Party like it’s 1995…

A couple of Friday nights ago, I spent some time both working a party and attending a party.

The working part was for a fancy-smancy international piano competition in town. We hosted a reception before their evening concert. It was old money, politicos and wannabe’s. I was grateful to just blend in to the back ground.

The winner ended up being some teenager from China. You ever have one of those moments when you think, huh, a teenager wins an international piano competition. And my greatest accomplishment for today was unloading the dishwasher. I get those same feelings watching the Olympics too. I start comparing myself and realize my only true talent is shopping. Really, I’m gold medal caliber. But that’s it.

However, in the evolutionary chain, that’s a higher skill than playing a piano, right? I mean, I may not be strong or fast or able to bear children but I sure as heck can find the buffalo and say hey ya’ll, he’s hiding over here. Or scavenge to find the berries. And have someone else pick them.

So basically, I could be the Queen of Hunters and Gatherers. I point, you hunt and gather.

Anyway, after standing on marble floors and smiling incessantly for several hours, we all loaded up for a charity event at the Zoo. My company was a title sponsor so we had a VIP area near the concert. As far as I’m concerned, that’s the only way to attend a concert. Great seats, free food, free beverages and fewer drunk, smelly guys around.

The band performing was Better Than Ezra. I know. Makes you feel all 1995. I can feel the teenage angst growing on me like an oversized flannel plaid shirt. Can someone explain to me what we were all depressed about? I mean, I know it rains in Seattle more than the sun shines but why exactly did they feel the need to inflict their melancholy on us?

Anyway, they sounded EXACTLY the same as they did when I was in high school. Like our own little high school time capsule.

One of the guys from our office designated himself as the photographer for the evening. It’s a shame too. He looks just like JFK, Jr. Seriously. John-john in the flesh.

Although when he starts talking you forget about that. If I were a telepath (because I’ve been manically reading the Sookie Stackhouse series) (which are totally awesome by the way) (and I’ll have read all nine books in a record 2 weeks by Friday), his thoughts would sound something like this.

Oh, cupcakes. I like cupcakes. Oh, blue sky. I like blue skies. Oh, khaki pants. I like khaki pants.

See. Sweet guy. Great to look at. But no no to the talking.

Anyway, he was kind enough to take some pictures of us. Not moving. We pulled one of the ottomans (because all VIP areas these days need white leather lounge furniture) over to our tables so we could put our feet up.

Our very tired, poor, apolitical, no talent feet. But as the Queen of Shopping, I hereby declare that to be perfectly acceptable.