Gay old time

On Thursday night I attended what I would assume would be a dreaded Christmas party for the Human Right's Campaign. I do some volunteer writing for the group, through my good pal Dawn, who was my bitch (that's apparently lesbian for "date") for the evening.

Can I just say, gay men have amazing taste. The place -- because it was a little more than a house -- was a 1938 two-story refinished with beautiful detail. The furniture was an amazing mix of modern and exquisite Italian antiques. The booze included a bartender who liked to make up special drinks in your honor. The food was catered and included crab rangoon, which my two loyal readers will know, is one of my all-time favorite things to eat, EVER.

By far the best part of the evening was mingling with intelligent, professional people who were insightful and slightly perverted, my perfect mix. I like to describe myself as the well-read writer who likes to keep her mind safely in the gutter, this was a good party for me.

I was literally having a gay old time. I ran into a former boss, who after a couple of drinks, revealed a lot more about the yet-to-be-named-tax prepartion company that I needed to know.

As I sat there, soaking in the political discussion and sipping my drink, I knew it was too good to be true. And sure enough, the gay men's chorus decided to sing Christmas songs.

Well shit.