Today was our New York office’s annual holiday party, which meant lots of silly games throughout the day — a pair of scavenger hunts and a trivia contest, none of which I had the time or inclination to participate in — and an early close to the work day. The party ran from two o’clock to four at a club a few blocks further uptown, and it was a lot of fun. There was decent hors d’Å“uvre, some music, and an open bar — which some people obviously partook of more liberally than others. A group of us were planning on heading to another bar afterward, since it was still pretty early, but we somehow got split up, and the two of us who hadn’t squeezed into the same cab didn’t know where they were headed. We had neither cell phone numbers nor the address nor even any certainty about the name of the place.
So instead we walked to Penn Station and caught our respective trains home. Which, in hindsight, is maybe just as well, given how much I had to drink myself this evening. I don’t drink much, or often — the last time I even had a drink might have been the last holiday party — so a glass of champagne, a couple of whiskey sours, and a bottle of beer can start to catch up with me, especially over the short span of two hours on a relatively empty stomach. I wasn’t really drunk — I don’t think I’ve ever been really drunk, quite honestly — I was just buzzed enough to recognize that I’d probably start getting annoying, and a little too loud, if I got any more buzzed. Which, in my experience, is usually the right time to stop drinking.
Otherwise the day was pretty uneventful. I managed to get pretty much everything I wanted to get done this week finished and off my desk, and anything else can wait until I go back in 2011. Because between now and then, for the next sixteen days, I am on vacation. Which I plan to enjoy thoroughly by not doing much of anything at all, though I’m sure I’ll think of something to pass the time, what with Christmas and New Years and everything.