Imitation of Life
Our black tie optional event was about a 70-30 mix of suits to tuxes, and given that the event was at 6 p.m., I’m thrilled we opted for the dark suit option, because again, unless we owned a suit-like tux (who is this we?), it would have been wretched. And did you know that the cummerbund is not dead? There were LOTS of cummerbunds which surprised me, although I guess if you’re buying a tux, you’re not buying a new one every time the tux trends sway in the breeze. Mercifully, no one was wearing a ruffled shirt, so there’s that.
There was, of course, that small issue of it coinciding with the Sox game, which excited no one, and ensured an early exit on our part, because not only do I go to bed at a ridiculously early hour, but we had a Sox game to watch and a dog starving and crossing her legs. We were home by 10 p.m. because we’re rock stars, and also, because the last thing I want to be is That Girl from Editorial who drank too much and laid her boobs on the table while singing karaoke and telling the corporate vice president how much she loves him, she really really loves him.
Have any of you ever been that girl? I think I was her when I was 22-ish, and hadn’t yet realized that corporate events did NOT mean that you should drink for free just because you could. I distinctly remember somehow finding myself dancing with a client (A CLIENT) while he sang Frank Sinatra in my ear and told me I was unlike any 22-year-old he’d ever met, and gee, maybe we had a special thing going on, despite the fact that he was 56. I didn’t like him — nay, I found him repulsive — but I’d drank too much to gracefully extricate myself from the situation, and I can distinctly remember thinking that wow, there was no way out of this, and I guess I was going to have to accept my fate as Mrs. Al Heinen.
Ah, growing up. Remembering those times makes me far less nostalgic about my early twenties. Getting older is good.
Most importantly, however, was that we survived Saturday night, and no one wore a tux or sequins and all of our boobs remained in our respective clothing.
That was, however, not the highlight of my weekend. That honor went to hanging out with Lawyerish on Saturday (pre-gala) and it’s not fair — it is SO NOT FAIR — that we don’t live near each other. Our relationship transitions so smoothly from e-mail to real life, and I can name maybe three people I’ve met in my whole life, seriously, who are that easy to be with. I’m also compelled to add that her mom is a total hoot, and I’d be happy to hang out with both of them for many, many hours every day, if they’d let me.
However, here’s a question: do you have any hobbies? Because I realized with somewhat abject horror that we really don’t. I’m sure this makes us staggeringly boring individuals, at least in small talk-related conversation at things like black tie-optional events, because when someone new asks us, so hey, what do you like to do for fun, we usually return a blank stare for at least a full 20 seconds before answering, “Uh, pop culture. Reading. Farting around? Does farting around count?”
Honestly, I don’t know what to say. In my spare time, I’m usually working on a freelance project, cleaning the house or, if it’s before 7 a.m., running. And that’s kind of it. I mean, I read and watch television and hang out with friends, and discovering new music can suck up hours of my time, but I’m not one of those people who runs out of the office to go sea kayaking amid the reefs, and the last sweater I knitted ended up with baby arms and an elephant body, so crafts are out. In other words, I’m more likely to race out of the office because Dirty Sexy Money is on TiVo, and Project Runway is on the horizon. I accept this, but bringing it up in conversation is utterly pathetic.
So, a question for you: What are your hobbies, if any? And if you don’t have them, what do you like to do? Catching up on TiVo and surfing the Internet are perfectly acceptable answers, as is staring blankly into space, if that’s your thing …
*REM
42 comments October 21st, 2007