So I got to play dress-up yesterday evening and don a cutesy holiday dress for an alumni affair at the Pyramid Club. It was quite a sight seeing my former classmates and friends dressed to the nines. We were a pretty sharp bunch, if I do say so myself--gorgeous and/or debonair, the lot of us. We started with the requisite cocktails around 7pm--the dirty martinis and cosmopolitans flowed copiously, however I opted for the staid Dewar's and water.
Soon after, they corralled us like super-decked-out cattle into the main dining area. Our little group was separated and we were spread out over about 25 tables to network with the older, wiser, more distiguished guests. My date, an old college girlfriend of mine, and I chatted with the diners on the left while to my right, two vapid post-undergraduate gals whined about their distaste for the spinach in the salad and the asparagus garnishing the main course. I was ready to knock them over the head with my wine glass as one of them went on and on about the guy she was dating (and who was obviously playing games with her from the sound of it) while the other commiserated and encouraged her friend's senseless blabber. But the fine meal of filet and prawns (huge, mutant prawns, biggest I've ever seen in my life), coupled with a few glasses of chardonnay, curbed my violent urges.
Apres le diner, we settled down on some comfy couches overlooking the Philadelphia skyline and made funny talk amongst ourselves. I was still marveling at how fabulous everyone looked. 11pm rolled around and the older crowd started calling it a night. A few of us young-uns, however, headed to Continental for some drinks. Half of our group called it quits after a half hour, leaving my date, my other girlfriend, and myself to hit the Bard's for a last beer and a game of darts. We got home around 2am, slept around 3am after watching a portion of "The Thomas Crown Affair."
This morning, I am rudely awakened by my alarm at 7:45am. I remember that I have an 8K run at 8:30am this morning. Snooze 1 to 8am. Snooze 2 to 8:09am. Finally I rise out of bed only to find my place has been transformed into an absolute pigsty--high heels and party dresses strewn on the floor, tubes of lipstick and mascara lining the coffee table, half-empty bottles of water scattered in different parts of the room, and endless other detritus all over the apartment. Sighing, I wash my face, put on some sweatpants and head out, still reeking of alcohol, to the race, which thankfully, starts at the Art Musuem, 5 minutes from my apartment. About 47 minutes later, ready to puke and positive I have injured my right leg for life, I finish that damn race. Boy, I'm getting too old for this. Ah me, fun fun fun.
