The number 22 was late. Half an hour late, in fact. I was supposed to be in my office by half past seven. I got there at eight – having dropped my bottle of vodka on the ground cos the bag broke right when the bus came and I had to cradle it in my arms (mmmmm my little Russian baby) past the disapproving other passengers. I should maybe at this juncture point out that it was at night, rather than the morning, and it was in fact, a Saturday. In fact, if for some reason you were thinking that I would be capable of waiting at a bus stop at 7.30am, then you’re obviously new to Hubris, so let me welcome you with open arms.
There was a building party being held at the bar here at work. When I say building, I don’t mean with hammers and nails and stuff, I mean a party for everyone who works in this particularly ugly piece’o architecture, from the cafe staff, to the bookshop people, to the soon-to-be-unemployed-cos-it’s-shutting-down-which-is-a-motherfucking-huge-tragedy-cos-they-are-the-best-people-I’ve-ever-met chemist staff, to us magazine staff (although I was the only one in attendence) and blah blah blah. It was a ‘P’ Party. I arrived at my office in civvies and changed myself into a princess (of course). Yay for drinking in my office when it wasn’t breakfast! (That’s a joke). Jess came on down for a drink, although she said she wasn’t going to go to the party, and then my already-drunk-and-I’d-got-drunk-with-them-the-night-before workmates-from-downstairs showed up, and some hilarity was had. Brad came along too, in his pajama bottoms, and we managed to whip up Jess an absolutely stunning post box costume (small box pulled up to her boobies with a slit (hehe slit) cut in it and “NZ POST” and Logo drawn on it, plus courier bag pulled over her head) so that she could come to the party too.
Shortly after we’d made our way downstairs, still carrying drinks and began to Party. I’d been there all of five minutes when I spotted a prince, and so when we recognised each other, he hugged me, and I told him that I was really stoked that I got to meet him in a casual environment before our parents introduced us, and now that i’d met him, I didn’t mind the fact that I Was going to be spending the rest of my life with him, and I was really looking forward to producing his heirs. He managed to look both disturbed and blank at the same time and made his excuses and left. Some people have no sense of humour.
The rest of the party was fun! Drinks were cheap and I discovered that the Baileys RTDs are really yummy and ridiculously easy to drink. What was even better was that because Brad had bare feet he didn’t want to use the men’s room, so he kept going back up to my office to use the loo up there, and therefore kept bringing me down drinks. Excellent. I oggled a boy who I’ve oggled from afar for a while but then 1) Jess told me what his name is, and I realised that He Doesn’t Live In The Real World and 2) I noted that he was drinking coke and therefore our lifestyles are incompatible (soft drinks? soft cock!). There was much cheesy dancing done too, and everyone loved my dress, of course. Hooray for parties. Boo for smartass taxidrivers. Hmmm, I wonder if there is any vodka left…