried to teach me to drive a stick once and all I'll say about that is that patience is not his best virtue and receiving (questionably) constructive criticism is not mine so I may have ended up giving up 10 minutes in parked at a stop sign, on a hill!, sitting in the backseat dramatically crying and refusing to get back in the driver's seat. Yeah. Only automatics for this girl.]
So back to the leaving-the-party scene. There is "discussion" about how we're getting home. Clark ultimately decides he is perfectly fine to drive* [insert side eye look here] and so we get in the car and he peels out, literally burns rubber in front of all the people waiting at the valet stand, including senior partners.
So yeah. Clark's holiday cheer, so to speak, is now legendary at the firm parties. Thankfully, last night was a little less news-worthy. It may have ended with drama in the McDonald's drive-thru about it being only the late night menu and not taking credit cards, thus resulting in our kitchen (and really entire house) smelling like fried eggs this morning, but that's normal, right?
* Asterisk here because, yes I know that drinking and driving is no laughing matter and I will say that this was years ago and I cannot change previous non-responsible behavior. I can only report it for my own amusement now and tell you that we are certainly making better decisions these days.
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