Classy is as classy does

… or something like that.

Last night was the much-anticipated company holiday party-slash-dinner. And I’d have to say it was a success.

After Pete and I finally figured out (via a phone call to the boss) that the party was in the exact place a co-worker had specifically told me it WASN’T, that is. There was laughter and drinks and good food and dancing for all. Even Pete danced.

I was glad to have Pete meet all the co-workers I talk about so frequently. He’d already met my boss at another company party at the end of summer, but before last night everybody was only a name and some sort of lame physical description on my part to him. He seemed to like just about everybody he met and, from what I could tell, they liked him, too. So that’s good.

And the dancing part? Seriously that was like ’80s night at Valhalla in Pullman all over again, complete with my beloved “I Love Rock and Roll” by Joan Jett. Yes, it was a good night. Even the white elephant gift exchange (that I had no idea would be taking place, by the way, so we definitely didn’t take part in that) was entertaining to watch.

Oh, I almost forgot: I was definitely the classiest person at the editorial table during dinner (and drinking beforehand). While my co-workers had things like Heineken and fancy-schmancy mixed drinks like rum and Coke (or bourbon and Coke), I don’t think I went five minutes without a Coors Light in hand. Like one co-worker commented, I am, in fact, a cheap date.