I rarely go to parties anymore other than either the tailgating variety, or the typical boring dinners with other middle aged folks, where we discuss politics and the economy.
Well, one of my office roommates decided to have a holiday party, and invited all of us, along with abo0ut 250 of his other closest friends.
This fellow, who I'll call Joel, because that's his name, is one of favorite people. He grew up in Miami, went to college in New Orleans, and law school in NYC. His father's a well known criminal defense lawyer in town, and Joel is a chip off the old block. After learning his chops in the Miami PD's office, he opened his own shop 2 years ago, and has seen his career skyrocket --representing wealthy Colombians accused of making their money importing commodities other than fresh flowers and textiles.
Joel recently bought a historic house in Coconut Grove, a coral rock place build by a Grove pioneer. It's a gorgeous place.
Anyway, Wifey and I went to his holiday party, last night.
I'll leave out details, but suffice it to say that there was a very high level of imbibing. One of our friend's wives sat on a couch smooching --but not with our friend!
There were judges there who were famous for their colorful pasts, and lawyers and prosecutors sufficient to fill any Carl Hiassen novel.
We laughed heartily, and met some interesting folks, including a gorgeous, statuesque DJ for a local rap station, who is the new girlfriend of another dear friend.
Wifey and I left the party after 1 am, and get this: D1 called US --worried about our whereabouts!
It's the type of party that will be talked about for weeks, starting with the debriefing that will take place tomorrow, I'm sure.
Wifey and I agreed --we need to get out more!
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