Another blah day at the office. I did get to venture into the catering world for a while, but once again the powers that be wanted the standard fare, so all my creative efforts were foiled. I'm also continuing to drudge through marketing packets for everyone in the firm. Let's hope they actually use all the information I'm collecting and don't just trash it.
Work flew by and I ran home to fix my hair and makeup to make it to the game. Once I was sufficiently thrown on my ghastly dress, I made it to the the stadium. Our choir wears the most hideous uniforms. Imagine a black floor-length polyester dress with gathered pouf shoulders, complete with shoulder pads. Throw in an elastic waist and wrists, and a cowl neck to boot. It's a fashion abomination. Thankfully from far away they just look like a black blob.
Once inside I was forced to stand for 90 minutes in my heels on the concrete floor while we completed a sound check and went through the entrance and exit plans. After a long day at work, my heels began to hurt. By the end of the night, my feet were screaming from pain.
The performance went splendidly, and it was very fun to be standing next to some NBA superstars. (One of them just wed a socialite in a hasty courtship. She wasn't in attendance, unfortunately.) I enjoyed the remainder of the game, and sat next to a handsome frenchman. He has duel citizenship, and had a sexy accent. He spoke of his love of soccer, and french food. He's an auditor for the state, and at the end of the night gave me his card. We'll see if I decide to call him the next time I'm in our state capital.
Ended the night by falling into bed and setting a record on how quickly I could crash. There would be no pondering of what tomorrow might hold.
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