And so we blog........

I had the distinct privilege of attending a party with my wife Saturday evening. Something I find to be a somewhat rare treat. Now granted, we did have kids in tow, so party... not so much. Still I love any scenario where human beings gather to socialize. At times it is just interesting. While at other times I feel like a large crocodile sitting in a small pond in the African Savanna on a hot hot day.

The party. My wife's friends who are primarily composed of engineer types, and some collegiate effluents scattered about. Mostly wife's friends co-workers. You know the usual suspects. I'll start with the ever popular, Boss.Tonights version was a true classic.

The boss.

Guy walks in and the first thing I hear is that he is from Texas. Not just from Texas, but from Texas in that, "I'm from Texas and your not" kind of way. Not that I had time to think that it could get worse, but it went ahead and did without my approval. The boss of course brought "the bosses wife" again, another archetypal figure. Enough make-up and jewelery ensconced such that at any moment I felt as though we could go live to Televangelist event. To further heighten the mood she was as politically incorrect as she was tacky. Nothing like leading off a party dialogue with discussions about conflicts between the Republic of Georgia, and Russia; with residents from both countries. Thank god for social skills, and I suspect liquor. The woman actually quoted Rodney King, with the famous/infamous "Can't we all just get along?"

I'm not making this up. I'm not that creative. Cynically based comedic type that I be, I immediately start looking for something to write on, paper, napkin, tree bark. Anything to truly do justice to this social event which is unfolding before me.

And oh yes, just when you thought it was safe to go back into the water.... I look up and standing before me, is a man approximately 7 feet 14 inches tall, wearing the ugliest shirt I have ever seen in my life. Again please bear in mind, that I am impulse control challenged. I am already fighting back urges here that strain my better judgement. To speak Fruedian, if I dare, my Id is Really wanting to come off the chain. REEEEEEEEEEeaally.

"Just don't look at the shirt. Don't look at it. it's hideous. Even for paisley. I don't even now that shade of ..... don't look at the shirt ..... green exists".

The boss interjects (hand to god, happened) "That's a nice shirt Where'd ya g....." I begin to feel faint, laughter building need to comment overwhelming. Spirit of Louis Black rising from within.

I step away for a moment to get some air. My blessed spouse who is observant but perhaps not completely. Walks over to me, noting my flush color (I get flush when I want to laugh at people and can't). She asked me

"what is it?" I look incredulously at her "No really what?" Again I am dumbfounded "WHAT".

At this point I turn to her friend (our) and say, "now. you know me right? (she nodds) And you know my sense of humor (second nodd)? Do ya think right now is the best time to inquire as to my thoughts in any anecdotal manner?" Slight giggle. Point taken.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah calm. I breathe. Happy unfunny thoughts. Happy Zen moments.

Nope. The fertile ground of humor continues to spill forth. I am trapped between a right-wing Christendom view of Russian Politics, and a fashion show for Frankensteins Monster, complete with a discussion about socks. Socks? At least it can't get any worse................. I swear I think I heard god laugh when I thought this.

For it now seems the boss has started a discussion about his weekly morning YOGA routine on his wii game console. Complete with showing us his new poses. Now while I am thrilled that this man is seeking eastern treatments for relaxation and overall improvement of health, despite full knowledge that as a Christian from Texas he will surely burn in Hell with all the Democrats and small foreign car owners. I really didn't need to see his "warrior pose" or his "dangling downward dog" thing right there in the living room.

And dare I say it, suddenly I am trapped in a Yoga discussion I can't escape, eyes burning from this boot wearing freaks flexibility I turn quickly away only to find some woman's buttocks squarely in my face. Yes that's right, there's always one at every party. The "one upper". This woman also felt the need to display her flexibility so she promptly bent over completely. Which again was odd, because she was placed such and I was standing such that essentially all I could see was butt. Nothing else. Just Butt.

Again my mind began to swim and I escaped to the kitchen.

Silence. Sweet sweet dulcid silence. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. Best 4 seconds of the night. For the next thing I know. The butt comes in and sits down across from me. I play it cool. My wife comes in, and despite the fear that she might say anything at anytime, to trigger uncontrollable and inconsolable mirth on my part, I am a rock. Steady and Strong.

Then it happens. And for those of you out there who aren't as "party savvy" as myself; a word to the wise, "stay away from accordion chatter my friends". The accordion might seem like a safe topic but in the hands of the socially inept, Pandora's harmonica can lead you on a bad bad solo.

Daughter comes down. For the sake of time and deference to Dr. Seuss, I will call her "Thing one". Thing one complains to mom (buttock lady) that her sister (thing 2) will not share the accordion. Mom is patient and tells thing one to be as well (patient). Some moments later Father of Things one and two, and spouse of buttock, who of course is none-other than the big footed fashion terror from a big and tall shop for the near sighted and sexually disoriented men of the north woods, steps forth and decrees that yes the accordion will be shared much to thing two's discontent.

At this point I am exhausted. I have had 1,327 jokes all running through my head at once. Most of which are neither kind, nor funny to anyone but myself and possibly the late Sam Kinneson; and in moment of weakness I turn to ass lady and say, "You know its ironic, cause most people don't even like the accordion".

This was her response:

"When I was in college I had a gym teacher who used to play the accordion. Every night, alone in his room, he would play beautifully. Many times I would walk by and just listen. Some nights I even sat out on the grass, like a little concert. It was dark so he couldn't see out, but I could see in (anywhere at this point the word naked would have truly improved the quality of this story). He was quite surprised one day when I complemented him on his playing (any reference to stalking or restraining orders would have also heightened this particular piece). "

I was speechless. Moved. Not to tears. Or at-least tears of happiness or kindness. I was cornered really. This poor man dragged from his secret closet life of accordion playing. Gym teacher by day, sissy pirate musician by night. The scandal

If I had a choice at this point I probably would have said, "that's gin" got up and walked out of the house; as it was however, my wife and children were present such that I retrieved them and we departed happily for home. I enjoyed the privilege of sharing the party through my eyes with her and together we both agreed that it was time for us to purchase a wii.