it's a long one, folks

It's the middle of December already? Really?

This weekend was horrible and exciting in equal measure.

The Horrible: I dragged Micah with me to the company Christmas party. As soon as we arrived I realized we were underdressed and I couldn't let it go. (In my own defense, I've never been to this company's Christmas party nor the steakhouse in which it was held, so I was kind of guessing. Poorly.) I couldn't get over my embarrassment, even though Micah tried to calm me down by saying nobody would notice my jeans (even Micah was dressier than me, he wore khakis!) because the room was so crowded. Crowded doesn't even cover it. The barroom in which we were all squished was about ten degrees hotter than it should have been. The waitstaff looked extremely annoyed about all the maneuvering. Our entire party should have been seated at seven o'clock; by seven-thirty, still no sign or word of a table.

Then a bitch-ass bartender pulled a bitch-ass move on me. Shortly after we arrived I bought two Jack and Cokes to put us in a better mood. After speaking briefly with the manager from one of our departments I realized there was a company tab open at the bar.

"So," I politely said to the bartender, "I didn't realize ___ had a tab when I paid for those drinks earlier." Then I shut my mouth to see if she'd pick up what I was puttin' down.

"Well the tab was closed ten minutes ago."

I waited, still politely, for her to continue with a customer-friendly response such as "But since I didn't know you're with ____, I can refund your drinks." (Or in the spirit of benefit-of-doubt, maybe comp us a couple drinks? Anything? Hello?)

No such response. I stared at her. Hard.

"Well, we've had our drinks for at least twenty minutes," I say through gritted teeth (but smiling lips!)

"I'm sorry. He closed the tab." At that point she was hardly looking at me anymore, ready to serve the next thirsty customer.

"So even though we've had our drinks for twenty minutes and he closed the tab TEN minutes ago, there's nothing you can do?"

"There's nothing I can do."

Now, I'm polite and very gentle with strangers. Even when I'm mad or feel unjustly treated by a company or its employees, I leave the situation with little more than a lingering look of disbelieve because I don't have much confidence in my ability to make a Scene in which I come out victorious. But that bartender made me feel violently rude, like if my boss weren't standing ten feet away I'd surely tell her what she can do with that three-dollar tip I gave her for drinks that I wasn't supposed to pay for. I was SO FUCKING PISSED.

Combined with the fact that I could not get over my misjudgment of the appropriate attire situation (it's a Christmas party, Gab! This ain't the 4th of July! What were you THINKING?) and the fact that the quarters were so close I accidently touched a co-worker's ass (oh, you think that's funny? You should see the co-worker!) and I had had enough. There was no table in sight, and it was a steakhouse. Do you know how long it would take to cook steaks for a party of twenty-five? Yeah, we left. I burst into tears in the parking lot and cried all the way to Old Country Buffet, which, as it happened, was having "Steak Night."

Did I mention I was PMSing?

Turns out my co-workers didn't get seated until eight-thirty, and they didn't leave until midnight. Don't you love it when you learn shit like that? I can't even comprehend how annoyed Micah and I would have been by that point. Disaster (somewhat) averted.

The exciting: New furniture and A LOT of cleaning! My parents and Father Gary are coming over for dinner tonight. Now, you might be wondering why on earth a priest is going to have dinner in our apartment. For one, he is the coolest, most awesomest priest EVER. He goes to Tori Amos concerts, cusses, and started a gay and lesbian support group in the church. He runs the Catholic Student Center at a local college of prestige, and let me tell you, he knows how to talk to young and old alike. He's a superstar. He's the ONLY reason I ever enjoyed going to church because his sermons are like therapy sessions. Everyone clamors for his attention because when you're with him you've never felt so special, so lighthearted, so enchanted. He's amazing, and he adores me. At least that's what he tells me, though I know I'm not the first to hear it. Anyway, he showed up at our wedding reception much to everyone's surprise (he's just that popular and that busy) and he invited himself over for dinner at our place in front of my dad, who probably shit his pants with excitement that Gary was initiating dinner with our family, which has happened before but is seriously an event to covet, Ten Commandments aside. (By the way - I've been struggling with one thing...do you call yourself a Catholic if you were raised Catholic but don't practice, believe, take seriously, etc.?)

So all weekend we've been cleaning like mad. I feel like we've been cleaning like mad a lot lately, getting rid of trash, paring down, adult-ing up. I've been trying to keep in mind that this is all not just for one evening of entertainment, it's a general upgrade that will last long after the last pizza crust is consumed tonight. I am honestly very proud of our apartment and the amount of time we spent making it gleam. On Saturday we spent SIX HOURS running errands and looking for The Perfect Chair for the living room. We ended up with two things we didn't know we were looking for: The Perfect Rug and The Perfect Coffeetable, but the elusive Perfect Chair never materialized, not for lack of trying. When did furniture get so damn expensive? I suppose it's worth it if you find something classic and well-made, but nothing under 300 bucks fit either description, and excuse me, but we don't have that kind of money to be dropping on a chair just so a priest will be impressed with us. Ok, fine, it's not all for the priest, I want my parents to be proud as well, and we really do need an armchair of some sort. I can't believe it, but my parents have never stepped foot in any of the places I've lived since high school. I actually feel terrible about it because they open their home to us any damn second we decide to visit. All the meals my mom has made over the years? All the spoiling and such, never reciprocated? It all ends tonight. I am so excited.

Except I won't be able to smoke a cigarette when I get home from work because I don't want it to smell like smoke at all (poor Micah, at home today, under a strict smoking inside ban). And my parents are coming like forty-five minutes earlier than the priest, which means I have forty-five minutes less to chain-smoke cigarettes on the balcony in between dough-kneadings and forty-five less minutes to inspect every surface and harass the cats to get off the damn dinner table, already!

Can you tell I'm a little nervous?