My weekend was fine, spent checking out the Cosmo Lava Lounge with the now becoming regular foursome of R and I, and my lovely friend E and her man. Except the night ended with me coming down with an acute case of "I'manoldwomanitis." After shaking (in the most forgiving sense of the word) what our mamas gave us for no more than fifteen minutes, the smoke (fog machine? cigarettes?? wacky tobaccy???) bested me and we sauntered up the steps to the upper (read: ventilated) level of the Lounge. Wow. Where was my youthful bouyancy? I proceeded to go to the bar for some water, and waited patiently for the bartender while chubby Drunk-Girl-Trying-To-Non-Chalantly-Keep-Balance-While-Approaching-Striped-Shirt-Clubgoer-Also-At-Bar repeatedly leaned on me as I sidled further and furter down the counter, relinqueshing my prime bar real estate in favor of not touching sweaty Drunk Girl arms. All in all, the club was very swank and aesthetically hip, were it not for the dance dungeon filled with fog machines and cigarettes (Thanks Fulton County for *NOTHING*) and Man-Who-Thinks-He-Can-Do-That-BreakDance-Cum-Raver-Shuffle. Fortunately, on the upper floor there was a sort of sitting, loungy area juxtaposed next to a pseudo dance floor. The loungy area was just close enough to the pseudo dance floor that one could half-dance, half-stand and still retain some appearance of slight approval/detached ennui.

And it was in just this loungy area that I sat and observed a horror on the pseudo dance floor...

The "Newly Divorced, Single and Ready to Mingle, 'Marsha from Accounts Payable,' Recently Inspired from the Dancing With the Stars Finale" crowd filtered in at around 12:45-1:00. I observed said thirtysomethings switching partners and generally having a good time. No problem here. But just then, I observed one bread-n-butter couple attempt the shifty ripple arms dance move where it starts with one hand, goes down the arms to the other hand and then is passed off to the partners hand.

GOD! NOT THE SHIFTY RIPPLE ARMS DANCE OFF!!!!!!! HEY, THIRTYSOMETHINGS DANCING COUPLE! EVERYONE IN MY HIGHSCHOOL CALLED. THEY WANT THEIR DANCE BACK!!!

Well, that was cathartic.

On an entirely different note... Peter Jennings was always the news anchor growing up. He will be missed by many...

OK.

ANOTHER ONE FOR THE 'MEMORABLE EXCHANGES WITH THE FOREIGN PIZZA DELIVERY MAN' FILES:
Earlier this afternoon, Anna from the Design Dept. informed me a pizza would be delivered, and heads up because, as my name is Anna too (wow! the name reveal!!) to not get confused when the delivery guy asks for Anna. (We that are bestowed the name Anna find it quite a rare occurence to be in close proximity with other Annas, and so must explain anomalys like this one...) Well, not 15 minutes later, said pizza man arrives, pizza warming satchel in tow. He asks for Anna and I, assuming he has seen my nameplate, inform him its a 'different Anna (like he cares)' and one moment while I page her. This prompts him to announce his wife's name is Anna, and I respond with the "oh, well it's just the best name" plattitude. He then begins to name her background and lineage, that she is from an Eastern European country I didn't remember and I respond with my mother's european birthplace etc. ad nauseum. All of a sudden Foreign Pizza Delivery Man leans closer to the reception desk and relays, under hushed tones, "Anna is a good name, you are very nice (lovely/pretty I couldn't give two hoots what he said) but my wife is a *horrible* {stars placed for his emphasis of the word 'horrible'} person. I don't associate the nice name Anna with her." After a modicum of awkward silence, I recovered with a slightly cheery, the-show-must-go-on, "Oh, no! Your wife? That's not good!" It's a trick I learned in the retail biz. The phrase 'oh no' relinquishes you from taking sides, yet still places the attention on the person spending money (not that the pizza man was spending money, but at a workplace neutrality from the receptionist is always a safe road). Then the *other* Anna came out, payed and tipped, and Foreign Pizza Delivery Man left with an unnecessary, "If you need anything else, just let me know." Need anything else? While the sentiment is kind, I think FPDM was just taken with our names. Apparently. Because even FPDM's wife didn't live up to the grandeur and grace that is the name 'Anna.' What if we *had* needed something else?
'Ranch, FPDM! WE NEED RANCH DAMMIT!'