“You gonna be ready?”
What my coworker really meant by his question was:
“How in the name of holy haute couture are you going to be ready for tonight’s black tie, when your current look is a little more like, I dunno… Black Plague?”
Tuesday night was a rough night. Wednesday was a rough day. And it showed. So since I’d no Fairy Godmother to Bippity Boppity Boo me into a ball gown (to say nothing of stowing my under-eye luggage), I raced home from work with t-minus one hour to be at the Waldorf – glitzed, glammed and cocktail in hand.
Now, I like getting gussied up as much as the next girl. Okay, more. Probably lots more. But… I. Hate. Schmoozing. I have no talent for being nice to folks I don’t like, or pretending someone is interesting when they are not. Forget what comes out of my mouth, my body language alone screams, “You are boring and tragic and deluded into thinking you are otherwise.” That schmoozing is part of my job is just the Universe’s way of saying, “Go on. Embrace your inner bitch.”
To my surprise, however, last night was fun, and my inner bitch remained dormant and docile. I sipped champagne, floated around in yards of black satin as I was propelled from client to client and even genuinely liked most of them. It’s a mad world, I tell you.
Still, despite the bubbles and sparkly baubles, I felt an overwhelming compulsion to make an early exit. Cinderella had a midnight curfew; mine was ten o’clock. My apartment was a wreck and I have company coming tonight. I fled the scene — with both shoes — hailed a cab, and in a blink was in J’s old sweatshirt scrubbing the toilet. Ajax and false eyelashes. Oh the glamour of it all!
Beyond sick is the truth that, when I stood back and looked at the finished product, I was almost as thrilled by the site of gleaming porcelain as I was the Waldorf’s ballroom chandelier. By the way, have you seen that thing?? I discarded any shred of coolness by ooh-ing over it with abandon.
I’m such a schmoe. But I’m a schmoe with really clean fixtures. And I’m out of Q-tips again.
Stop cleaning the fixtures with them and you won’t run out. Plus, then your EARS will be clean, Moo.
Have you ever listened to Christine Lavin’s “Getting in Touch with My Inner Bitch”? You should, it’s a hoot.
Being someone born without the ability to Chit Chat I can sympathize with the Hating Schmoozing part. Especially Since I have to pretend to do it from time it time. GRRR. My Favorite was when I insulted a very well known CNN political commentator by calling his show “Extemely Boring and longwinded” to his face since we had run out of things to discuss between the Shrimp puffs and Celery sticks
People, people, people. Cleaning truly is high art. And spotless toilets, the porcelain equivelent to marble scultures of yester-year? I think so.
Also, as Randal said in the now classic cinema piece, Clerks, I am the type who hates most people but loves a large crowd. They are fun to watch. Some of the saucier company parties allows you to start playing the who is sleeping with who game. Smashing good time. Pip. Pip. And tally-ho.
do you have a steam cleaner? the things are amazing… and would probably eliminate the need for q-tips!
Every time I see my jar of Q-tips I think of you and feel a little guilty for neglecting my fixtures.
I also clean things with Q-tips… lol… and have a steam cleaner which is honestly the best invention EVER !!! Hand in hand and you have a beautiful combo!
I am a filthy pig.
After reading my own comments I must humbly apologizes. Who knew a reporters spelling-on-the-fly could be so bad. Well, me of course. That’s why the baby Jesus created copy editors.
I could say the spelling in my apology was intentional, but that would be a lie.
Fish, I was waiting for you to tie in your downstairs neighbor (from a previous post) who tolerates your stilleto-clicking at midnight, with the incessant late-night cleaning of your apt.
Can’t they invent a self cleaning fixture? The hotels in Japan have toilets that pretty much sing and dance. One even plays the radio when you sit.
Thanks for the Q-tip reminder.
the only good thing about schmooze parties is hoping some day i will be the “schmoozee”.
Re: Smoozing… I’m good at it, but I always feel empty afterwards. Took 300 photos at last night’s company Christmas party. But now I’m thinkin’ why the fuck did I blow MY evening away?
Cleanliness is next to Godliness. That’s why I’m going straight to Hell.
You so are the Manhattan Jean Teasdale.