The Day After

We went to a party last night. It was one of those work/Christmas-y type parties where everyone should be on their best behavior, but eventually degenerates into a confused, tumbled conversations and drink. This party was related to G, not me. That might have given me license (at least in my head) to drink just a wee bit more and become a wee bit loud. And (again, at least in my head but corroborated by G), quite funny. The highlight of the party was an ongoing ping-pong game in the back room. The passion shown in that cramped room, among round-robin type teams, impressed and entertained for hours.

We met some very nice people who are involved in literacy programs among migrant workers. It's nice to be reminded that valuable programs like that exist. And cool people are doing good work in the community.

Somewhere after leaving the first party for another location and finding myself devouring a hamburger in a tight booth, I got sentimental and called up one of my best friends who lives out of town. Being out and about doesn't happen too often (Filomena gives us guilt trips everytime), so when it does it reminds of earlier smoke-filled bar days I shared with A and S (and, after we became a couple, G, of course). I called their cell phone to leave a message because it was really late (late to the point of early, if you catch my drift). Then, big surprise, they called me back and I talked to A for a bit about their upcoming visit!

If I were a spiritual type, I might believe that God gave me a free pass this morning on the hangover (as if she doesn't have other things on her mind). What really saved me from hangover hell was that delicious hamburger and fries. Why is the food you eat late-early and drunk-ish always the best tasting food in the world?