at least your company makes enough money that they allow (no, insist!) that you bring a guest.
i've always had the no-guests-allowed-not-even-spouses type holiday parties at my jobs.
at least your company makes enough money that they allow (no, insist!) that you bring a guest.
i've always had the no-guests-allowed-not-even-spouses type holiday parties at my jobs.
Can I come to your party?
Can I come to your party?
i am perplexed vby a mistletoe belt...is this intended to go round your waist? If so, (and at the risk of being a little salacious) what does that mean for the old tradition of kissing under the mistletoe?
I am intrigued enough to offer myself up as a date for the party... 
i am perplexed vby a mistletoe belt...is this intended to go round your waist? If so, (and at the risk of being a little salacious) what does that mean for the old tradition of kissing under the mistletoe?
I am intrigued enough to offer myself up as a date for the party...
Make sure you talk about work gossip with your co-workers in front of your date. Office party dates just love that.
Make sure you talk about work gossip with your co-workers in front of your date. Office party dates just love that.
My most memorable office party moment: puking in the coat room at the Yale Club and sneaking away for a bracing weave to the nearest cab; fa la la la la.
My most memorable office party moment: puking in the coat room at the Yale Club and sneaking away for a bracing weave to the nearest cab; fa la la la la.
And mine: 1992. While loitering in the atrium, gin richey in hand, a large, bald man, clad in evening wear, came crashing through the glass roof and bounced off the marble floor, not more than 10 feet in front of me. Apparently, he was doing an impression of Marlon Brando as Vito Corleone, in Brando's famous death scene (the one in the tomato garden), and the poor man slipped over the balcony.
The man, happily, lived--but was surely left with a bitter taste towards Copolla films.
And mine: 1992. While loitering in the atrium, gin richey in hand, a large, bald man, clad in evening wear, came crashing through the glass roof and bounced off the marble floor, not more than 10 feet in front of me. Apparently, he was doing an impression of Marlon Brando as Vito Corleone, in Brando's famous death scene (the one in the tomato garden), and the poor man slipped over the balcony.
The man, happily, lived--but was surely left with a bitter taste towards Copolla films.
Did you ever get around to bleaching your teef, then? That's something you could talk about at the party.
Did you ever get around to bleaching your teef, then? That's something you could talk about at the party.
You haven't posted in several days. Why? I've grown accustomed to clicking on your (mostly) daily posts, unless you've gone out of town and then we usually get fair warning and a return date. Even though I like reading Eurotrash better, she's more elusive (which makes her posts even more of a treat). You're pretty funny though. And clever.
You haven't posted in several days. Why? I've grown accustomed to clicking on your (mostly) daily posts, unless you've gone out of town and then we usually get fair warning and a return date. Even though I like reading Eurotrash better, she's more elusive (which makes her posts even more of a treat). You're pretty funny though. And clever.
Because I was feeling fat.
Because I was feeling fat.
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