Saturday, February 21, 2004

I'm thinking that it's time to revise my goals.

My boss and her boyf and his friends came into work last night. Greg says, "You want Cheryl?" I say yeah, and bring them water, beer. A lot of beer. I drink half of my shift drink with Colin, our newish 19 year old dishwasher, then move over to Cheryl's table. I get invited to the Goodfoot. I go, we run into Ryan and the other Ben, my manager's fiance, and brother, respectively. Everyone gets another beer, Cheryl and Ryan break on the floor, I do my one move. It's late so the DJs are packing up, and Ryan starts looking for the sweater he'd thrown off in the middle of some daring dance move. He can't find it, but he does find Cheryl's purse, which he carries around with him while looking for his sweater. We get into Ben's (Cheryl's boyf Ben) Caddy, drive his friends back to his place--they were visiting from Seattle--and go to work. Cheryl made me call Greg to check if next door was open--it wasn't--because she insisted that they'd open for her and have an after hours party. No such luck. Ryan says to call John and Steve, so I do. Steve didn't answer, but John picked up, and he agreed to come rock it with us. This is around 3 am.

We roll the Caddy over to John's house, and Cheryl's up front honking the horn. John walks out of his house wearing his requisite tie. We go to the Montage, but Cheryl doesn't want to go in, which is good because there were some dudes in there wearing face-paint. We get back in the Caddy and John looks like a scared rabbit. Ryan calls Sarah, who I know has been asleep for a couple of hours, and wakes her up saying, "Hi Sweetie. Is it OK if I come home with your co-workers and your boss and Ben and we have a party?" I hear Sarah on the other end of the line, half asleep, say Yeah. Now Cheryl is starting to feel bad about waking Sarah up, and I feel pretty awkward that I'm driving around North East Portland in a Cadillac with my boss, her boyfriend, my manager's boyfriend, and my bewildered co-worker. But, OK, I've already bought the ticket, so I guess I might as well finish the ride.

We pull up to Sarah and Ryan's house, and it's completely dark. Ryan blows into the house, turns on the lights, turns on Outkast. Sarah comes downstairs in her pajama pants and glasses, with a bump in the middle of her forehead that I gave to her earlier in the night. Now I feel awful. Actually, I feel a lot better because I finally get to pee. Sarah's house is awesome. The furniture, the paint, everything. She even has a bar downstairs, and makes us all some drinks. At this point in the evening it's completely unnecessary for any of us to have any more to drink. But, rock on, Ryan made Tater-tots. John points out that Sarah's drink menu from Thanksgiving says "Royal Tiger . . . a great after dinner drink." So Sarah makes Royal Tigers for everyone: Kahlua, Triple Sec, and Soy Milk. They are good.

We go back upstairs because Sarah's brother wants to go to bed and his bed is right next to the bar. By now Cheryl can barely stand up and keeps saying that she wants to go to bed. Ryan and I decide that she needs toast with Pumpkin and Port spread. She eats it, we all share the toast. John is elected to drive us back to his house. Cheryl is passed out next to me, dangling off of her seat belt. That was probably the most bizarre part of the night, sitting next to passed-out-boss. I didn't know what to do. If she were just my friend I probably would've propped her up or something, but I just sat there. I call Lindsay--it's about 4:30 now--and she's awake for some odd reason, so she agrees to meet me at John's house. John and I try to convince Ben to let us drive them home, but he swears that he's good to go. Lindsay rolls up in her Otto's Sausage Kitchen Sweatshirt, and I say goodnight to John and we hug. Lindsay looks at me and says, "Well, what happened here?" "It's a lot fucking weirder than it looks, Linz."

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