Lit for the Holidays

Seasonal invitations abound this time of year.

Like the one Colt and Mike got.

Colt and Mike got a green invitation that read, "Colt & Mike - We'd love to see you at our liquor potluck! Dec 16th, our house-bring a friend & a bottle and come get lit for the holidays."

No signature, no return address on the envelope.

I found it face down on Grace Street a few days before the party date, probably discarded by either Colt or Mike.

Although how they'd forgo an offer like that, I can't imagine.

My invitation came via e-mail this morning and said, "I miss you! Whatcha doing early this evening? Any time for a festive kickoff to the holiday?"

It will be a sad day indeed when I no longer have time for a festive kickoff with a favorite friend.

So we met up at Amuse a little after the sun set on the shortest day of the year.

Since festivities were in order, she went with a sparkling red hibiscus champagne cocktail while I allowed the green fairy to wave her wand over me with an absinthe drip.

As we watched the pink, blue and gunmetal gray sky fade to black over the roof of the Confederate chapel, we talked about things like the best way to go once it's time to die.

For an 86-year old she knew, that was only after going out to lunch.

We discussed the beauty of bacon-laced cheeseburgers for Christmas dinner.

We had much to say about relationships that are "monogomish."

In fact, we talked right through imperious mothers (albeit with style), another round, megalomaniac bosses (let's not think this through, shall we?) and right into a cheese course (two cow, one sheep).

It was the best kind of festivities - intimate and slightly loopy in seasonal surroundings.

And this is the point in the song where the record scratches.

For my second act, I was going to a party for which I did get a seasonal invitation.

Over a picture of Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed it says, "Let's get dressed up, and dance by the light of the moon! Oh, darling, we received our invitation to: "It's a Wonderful Life Christmas Party! Main Street Station."

Unlike the party to which Colt & Mike (it's like they're a unit and you can't say one without the other, like Hall & Oates) were invited, this one did not require a bottle of liquor.

But from what I heard from the former bartender friend who'd invited me, there was an open bar so there would be plenty of getting lit going on.

When I got down to Main Street Station, it was to find the Bottom in all but a police state.

As they used to say in '40s movies, the place was lousy with cops.

But I found a pay lot, paid a machine and headed up the wide steps of the station.

Only to find a line out the door and waiting in the 37-degree December air which, given the brisk wind, felt like 28 degrees.

You know, for some people it doesn't feel like Christmas until they've heard Bing sing, or seen"The Nutcracker."

But I submit that it doesn't feel like Christmas until you've put on a little cocktail dress, barely-there lace tights and shoes that consist of straps the size of a piece of string and shivered your way to a holiday party.

I heard some guy behind me tell others that they were probably limiting people because of past parties.

"This thing started out small and grew to where it was just one big throwdown."

A black tie throwdown? My first, for sure.

I waited close to twenty minutes with a good-sized crowd (many of whom began to bail and head to a warm, cozy restaurant instead) as the Fire Marshall let in one person for every one who came out.

By the time I made it into the building, my legs had no feeling in them.

Over at the coat rack, I found other women just as badly off.

"This better be good," one woman grumbled. "My feet are frozen. I am not in a good mood right now."

I moved away slowly.

Like her, though, I was glad to be indoors, albeit trapped on the bottom floor with a guard at the staircase up to where the music was.

On the plus side, there was a bar and all the food on this floor.

After two visits from the absinthe fairy earlier, I decided to play voyeur, so I grabbed a glass of water and set out to scope out the room.

The party invitation had stipulated "black tie" so there were plenty of floor-length dresses, but more cocktail length than anything.

One thing was clear; the colors of the evening were black, brown and red.

I was part of the problem, not the solution, in a beaded black dress (notable for its aural quality -  twice a tiny bead fell to the floor and I'd hear the most delicate tinkle).

There might have been two blue dresses, but not much variety in dress colors.

And while I feel sure many of those dresses had been bought for the occasion, I had on the dress I'd bought for the very first Library of Virginia literary awards party back in '97 and not worn since.

Clearly I hadn't taken this party invitation as seriously as some of these people.

But then, I'm not sure I was one of these well-maintained-looking people.

Let's just say I saw a lot of fake tans, a lot of bling and a surprising number of furs.

But also a lot of women with their high heels in their hands.

Since we weren't allowed upstairs and I wasn't willing to wait in line for the privilege to go upstairs, I wandered over to the buffet.

A guy approached from the other side, discarding his empty plate and taking another while he was still chewing.

I made a joke about it (it's a party, we're supposed to mingle, right?) and he got defensive.

"Get it while you can," he informed me.

Eventually a woman near me, still in her coat, spoke to me.

"Can you believe this? I've been coming to this party every year since the first year, for twenty years and it's never been like this."

She was mortified when she heard it was my first time. "Oh, I'm so sorry you had to experience this!" she said fervently, perhaps taking pity on me.

She said she'd already wasted an hour and a half just to get in the door and was deciding whether she should bag it or not.

Suddenly, a man near us dared to push the button for the elevator and scrambled in when the door opened.

That's when it got very commando raid-like.

"Hurry, if you're coming, come on!" he stage-whispered to anyone and everyone mingling anywhere near the elevator.

All at once, the nearest eight people dove for the lift.

The woman I'd been talking to grabbed my wrist and said, "Let's do it!"

Next thing I know, the door closes and we're headed upstairs while a line of patient party goers still stands at the foot of the stairs.

The guy who'd commandeered the elevator stayed in charge as we ascended.

"Okay, when the door opens, just go. Don't look around, just move fast!"

I guess he got our adrenaline going because every one of us bolted off that elevator and into the pulsating music.

So at least there was music upstairs, along with a bar, a seating area and no lines in sight.

I guess I'd reached the holy grail.

And you know, I wasn't much impressed.

There were maybe two dozen people dancing and a much larger crowd watching.

The girlfriend I'd met earlier had been to this party before and had warned me that the fun was not in dancing but in watching.

Roger that.

As I wandered among the rooms, I saw only two people I knew: a bartender and a politician.

Which is not to say that they were the only people I spoke with.

No, I listened to a guy rant about the lines to get in even as his bourbon dripped out of his glass to form a puddle at our feet.

He never even noticed.

I heard a guy tell a friend that at last year's party, he'd come home without one article of clothing. He seemed very proud of that.

A saw a pretty redhead in a red dress try to walk forward twice and both times went backwards.

Her eyes looked like those googly eyes on cheap stuffed animals.

A woman walked up to me and started chit-chatting, only to stop, tell me her age and ask mine.

A guy told me I was part of the eye candy in the room "with those legs!"

I saw more Botox and plastic surgery than I'd ever seen in real life.

And I couldn't even count the number of men I saw ogling women when their own mates stopped to talk to someone.

Ugh. Lightbulb.

Ohhhhh, I get it now.

And I didn't need a guardian angel to show me the way.

I just needed the green fairy to show me that I was at an "It's a Wonderful Life Christmas Party!" to remind me what a great life I have.

I mean, not as great as Cody & Mike's, but pretty darn swell.