Seriously? You thought your tuxedo T-Shirt was formal wear??
I was in the nerdery. I started off in help desk and moved my way up to be the Data Architect and manager of the server farm. (Read: I was on the internet hop for the southern half of the US and downloaded bootlegged movies and waited for the Klaxon bell of DOOM to sound. Life was sweet. Mostly.) There were.... four females in the office? Three were in management, one was a secretary. One of the women was the office Elaine. And by that, I mean her moves. When I started, I worked for her. At the time of this story, I was above her on the corporate flow chart. 6 foot tall, blonde, imagined herself the funniest, most fabulous person ever. She'd cut you off and start talking about something completely random. Spoke at the top of her lungs all the time. One time she pulled her skirt up and showed me she wasn't wearing panties. Oh, dear god. The rest of the employees were software engineers. I'll let you paint a visual. You won't be wrong. Did you picture suspenders? Short-sleeved white shirts? Large framed glasses with the safety bar across the top? Eeeexcellent.
Every Christmas the executives from Miami would fly out and celebrate at our office. We'd rent a ballroom, have a sit down dinner, open bar, and dancing. Um... music - guys who have had the same game of D&D going for 22 years don't DANCE, you see. When more of the Miami office started coming out, THEN there was dancing. (Office full of male computer programmers. Yeah, they're really going to shake their bootay to ABBA. With each other. Great planning, boss.) So the President and VP were from Cuba, as was 65% of the company. All of the Directors and VPs were either Cuban or Dominican. Lots of fun, full of life, and no pocket protectors in sight.
Now, every Christmas party Tall Blonde (TB for short, okay?) would get SHIT-FACED. I mean, slurring, stumbling drunk. And would grooooove on the floor. Man, she lived to dance. See: Elaine. Legs flailing, arms akimbo, punctuated with "Whoo!!"'s and "Hooo!!!"'s Fingers snapping with abandon. Funky chickens. Tootsie-rolling. Remember how I said that there were four women (two who felt they were too old for dancing)? Lots of nerd-guys? Who wouldn't dance? Yep, she was the only one on the floor. And like clockwork, she would flail just a leeetle too hard and fall down on her keister. That was when I'd turn to the Head Geek, smile, wish him a Happy Holiday and go home. Every year. Good times. I like knowing that some things never change.
Well, when all the executives started coming to the party (the Miami Latins with their flavor and zest for life), it started getting fun as a participant, instead of standing on the sidelines watching TB make an ass of herself. Instead of the same old songs, the DJ would play salsa. Techno. FUN music. And they would all take turns dancing with me, because I can DANCE. Oooh, I love to salsa. Put me in the heels, gimme a great flippy skirt, and I'll shake it - tastefully - but I'll dance. TB was brought out on occassion, but the men ended up with wounds from her flailing, and bleeding ears from her battle cry of "WHOO!" so... not as much.
Bill, the President, was gorgeous, single, Cuban, very very sexy, but off limits, because HELLO: President. Also, I was not interested because Mr. S and I were dating. Mr. S does not dance, so I had no problems shaking my bon bon with the other fellas. (He didn't mind either, the freaky vouyer. Heh.) Now, salsa dancing can be sensual. But it's also fun, and doesn't HAVE to resemble the "Forbidden Dance." Tell that to TB. She was three sheets to the wind (free alcohol, you see) and started rubbing up and down against El Presidente. He was a man of grace, and offered to take her on the floor for a spin to a spirited number. You know, not a slow song. Smart. Well, she must have watched "The Lambada" recently. Threw her leg up, trying to make him hold it behind the knee, or something, and began thrusting her crotch clumsily at him (OOHHH!!! SNAPPING ALIGATOR!! I GET IT NOW!!).
She throws her hands up in the air, head back to give her primal yell of "WHOO!" and falls flat on her back, skin-tight red skirt hiked up to her na-nas, and guess what? Just like when she thought she'd "bond" with me back in the office, she wasn't wearing any panties. Well. I hear she didn't get a promotion that January.
I believe the Head Geek and I turned to each other, smiled, and wished each other a Merry Christmas immediately after. I clinked my martini glass against his Shiner Boch tucked into his tuxedo beer-cozy. Classy. Good times.
Also, this was on SNL this weekend, and it is AWESOME. Chronicles of Narnia rap. Heee!! Chris Parnell is fantastic. "Dropping Hamiltons like CRAZY." In other news, my mind is broken and I'm writing absolute insanity. As in, Sue emailed me back with: "you're writing WHAT???" M*A*S*H and Connor. I KNOW.