Why I'm Bad at Holiday Parties
Last night I tried to go out to a holiday party. I almost never go out, for reasons you'll soon understand. Here's everything I remember doing:
- •I ate a small pot chocolate
- •A random gentleman at Walgreens told me he "respected my steez", and I too loudly responded with "Thanks dog, you too!" in the whitest way imaginable
- •When I got to the party, I had to approach a young woman in Santa hat and say "I'm here to see the wolf" to get inside.
- •I had fun running into friends and colleagues for about an hour
- •I ate another small pot chocolate
- •I ate two churro ice cream sandwiches
- •I tried to do a bit with the photobooth Santa that seemed to make him deeply uncomfortable
- •I forgot what I'm supposed to do with my hands during a normal conversation, then spent a lot of time panicking about that
- •Next I spent a lot of time thinking about "what normal even means". I did this while engaging in long conversations with people from work.
- •I then proceeded to make a lot of nervous jokes that seemed to only be funny or coherent to me
- •While speculating about who the surprise musical guest might be, I remarked to someone "it would be cool if they got Ol Dirty Bastard". ODB has been dead for several years.
- •When the surprise musical guest did finally come out, it took me three songs to realize it was Run DMC (they opened with "It's Tricky")
- •I inexplicably fist-bumped Taylor Lautner then mumbled something about the movie Abduction
- •I became convinced Run DMC was somehow trying to destroy me
- •I abruptly decided it was time to leave and we'd just do an Irish Goodbye.
- •On the way out of the venue I for some reason stopped 5 or 6 people I only kind of know to tell them we're leaving because we had to "relieve the sitter"
- •I was home asleep before midnight.