10:00pm Unmasking- Merriment Ends

People really hate it when you don't dress appropriately for the weather. I found this out the hard way. See, Saturday afternoon was a balmy 70 degrees. In Boston. In January. I celebrated this by breaking out a skirt and walking around jacketless while showing Christine around the wonder that is Downtown Crossing/Boston Common/Newbury Street. There were dogs to squeal at and babies chasing squirrels and ducks swimming in the ponds and all sorts of things that screamed NOT WINTER! NOT AT ALL! Naturally I assumed this weather would last through the weekend, so Sunday morning, on the way to the much-neglected Paris Creperie, it was skirt, gleaming white moccasins and a short sleeved shirt. Too bad it had dropped 30 degrees. I've never gotten as many dirty looks as I did during that four minute walk. Women scowled at they clutched their floor-length goosedown parkas closer to their bodies. Passers-by threw hand-knitted scarves and hats. Rabbits hopped out of the woods offering their pelts. Ahh no matter how much I hope for it, spring does not come in the dead of winter. Not for more than a day at least.

The weekend was filled with activity, from stuffing my face with sweet potato tempura sushi (oh. my. god.) and reveling in the BYOB at Tsunami with Caitlin and Janelle, to ranting to not one, not two, but four different people about a not-to-be-named individual saying "it's the no-name bands that pay the bills" (are you fucking KIDDING ME?), to squinting at sub-titles during Volver (it means "returning" in Spanish. I looked it up!) to attending my first Collective meeting. Whew.

Oh, and then there was the ChoiceStream holiday party, which, of course, deserves its own paragraph. As unnerving as it was to meet 50,000 of Hunter's co-workers in the same night, it was interesting to see how a company of 70+ celebrates vs. a company of five. The basics were the same (booze, food, music).. but instead of a fake french pop band and a Dr. Dog listening party, there was a string quartet and a singing human statue. Instead of jeans and t-shirts, there were white gloves and coat-tails. Oh! And masks! Not The Knife kind. The food was incredible (roasted vegetables, sweet nutmeg gnocci, artichoke, red potatoes, tiramisu, gelatto etc etc etc.) and I waltzed awkwardly around the room with a man in slightly heeled shoes and a more than slightly unbuttoned shirt. It was a fine evening and our heads hit the pillow no later than midnight (before we could turn into pumpkins of course.)