January 11th, 2008


Puke on my shoes.

I described my evening to Jake over the phone and he said it sounded like the worst company dinner ever, but really it wasn't too bad. Except for the puke on my shoes.

Jen brought Oscar and her acting-husband* to Anchorage for training (she is a coworker, AIT, where I am EIT). Not a problem! He's a sweet kid, about 15 months. But, as they are at that age, a bit prone to regurgitation, and the overstimulation and strange food of a busy, noisy company dinner were a bit too much for him. So, there was some unpleasant spewage that happened to hit my feet.

They left shortly after (taking the rental car we shared and leaving me to scavenge another ride), and I was alone at our table. Fortunately, the president and vice president of the company (husband and wife team) invited me over so I didn't look like a pariah. So, I did my best graceful socialite impression and sat there chatting about building houses and Christmas trees with the Big Boss while painfully aware that there was VOMIT on my feet. (I daubed most if it off with my napkin and politely requested a new one from the waiter, but still.) Also fortunately, no one had witnessed the spewage specifically - they just knew that Oscar 'wasn't feeling good' and had to be taken home.

And aside from that - and the terribly, terribly undercooked filet mignon - it was a lovely night. Nice people, I didn't freeze up too painfully shyly (even standing there thinking 'I have puke on my shoes...' and later realizing that it was also on my pants...), and the food was otherwise absolutely fabulous.

I'm going to go shower for an hour. Also, I need a 'blech!' icon...

*She calls him her 'partner,' but I sort of thought they were married, and they're definitely in a committed relationship that involves children; basically I'm not sure what they technically are.

(ETA: Also, got very, very squee-worthy peek at something for a Project that fills me with glee!)