Par-ty down?
It's Holiday Party season at my office. (How about at your office?)
Monday was yummy dinner at the White People's, which, okay, had nothing to do with the holidays but was lovely nonetheless.
Tuesday was a Corporate Services dinner at a French-y place in Cobble Hill. I have absolutely nothing to do with Corporate Services, so I had absolutely no right to attend, but they just camre to our office and swept up like 20 of us. So okay. I narrowly missed the all-confit three course meal. The wine was a disappointment; the red was Boggle, which is one of the joke wines I occasionally bring to people because of the funny name and the $7 price tag. At least it wasn't Bull's Blood. Free fancy dinners that don't require subway rides are important.
Wednesday was a Cisco holiday party, which shared a number of similarities to the previous dinner: I have nothing to do with Cisco (well, my IP packets pass through their routers at some point, but that's a truism, ya know?) and it was at a fancy restaurant. This restaurant was in Midtown though, and running around town for a random party didn't have as much appeal. Anyway, I promised to make Adam steak yesterday (which was wondeful; I will blog the recipe soon) in return for him cleaning the bathroom while it's still a bathroom and not solely a place where mildew goes to rock out.
Tonight was a party for about a hundred or so people that I actually work with within my division. It was also in Midtown, but I had to be there anyway for some meetings, and it's the sort of thing that everyone attends regardless. they picked a lousy place for it this year; previously it's been at the Manhattan Chili Co. right by the Ed Sullivan theatre, but they shut down. So this was at Rosie O'Grady's. Rosie O'Grady's apparently doesn't like us though. The food was intensely problematic, consisting of half a table of cheese and crackers and veggies. The other half of the table was empty, for great taunting. Dudes (waiters, I guess) would come around every now and then with mozarella sticks; I snagged a fried shrimp once and was about as proud as I could be while being deathly hungry.
Some of us ended up going to a Turkish restaurant on Ave B and 7th St which provided much needed nourishment. It also provided much needed excitement on the "walk" over--I took the subway down to 8th St. with my old boss and coworker, and we had to race across many active intersections to keep up with my already-quite-drunk ex (though not in the dead sense, thankfully) -boss. He led us first to McSorley's, which I'd never been to before and now I've been to. And then to the Turkish place.
I am slowly making my way back to Brooklyn as I write, having already fought my way upstream against the school of hipsters swimming east along St. Mark's place to get back to the 8th St subway station. If you'll indulge me a second, here's a quick note-to-self regarding the 8th St subway station: NEVER, EVER GO TO THE 8TH ST SUBWAY STATION AFTER 7PM. YOU WILL NOT GET HOME. WALK TO UNION SQUARE. IT IS THE RIGHT DECISION, ALWAYS. The N train ostensibly goes to Court St at this time of night, except it never, ever does when I try to take it. The MTA always, always decides to do the most whacked out construction work possible whenever I try to take the N train home, which leads to the N train being rerouted over Bridges instead of through Tunnels and general fuckage of matters transportationary.
This is probably the fourth time that this has happened to me. I wait for 15 minutes for an N to show up at 8th St, they tell all the passengers to get off at the next stop or risk going Places They Don't Want to Be, and I then have to wait another 15 minutes for a 6 train at Canal St. And then another 15 minutes for a 4 train at Brooklyn Bridge. And then maybe I get home.
Happier thoughts include the big ass IT Holiday Party at Chelsea Piers next Thursday, and a surprise invitation to a party that may or may not entail meeting Swiss royalty at the Princeton club next Wednesday. So yay for all that.
Monday was yummy dinner at the White People's, which, okay, had nothing to do with the holidays but was lovely nonetheless.
Tuesday was a Corporate Services dinner at a French-y place in Cobble Hill. I have absolutely nothing to do with Corporate Services, so I had absolutely no right to attend, but they just camre to our office and swept up like 20 of us. So okay. I narrowly missed the all-confit three course meal. The wine was a disappointment; the red was Boggle, which is one of the joke wines I occasionally bring to people because of the funny name and the $7 price tag. At least it wasn't Bull's Blood. Free fancy dinners that don't require subway rides are important.
Wednesday was a Cisco holiday party, which shared a number of similarities to the previous dinner: I have nothing to do with Cisco (well, my IP packets pass through their routers at some point, but that's a truism, ya know?) and it was at a fancy restaurant. This restaurant was in Midtown though, and running around town for a random party didn't have as much appeal. Anyway, I promised to make Adam steak yesterday (which was wondeful; I will blog the recipe soon) in return for him cleaning the bathroom while it's still a bathroom and not solely a place where mildew goes to rock out.
Tonight was a party for about a hundred or so people that I actually work with within my division. It was also in Midtown, but I had to be there anyway for some meetings, and it's the sort of thing that everyone attends regardless. they picked a lousy place for it this year; previously it's been at the Manhattan Chili Co. right by the Ed Sullivan theatre, but they shut down. So this was at Rosie O'Grady's. Rosie O'Grady's apparently doesn't like us though. The food was intensely problematic, consisting of half a table of cheese and crackers and veggies. The other half of the table was empty, for great taunting. Dudes (waiters, I guess) would come around every now and then with mozarella sticks; I snagged a fried shrimp once and was about as proud as I could be while being deathly hungry.
Some of us ended up going to a Turkish restaurant on Ave B and 7th St which provided much needed nourishment. It also provided much needed excitement on the "walk" over--I took the subway down to 8th St. with my old boss and coworker, and we had to race across many active intersections to keep up with my already-quite-drunk ex (though not in the dead sense, thankfully) -boss. He led us first to McSorley's, which I'd never been to before and now I've been to. And then to the Turkish place.
I am slowly making my way back to Brooklyn as I write, having already fought my way upstream against the school of hipsters swimming east along St. Mark's place to get back to the 8th St subway station. If you'll indulge me a second, here's a quick note-to-self regarding the 8th St subway station: NEVER, EVER GO TO THE 8TH ST SUBWAY STATION AFTER 7PM. YOU WILL NOT GET HOME. WALK TO UNION SQUARE. IT IS THE RIGHT DECISION, ALWAYS. The N train ostensibly goes to Court St at this time of night, except it never, ever does when I try to take it. The MTA always, always decides to do the most whacked out construction work possible whenever I try to take the N train home, which leads to the N train being rerouted over Bridges instead of through Tunnels and general fuckage of matters transportationary.
This is probably the fourth time that this has happened to me. I wait for 15 minutes for an N to show up at 8th St, they tell all the passengers to get off at the next stop or risk going Places They Don't Want to Be, and I then have to wait another 15 minutes for a 6 train at Canal St. And then another 15 minutes for a 4 train at Brooklyn Bridge. And then maybe I get home.
Happier thoughts include the big ass IT Holiday Party at Chelsea Piers next Thursday, and a surprise invitation to a party that may or may not entail meeting Swiss royalty at the Princeton club next Wednesday. So yay for all that.
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