The demise of Blogation Station has been greatly exaggerated.

People have been said to die more often on their birthdays than any other day. Fortunately, the Station survives it's first bday despite a slight scare. Perhaps this blog prefers a slow, painful crawl into the abyss. Better to fade away than burn out, right? Hmm, I may have gotten that wrong. Regardless, details of my mundane existence and thoughtless musings will continue to bless the intarwebs. Glorious, I know. I'm probably not going to tell anyone that I've resumed posting, so only the stalkers and extremely bored of the Nation will find out in a reasonable amount of time.

I've decided to not fill in the gap of the recent to the last post because I'm lazy. I'll let those thoughts and occurrences fade into the murky, murky waters of memory that will undoubtedly be obscured even further through heavy drinking, computer screen radiation, and, eventually, senility. Anyhow, let's march on.

Anyhow, last thursday was the most recent iteration of our holiday party and the local museum. If you recall, last year I got pass-out-on-the-bathroom-floor-with-my-pants-down drunk. The newer, wiser JD did marginally better this time around. The party itself was fun but uneventful. B and I played around in the ghetto, outdated museum between awkward conversations with senior members of the firm. Anyhow, MIA, B, new analyst JJ, her bf, the X factor, and me went to Rocket afterwards.

Rocket was Rocket. The dj wasn't that good as he wasn't able to play any hip hop. Although he did play Total Eclipse of the Heart. Both B and I got hit on pretty hard that night. Earlier on some guy got in a convo with her and then jokingly said that they should "make out." I was moderately disturbed and subtlety made it clear I was with her. After realizing I was her boyfriend he said "your gilrfiend's hot" and I muttered and awkward "thanks..." Later in the night I was off standing in a corner talking with the X Factor. I see out of the corner of my eye some girl point at me from across the room with and signalling for me to dance with her. I just pretended I didn't see, looked away, and hoped that would be the end of that. Of course she comes over and starts to dance with me. I do some intentionally awrkard dabce moves (normally they're unintentionally awkward). Thankfully B was around and saved me. Usually I'm good at acting weird and cold enough to avoid that sort of thing, but at the pheromone-infused mating party that is Rocket, it can be difficult for one to avoid, even when as goofy as myself.
Friday's happenings to be posed later.