Party..

So there was this really fancy party at this fancy beachside downtown Hotel Radisson. The cocktails weren't free; champagne, beer and wine were. And there we were, two lost souls making no conversation with the rest of the table. The first aperitif was a glass of sparkling champagne. White Russians were abundant at six dollars a pop.

In the meanwhile, the next course was being readied. It consisted almost entirely of cheese. I believe the different varieties were Provolone, Swiss, Feta and Blue Cheese. There were some crackers too. Gulping down the champagne, we moved to red and white wine respectively. Considering we had paid a pittance (ten bucks) for this party, we had to make do with cheap chardonnay.

As in James Bond movies, uniformed waiters came around - serving hors d'oeuvres, sushi cakes, fried balsa fish and spinach puffs. My vegetarian friend and I sample the hors d'oeuvres, before later realizing the mushrooms had sausages on them. My friend goes to spit it out in the trash, while I urbanely swallow it with a gulp of cheap red wine.

Dinner was served. The main attraction was the ciabatta bread with olive oil and vinegar. A dish of beans in white sauce with fried onions didn't go down too badly either. An excellent cheesecake completed the evening for me as I struggled to finish my wine glass. Interestingly, the bar-man had filled my wine-glass to the brim, a social no-no.

After dinner, came the ballroom dancing. In name, at least. The fancy hardwood floor remained unoccupied for much of the evening. Only when popular songs such as "Mambo No. 5" (when my slightly inebriated friend suggested it had been performed by Amitabh Bacchhan) came on, was the crowd enthused to a degree. "You're Beautiful" by James Blunt evoked a mixed response from the crowd. The women in their black cocktail dresses danced in place, not so subtly hinting to their partners that they wanted to be on the dance floor. The men in their black ties, were having none of it. The young men, who had come stag denounced the song. For some strange reason, it was compared to Smallville, where the conversation moved on to Superman's age (apparently he looks 30 even though he's supposed to be in high school in that particular show).

I must devote a paragraph to inebriation and sobriety. The former seems like an excellent excuse to do absolutely anything you like. My friend almost asked a girl to take her stockings off (which might have been fairly pleasant, but not quite the right circumstances to do it, one felt). Luckily, sobriety prevailed and I was able to attract his attention for long enough in order to make him forget. In another case, he felt inclined to do Bhangra on the hardwood floor when soft romantic music was being played.

Christmas spirit was in the air. Gaily decorated trees were the rage all over the hotel. Sadly, mistletoe was absent throughout the establishment. As expected, most ladies were able to "persuade" their partners to join them on the dance floor. This unfortunately prevented most men from heading back to the bar to grab an after-dinner beer. Only the most resourceful men were able to do so.

It was time to head back. The revelry was over. Tales of drunken misdeeds were related, followed by vows never to drink again. To that, I say hah!