I Am The Politeness Police, Pull Over
Monday, December 8, 2008
Wednesday hubs and I attended his employer's holiday party, a kind of last hurrah. Let it be known that they throw the best parties and their Christmas party is one I look forward to all year. They are fun, and interesting and two of the most gracious hosts I know. They also are bona fide foodies, like me, who know their wine, unlike me.
I am not a burger girl or a roast girl, but oh, do I like a prime cut of dry-aged beefy perfection. Hubs on the other hand, is a vegetarian and although he does not make me feel like a pariah when I have to occasionally satisfy my carnivorous cravings, he can't look past the meager vegetarian offerings and accompany me to an upscale steakhouse. Our hosts always pick these kinds of restaurants to my utter and complete delight. The day of the party I walked around the house complaining of blood lust and regaling my husband, with a slightly crazed look in my eye, how much I was going to enjoy my steak. No really, I told him as I made smacking noises with my lips, I'm going to devour it.
The party did not disappoint. I ate my weight in crab claws and shrimp the size of small lobster tails dipped in fresh horseradish so atomically hot it cleared out my sinuses on the first bite. I had a steak that did not disappoint. For dessert I ordered the buttercake recommended by both our hosts and our waiter. Ok, this wasn't a piece of cake, it was a cake. I took a bite and exclaimed out loud, this cake must have at least two sticks of butter in it. I caught the waiter's eye and he held up three fingers to silently indicate that the cake had three, count them, three sticks of butter. Imagine a bunch of butter with a little cakey stuff thrown in, conjure up the richest pound cake ever. I am still recovering from the heady goodness that was the meal, the hosts and the company, well, most of the company.
One of my husband's coworkers brought what I think was his girlfriend though they hardly said two words to each other the whole night. This woman was loud and this is coming from someone who can herself be quite boisterous given the right moment. So if I thought she was over the top, well whoa. She would not shut up. Not only was she loud but she had a voice that had all the lilt and smoothness of a yard blower. She reminded me of a young Sally O'Malley, the character played by Molly Shannon where she runs around kicking up her legs saying, "I'm FIFTY!"
She started out the night loud, overbearing, inappropriately familiar with the boss's wife. She talked about how expensive everything is, she engaged in several conversations where she said things like, let me tell you(the same thing over and over again), oh, you don't know anything yet but you will(regarding raising teenagers), I know exactly what you mean(uh, no and you never will) and girlfriend you and me need to go out(um, that's not ever going to happen). She failed to realize that people were tuning her out on all sides, heads turned away from her though it never stopped her from talking.
She then proceeded to get ripped. She had(yes I counted, I already fessed up to being the founding member of the Politeness Police and honorary member of the Blunt Brigade) eight drinks, not including the wine that poured freely throughout the night. It made the conversation even more interesting(obnoxious) and I'm sure our hosts were totally planning on individual bar tabs exceeding $100.
I know, I know, I am so judgemental. Maybe she was nervous, maybe her boyfriend was being an ass and she was just trying to fit in, be liked but drunk at the office Christmas party, the first time you're meeting these people? If that isn't a rookie mistake, I don't know what is. I think my eyes actually ached from all of the eye rolling I did at my husband as we had our secret marital convo with our eyes.
Can you believe she just said that?See this is where I am a total hypocrite because I love big personalities, even loud voices and embarrassing oversharers, but they have to be funny or witty or very smart. They have to hold your attention. The conversation has to flow, go both ways. Good conversation is like good flirting, everyone feels interesting and smart and witty and fabulous. Her conversation was the equivalent of some drunk girl unzipping your pants in the parking lot and passing out before she gets to the good part.
Did you just see that piece of lobster fly out of her mouth across the table?
Oh no she didn't.
Did she just order another drink? Really?
When is he going to shut her down?
9 comments:
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hey you guys look good... and I like the new profile pic too! Sounds like an interesting night... and are you telling me you shouldn't drink a lot at your work Christmas do? Maybe I shouldny have played drinking games with my boss then. Will have to blog about my night out too, you reminded me!
I'd like to think that I would be the witty and charming loud type at the dinner table, but I'm more...pleasantly inappropriate. Everyone is awkward at first, because they don't know if it's okay to laugh.
And then it's like, the best way to make people feel comfortable around you is to learn their name and then single them out for a one-minute dialogue where they talk more than you. And THAT is hard, because I always have too much to say.
Anyway...
you just made me craaaaaaaaave steak. I can´t wait to go home and eat a big steak...they are just not the same over here. I´m talking about the food, you understand.
What a fantastic looking couple!
I agree with SSG about your new profile pic too.
Flirting, in its true purpose of achieving the goal of giving someone else the opportunity to shine, is an art.
Sounds like she shouldn't even be given a paint brush!
Those people exist so the rest of us have someone to revile. It livens up the party. ;)
Mmmmm, steak.
The thing is, and bear in mind that this is coming from the grinch in chief, but maybe if companies cut back on bloody Christmas parties they wouldn't have to cut back on staff. Just saying. But you guys would certainly have been justified in drinking the bar dry. Maybe that's what this gal was doing - was her boyfriend laid off?
Someone getting sloppy drunk at the christmas party each year has to be the highlight.
I usually end up in the coat closet with my martini sloshing around, while I blow the mail boy. God how I love Christmas.
Why do I feel vaguely guilty when I read this post?