Not Chosen, Just Posin'

I just got a job with a Jewish magazine. I'm not Jewish. They think I am.


Thursday, December 14, 2006


Back from the Holiday Party. Yes, it was a day thing. Here are the not-so-important details:

Stretch limo. White. Limos usually contain bad alcohol in crystal bottles. This one just contained the crystal bottles.

We went to a restaurant that only had beer and wine. I ordered a Guinness.

The Publisher’s Wife asked me what I was drinking. Think Quick. “Guinness.”

It was obvious she had a problem with it, but she replied “oh.”

Secret Santas. OrthoJew opted out. Surprise, surprise. Evidently she had done this in private with the OtherDesigner and he ended up having two Secret Santas in order to compensate. Even more, she had chosen his name as her giftee so he didn’t even get a present. Poor guy. I bought him a beer (on the Publisher’s Wife's tab).

Gifts were set at $30 a piece, which I think is way too expensive. I had the Secretary Who Reeks of Cigarettes, for whom I bought two coffee cups with little plates. The lady at the store said she’d like them (that's her job). I imagine the Secretary will ash into the cups anyway though. I should have bought her a tape recorder so that she could record all the juicy conversations she sits in on. That would have been a bit self-serving on my part though and I would have had a problem explaining it to the others.

The food was fair (but free, and that can not be overlooked). The restaurant and the Limo clashed. Actually, limos are kind of tacky and so was the restaurant so maybe not.

The Silent Designer brought SuperJew. It has been, what, 3 months since she left? Somehow she managed to both complain and brag about her new job at Court TV (I think) at the same time. The Silent Designer had mentioned that SuperJew might be coming back to work at the magazine, although this wasn’t a topic of conversation at lunch. OrthoJew couldn’t stop staring at her. SuperJew did her best not to jump down her replacement’s throat. We weren’t supposed to bring guests unless they were spouses but evidently SuperJew has been grandfathered in. OrthoJew didn’t bring her troll-lookin’ husband.

The Publisher didn’t make it. The Detroit sales girl is in town. Coincidence? I don’t know. I can’t remember who it was that told me that the Publisher’s Wife was on the phone with the Detroit Sales girl the other day and she heard her say: “Oh honey, I used to sell dope when I was your age too.” Ladies and gentleman, I can’t make this stuff up.

Anyway, after an overall uneventful party we went back to the office and there you have it. I thought there would be more to tell, but nope. Nothing good happens when you’re sober, I guess.

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