The Annual Office Party

Office Christmas (er, Holiday) Party last night. Five AM alarm this morning. Bus to work right now. Not a good combination. I have felt worse in my day, and handled it better, but I was younger then, and better equipped to take such things in stride. When you're hung over every morning, it becomes just a part of your day, but once you embrace the advantages of sobriety--such as not waking up in flower beds with a stray dog licking your face and a tattered cocktail napkin from Pinkie's Disco and Dance Emporium stapled to your lapel with, "Call me!" scrawled across it in eye-liner--you come to appreciate a higher degree of lucidity during the morning hours, or at least to remember where you left your shoes.

So, yeah, I got a bit tipsy last night, because nothing beats getting embarrassingly drunk with people you avoid social contact with throughout the remainder of the year. I don't know how many free books I promised last night, but if everyone holds me to it, "Postcards..." will need to be a best seller in order for me to break even.

Other than that, it was your typical office party--much maligned before hand but more fun than you thought it would be once it got going; sort of like bowling. Even the 'awards' ceremony (Biggest Bullshitter, Most Dedicated Hoarder, things like that; really, you could die laughing) turned out to be a surprisingly good time, although I suspect the four pints of lager and half a bottle of wine had something to do with that. Nothing turns a bad idea into a good idea quicker than alcohol--I'm sure the decision to stick a fireworks rocket up his butt and have his buddy set a match to it (I actually saw this on YouTube) was fueled by at least a few cans of lager. Or at least one hopes so.

But getting back to my misery: this morning, of all days, I encountered, for the first time since moving here, sidewalks (excuse me, pavements) covered in ice. Given my fragile condition and the fact that six ice-free years has resulted in a remarkable decrease in my ice navigating skills, the short walk to the bus stop was more interesting than I would have preferred.

It has been brought to my attention that I am becoming something of a weather weenie, but I can't refute it; living in southern England has made me soft.

In New York, the weather was famously awful. During one particularly memorable winter, I became so fed with the snow I seriously considered moving. In my search for a new locale, I enlisted the aid of a 'Good Places to Live' website and discovered, without surprise, that the Albany region was displayed very near the bottom of the list. The main reason was the climate, which it termed as 'harsh.' (Other reasons had to do with mind-numbing boredom and in-breeding.) Basically, it advised you not to move there.

While I can't say I left the States for England because of the weather (come to think of it, maybe that's why I drank so much when I lived there), the upgrade in the climate has proven to be an unexpectedly pleasant peripheral benefit.

Consider this: I haven't had to shovel my roof for nearly seven years now, and I don't need to take the distributor cap out of my car and put it in the oven to warm it up so the car will start (no, really, it got that cold where I used to live). My pipes have never frozen here, I don't have to wear heavy boots and I don't even own a snow shovel.

I don't know what any of that has to be with being hung over; I guess my mind isn't firing on all cylinders this morning. At any rate, we're nearing my stop so I need to pack up my mobile office. Time to face the day.

I just hope my workmates will have the good grace to claim they don't remember me promising all those free books.