(no subject)

[rebness]

I meant to wax lyrical about the Sagrada Familia today, but it's time for another mememememe weekend post.

So, Friday! That day was The Dreaded Christmas Party. I always, always end up drunk at Christmas parties and make a Bridget Jones-style show of myself in front of my colleagues, to the amusement of all except me. I was determined not to do that this year when the Extremely Important Mental Health Managers would all be there, and I achieved this by going to super-smart wine bar Prohibition with my friend Chris first off.

Half a bottle of white wine later, I smiled at him and said, "why don't you come along as well? I'm sure it will be all right."

Now, our Christmas party? It was supposed to be at La Tasca. Then it was Bella Pasta. Then a Portuguese place, but we'd left it too late and everywhere was full up. Hence, we went to...CAESAR'S PALACE. The name should tell you all you need to know. Tacky, Vegas-style lighting, horrible, cheap food... my prawns were horrible, my Mexican food combo just had lots of ribs on it... the best thing was the wine and Baileys.

At some point, the Adverse Incidents Adminstratror found out that Chris was the son of [insert name here], General Adverse Incidents Manager for all of the North-West.

A little while later, we've all done stupid things. Chris and I tried to teach French to one of the PAs, said PA and the Adverse Incidents lady tied Chris up in a chair, took a photo and pretended to kidnap him to wind up his dad, etc. Hey, at least we all made a show of ourselves, right? 'Twas a most worthy night.

*

In a separate incident, I had professed my love of dead narrators to fabulous wench saffronlie and she had told me of a Dead Narrator book, Rembrandt's Whore.

Over the weekend, I decided to try and get it, but could not for the life of me remember who wrote it. Hence, the following conversation in Waterstone's:

Becky: Oh, hey. Um... I'm after a book, but I can't remember who the author is.
Girl: That's okay! I'll look it up on our database. What's the title?
Becky: Um...er...Rembrandt's Whore.
Girl: *taptaptappitytap* Hmm... I can't see it. Rembrandt's Hall, right?
Becky: No...er...Rembrandt's Whore.
Girl: ?
Becky: Whore. W-H-O-R-E.
Girl: Oh. Okay. *Totally thinking it's a porn book*
Old lady behind: Hmm.
Girl: Sorry, we don't have it in.
Becky: That's okay. *runs*

Told saffronlie about that on YM later on. "Oh," she said, "it's a rubbish book, anyway."

KEEEEEEEEEEEEL!

And they were some of the less surreal moments of the weekend. Oh, goody.

Comments

[saffronlie.livejournal.com]

I'm sure I mentioned I hated it.

I didn't go to our work Christmas party as I'd only been there a week and didn't want to embarrass my mother. But everyone told me all the juicy stuff anyway. Heh heh.

[rebness.livejournal.com]

Bless you. :p

You were wise to avoid the part at all costs, Anna. They always end up being embarrassing, as I'm sure your mother told you. ;)

Recommend me a good dead narrator book, then. Or at least one that you didn't completely hate.

[rebness.livejournal.com]

Edit: party. Stupid tiny-keyed keyboard.

[saffronlie.livejournal.com]

There *are* no good dead-narrator books. Obviously.

[rebness.livejournal.com]

THE LOVELY BONES was good.

Also, I started reading Night Letters last night, and the bit about the dog made me cry. Oh boy, it's going to be a long, if enjoyable slog... ;-)

[saffronlie.livejournal.com]

I'M SURE IT WAS.

I don't remember a dog. But it will be a slog, but in that very good way. It's so lush and arty and kind of leaves you reeling with the stories.
I finished Malory's Morte Darthur with the endless dwarves and cross-dressing and now, for something completely different, am reading The Da Vinci code.

Also, LJ isn't sending me your comments in email, although I'm getting replies from everyone else. Damn LJ.

[rebness.livejournal.com]

How dare LJ victimise me like that?

He went into the room, right? And Peter was all, "the dog's not moving very much today" and then the dog was dead. And he's all "bye bye, Bas" and talks about how hard it is, seeing something he love grow older, weaker, its face starting to resemble a skull. And I looked at my own ageing dog and wept.

Oh, the melodrama of me.

Am really growing to like Mr. Dessaix, you know.

I shall be quiet on The Da Vinci Code. Tell me what you think of it when you're finished.

Also, cross-dressing dwarves? How very Armand of you.

[saffronlie.livejournal.com]

Right. I remember that. It made me think of when our old labby died. That was a terrible day. :( Don't be sad -- the Catholic church notwithstanding, dogs have souls. (Cats don't.)

Mr Dessaix rocks.

So far I think I don't know why it's so controversial. Hasn't anyone read bestselling pulp before?! Who cares what's true and what isn't? It's a cracking good read in manner of Michael Crichton and similar.

How very Armand of Malory. Except that the dwarves didn't cross-dress. That was just Launcelot... yeah.

[rebness.livejournal.com]

Don't be sad -- the Catholic church notwithstanding, dogs have souls. (Cats don't.)

LMAO!!

Verily, thous maks't me laugh.

I always hated that-- how dare anyone be so arrogant to consider that humans are so very speshul and unique, but "animals" are not?

Take it from here, Yeats-- we're nothing but dying animals. Smart, feeling animals at that, but then I've seen grief and pain in an animal, I've seen love. Bleh.

I still want to read Morte d'Arthur simply for the dwarves. Dancing, naked or not-- they're still ace dwarves. :p

[tsaress.livejournal.com]

your mad but I love you

[rebness.livejournal.com]

Hee...thanks. :-D

Don't forget that you're invited to similar birthday madness. Um, when I work out what the hell I'm doing for that.