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Yahoo!’Twas the day of The Indy’s party, and all through the buildin’
Not an employee was working, ’cept an intern named Griffin.
Instead we were plotting, to the utmost detail;
One editor even spent the day painting her nails.
For ours ain’t your average company affair;
Everyone in S.B. — and their mother — is there.
And so who could work under such pressing predicaments:
What to wear, who should drive, how to score bonus drink tickets …
The hours ticked by as the office grew calm;
One by one we snuck out, on the hunt for an ensemble.
To Betsey, to Nordstrom, to the Salvation Army?
(Ethan Stewart’s used Christmas cardigan was really quite charming.)
And finally, at the hour of seven o’clock
We climbed the steps to SOhO and were greeted with a shock.
For unlike the past year or two or three,
The bar wasn’t mobbed, and there was food to eat!
Festive peeps filled the room and some got to schmoozing,
While other party people got straight to the boozing.
No wardrobes malfunctioned, although one knee was skinned,
The party grew wilder as the crowd gradually thinned.
The band played on, and though we got tired,
No one fought, no one puked, and no one got fired.
We said our Goodbyes! Our Happy Holidays! And our Ho, ho, hos!
And I went straight to Ralphs, to get stuff for nachos.
Where will your peeps be? Email shannon@independent.com. For more peeps, click here.
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