Taking Bill’s advice into account. I’m buzzed, drunk and at his suggestion, writing. No inhibitions. The two of us just got back from Westwood NJ where my sister in law Karen had a party celebrating her 50th birthday. It turned out to be a lot of fun. There was some anxiety since it was my family, and Bill’s first appearance before them since the shit went down in August.

But of course there was no need for the anxiety. The other O’Toole’s, Brian and Frank had no place to say anything anyhow. It was a celebration of life. Very important since the last time a gathering of this many people was for a funeral or a wake. Those are no fun, whether or not it was an Irish wake or what have you. It’s a drag with a corpse around.

I took about 54 pictures. Well at least about 54 pictures were taken with my camera. Bill, saint that he is, had one beer. Designated driver, a title he wears proudly, allowed me to get pissed, in the British sense. It was a great night. Lot’s of laughs and smiles.

To this day, to my embarrassment, still have difficulty knowing which D’Alessandro woman is which. Laura, Jane, Mary all beautiful in their own way, and after 20 years I still need a name tag. With 3 O’Toole men and 1 O’Toole woman, they have the advantage. I can easily tell Bill from John D’Allesandro.

They are such a warm and welcoming family. Perhaps they are dysfunctional but not like the O’Tooles. We wear it on our sleeves. John O’Toole, aka Jackie and his wife Corinne made an appearance, though they chose to sit at a table away from me and Frank and his family.

Jackie is closer to my father’s generation than Frank, Annemarie and myself are. i.e. Jackie’s a republican. Brian follows that line also. So politics are something to be avoided. Jackie is the last remaining link to the O’Toole’s that we have. We don’t have any contact with our Uncle Bobby’s kids, or our Aunt Mary’s (the original Diddy) kids. Apparently Eddie Langton’s daughter is doing something interesting, but not interesting enough to remember right now.

Didn’t even know he had a daughter. I remember Eddie Langston being an old fart before he was even qualified for such a title. My mother’s side of the family was more easy going and closer in age than the O’Tooles were. Like I said, Jackie is it. The seeds of antagonism on the O’Tooles had taken root and will probably be insurmountable. The Powers, my mother’s family are closer and easily more communicative.

Regardless we gathered together to celebrate Karen’s having lived 50 years on the planet. A wonderful time. Even danced with Karen to Kool and the Gang’s ‘Celebration’. Sweet. Danced with her daughters, and danced with my nieces.

Hung out with Brian, hung out with Frank. All was good. Bill danced up a storm and won the heart of every woman on the dance floor. I love this guy so much.

It has been an interesting week, to say the least. Interviews, snowstorms and parties. Friday morning was a meltdown. Not a good way to start the day. Call from woman I work with, Christina who said she was going to be late, since she was waiting for the Town car to pick her up. Nice. She gets a town car I get the bus. I know she jacked up her knee in October, and had surgery 3 weeks ago, but come on… I don’t want to seem unsympathetic, but people who have it worse than her take Public Transportation.

It was a mess getting into the city yesterday morning. I got to the bus stop when the bus was there and I was waving my arms hoping that the driver would see me. He didn’t. Had to wait 25 minutes for the next bus. Then the bus was mad crowded. Then the streets were slippery once you got into the city. I was wearing my work boots. I tell people I bought them at the Fred Gwynn estate sale, they look like Herman Munster boots. Some people actually believe me.

I don’t know why the day started so badly. I was certainly depressed. The holiday party was later on and not many people wanted to go. It seemed like there was a lot of dread regarding the whole thing. I couldn’t help but make comparisons to Jonestown. Then I had to explain what Jonestown was. A joke just isn’t funny if you have to essplain it.

I had an interview on Thursday. 2nd Thursday interview, right around the block from the Royal Bank of Scotland at 40th st and Lexington. In a crazy overheated conference room comprised of two chairs and an end table, I met with 4 people, and was scheduled to meet a fifth but had to return to Wanker Banker land. I didn’t think either way whether or not the interviews went well. At least not at that time. Later in the evening I thought about it and was surprised at my cheeky nature when I complimented the final interviewer on his braces. Also mentioned this blog, which as soon as I said it, realized I shouldn’t have said it.

I told him it was under construction and tried to convince myself that the web page was johnosaid, instead of johnozed. I just didn’t want him to read what I had written previously about Wanker Banker and Hope. All that might not go over too well.

SO I was a grouchy bitch most of Friday until after I ate lunch and had a brief meeting with Jamie, who I respect. She’s the office manager, a position she doesn’t want and feels I should have. She mentioned that at this time next year, I should be the office manager. I mentioned that I had promoted myself twice for that position and was rejected both times. Didn’t want to do that again.

She said she told John McGruff (dipshit) words to that effect and that she wouldn’t be able to do her job properly if it wasn’t for my input. Awfully nice of her. In the back of my mind I was chuckling about the thought of being at Wanker Banker for another year. Seemed mean to think that, but it’s the truth. I’ve been going on interviews, and sending out my resume. I couldn’t say anything to Jamie about it.

Perhaps if they knew, the powers that be that is, they would make an effort to make me stay. But I really doubt that. Hope caused a lot of damage. The rose colored glasses are off and I see the office as not a healthy place for me.

The office holiday party was at 6PM. I decided to not go with my coworkers and to walk from 56th and Park Ave to 18th Street and Sixth Avenue. I wanted to smoke my cigar, walk off the office frustration, and smoke a joint before I got to the party. I was able to do all three.

The party was odd. No spouses this year. The Wanker Bankers were outnumbered by the National Bank of Wishful thinking. They were cordial. Shook hands and clinked glasses with familiar faces who’s names are still unknown and wished them all a Happy Holiday. The food was good, and many Heinekens were drunk by me, causing me to get drunk. Not sloppy, not mean, just buzzed.

Got a town car home, as most everyone else who lived out of the city. Danny was my driver from Jamaica. I got out and climbed the steps and was able to convince Julio to come upstairs and have some beers and watch Paul McCartney’s live DVD.

That is all.