Our Work Parties
Wednesday night was Mama Dog’s office Ho Ho Holiday party and last night was mine. We figured Mama Dog’s would be the easiest of the two, because Wednesday’s my day off and the party was in Berkeley at a restaurant. We thought it would be fun to show Baby Dog off to Mama Dog’s cow-orkers who have only seen her in desktop photos. The thing turned into a bit of an ordeal, though, because we failed to negotiate in advance one crucial piece of equipment: a high chair. When we showed up, the organiser assured us that a chair would be right over. We mingled and waited. I hauled Baby Dog around because the space was not only not baby-friendly, it was kind of baby-hazardous. The room was too narrow and crowded with too many people and too many chairs. A free range baby would be in constant danger of trampling. We let her walk around a bit in the more open-air courtyard area in the back, but it really was open-air, and a bit too chilly for her to be frolicking on the flagstones. The organiser kept checking back and saying the highchair would be there any minute, any minute. I showed Baby Dog the piñatas that decorated the ceiling, and that kept her occupied for a minute or two. We read Mr. Brown Can Moo a few times. Mama Dog introduced us to many of her co-workers, but the ambient noise was deafening and I couldn’t understand a word being said to me. I nodded and smiled a lot. Finally, the organiser showed up with…a booster seat. With no straps. To set on a wobbly chair. Yes, right, that’s going to work. Admitting defeat, Baby Dog and I went home, but Mama Dog went back to the party for a while by herself.
By contrast, we’d long since written off as impossible any appearance by Baby Dog at my office party. It was held at the St. Francis, historic not only for being the site of the scandal that ended the career of Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle and the place Enrico Caruso went to after the ’06 earthquake, but also for its place in our own personal history. Mama Dog and I stayed at the St. Francis on our wedding night, in a lovely suite overlooking Union Square. We stayed in the exact same suite on our first wedding anniversary, and were well on our way to a lifelong annual tradition when we got a dog and never did it again. Thus crumbleth the cookie. Anyway, since the party was in San Francisco, we reckoned it would be infeasible to bring Baby Dog with us. We arranged for a babysitter, but she wouldn’t be able to arrive at our house until 7, which is when dinner was to be served at the party. I checked and made sure it would be possible to have Mama Dog’s food held until she arrived. We figured she could probably make it by eight.
As it turned out, we could have brought Baby Dog to the St. Francis with much less difficulty than we’d met at the restaurant in Berkeley. The party was in a large ballroom with plenty of space for a baby to roam safely. Also, a highchair would probably not be difficult to find in a Westin. In fact, there was a ten-month-old baby there shortly after I arrived, the son of S McK. Goes to show something or other. Well, Mama Dog pointed out that the whole event would have kept Baby Dog up long past her bedtime, which is true. We were able to stay out and carouse like childless people. Well, childless people who are old, tired, and responsible. But we stayed until ten and I had just enough liquor to get slightly drunk without being hungover in the morning. Born to be wild.
One other bonus: after going to these things for about eight years now, I finally won something in the door prizes. $100 gift certificate for something called giftcertificates.com. Free crap! Finally!
By contrast, we’d long since written off as impossible any appearance by Baby Dog at my office party. It was held at the St. Francis, historic not only for being the site of the scandal that ended the career of Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle and the place Enrico Caruso went to after the ’06 earthquake, but also for its place in our own personal history. Mama Dog and I stayed at the St. Francis on our wedding night, in a lovely suite overlooking Union Square. We stayed in the exact same suite on our first wedding anniversary, and were well on our way to a lifelong annual tradition when we got a dog and never did it again. Thus crumbleth the cookie. Anyway, since the party was in San Francisco, we reckoned it would be infeasible to bring Baby Dog with us. We arranged for a babysitter, but she wouldn’t be able to arrive at our house until 7, which is when dinner was to be served at the party. I checked and made sure it would be possible to have Mama Dog’s food held until she arrived. We figured she could probably make it by eight.
As it turned out, we could have brought Baby Dog to the St. Francis with much less difficulty than we’d met at the restaurant in Berkeley. The party was in a large ballroom with plenty of space for a baby to roam safely. Also, a highchair would probably not be difficult to find in a Westin. In fact, there was a ten-month-old baby there shortly after I arrived, the son of S McK. Goes to show something or other. Well, Mama Dog pointed out that the whole event would have kept Baby Dog up long past her bedtime, which is true. We were able to stay out and carouse like childless people. Well, childless people who are old, tired, and responsible. But we stayed until ten and I had just enough liquor to get slightly drunk without being hungover in the morning. Born to be wild.
One other bonus: after going to these things for about eight years now, I finally won something in the door prizes. $100 gift certificate for something called giftcertificates.com. Free crap! Finally!
posted by PapaDogDuvalier | 5:34 PM
1 Comments:
Congrats on the GC! Rockin!
Sorry about the work party fiasco...you just never know, do you? Scott pretty much does the party circuit on his own now - just works better than arranging a sitter with two kids (since we've never had a sitter) and driving back into the city - a 45 minute one-way trip!
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