Speaking of bleeding pores...

If you work with me and you stumble across this here page, let me say this- I don't want to get fired from my job. It's a well-paying, stress-free affair that affords me the opportunity to eat well and go to Venezuela. And I really care about the, um, law. So typically I don't spend much time talking about my job on my blog. Today is an exception.

Today was our holiday party. First I got a free 15-minute massage (thanks Steve, my main man masseuse, for giving a great massage and proving how secure I am in my masculinity,) then grabbed some gourmet sandwiches in the lobby. The lobby party, catered by a schmancy company and accompanied by a string quartet, was to celebrate people who bought toys for underprivileged kids. I commented to my sister that the ginormous self-congratulatory spread could've bought toys for all the poor waifs in, say, Indiana.

Anyways, then I headed upstairs, where our department had a special party planned just for us. Chinese food, Italian food, beer, wine, enough to feed a small revolutionary army in, say, the Sudan. It was delicious, I was appreciative, sure. Honestly this would probably be a post about my awesome day of sensory pleasure, were it not for the fact that I had no fun whatsoever. A combination of the contrived cheer of the occasion, the needless hedonistic excess and my total lack of connectivity with my co-workers left me feeling sour at the end of the day. Also too much beer, too early. Blech.

It's kind of too bad there wasn't a party finale where 8 people caught on fire and two lovestruck dwarves went on the lam.

Here's a few pics a co-worker took:

Big boss points at me and my sister (top right) and says, "Get over here you uppity snobs and mingle with the masses! What are you, French?"


Jesse surveys the crowd of chewing, swallowing people.


C.J. the Greek (center,) puzzles over how his Secret Santa could be such an ignorant ass-face. See, I kinda sorta addressed his gift card to C.J. Papadapolis (like the Greek family on Webster.) And it turns out he's not Greek after all, he's Indian and Italian. Oopsy daisy. Does my Greek girlfriend make it okay to be such a horrible racist?