2002-12-19 || 3:37 p.m.

|| "i said if he starts singing, i'll get up there and shake my booty." ||

i have this funny metallic taste in my mouth. it's either the cold medicine (whose wondrous pseudephedrine has made me jittery and especially wide-eyed and able to air ollie curbs with such height and righteousness) or the questionable shrimp at the second annual worklady holiday lunch.

second annual holiday lunch: more spectacular than the first. there was the not-very-classy classy restaurant. the food. the music. the workladies downing daquiris and slice after slice after slice of cheesecake (honestly. honestly. average number of slices per plate: honestly. three. three!). and there was the dancing.

the dancing: so. i am white. i am tall. among all the ladies, in all their beautiful five-foot-one glory, i stick out like a yeti in a knit cap on the dancefloor. and i am afraid. the yeti danced. the yeti bumped hips with the most fabulous of the workladies. the yeti formed circles where much getting down took place. the yeti did quite well among the sea of menopausal clericals during an eleven minute extended sesh of the electric slide.

mmhmm.

(favorite officefriend mike mouthed the word 'jackass' over and over from the safety of the table the entire time.)

and then it was time to leave and i gathered up a couple of the workladies and we talked about star trek the entire way home. oh. and my wicked electric slide dance moves.

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