Party Party Party

 The restaurant is upscale even though the location isn't. It's midtown, across from the hospital and on a small side street. The atmosphere and accommodations are pretty nice, though - Outside, there are about ten tables under umbrellas and inside, a gracious bar and a "stage" slightly separated from the dining room where this shapely young lady was playing a six string bass and singing as her husband spanked out some impressive stuff on his own axe.
  Commentary found in the Google search was certainly dissuasive for an expensive night out but this was where we (all of AWD's workers and spouses) were to gather for the company's president's birthday celebration.

 It's always nice to see your comrades outside the work environment, so anytime we have a chance to hang out together, we do. We're a tight shop. It is truly a special thing.

 Anyway, the food was very good - just as the reviews said, and also true to many of the comments, the service was slow. Unbearable if you are the slightest bit hungry, bad enough to piss off somebody like Job, and a damn plausible motive for homicide by the right person. Even so, our waiter was attentive and exceptionally respectful even after he realized that one in our group might be a chic with a dick...

 The place was packed inside and out when we decided to go outside for a cigarette. Conversations held by the patrons there were a bit more quiet than those inside but still a steady white noise. Call me crazy or write it off as coincidence but the tone, volume and cadence of their conversations changed as we made our way around the tables to the parking lot. We smoked our cigarettes and tossed the butts in the bed of the truck on our way back.
 Within ten steps of the closest tables, maybe thirty feet from the front door, the sound just stopped. It's like sound got sucked into a black hole, leaving nothing but uncomfortable behind. I didn't even hear a fork scrape a plate. Twenty, maybe thirty people, previously gabbing their asses off just shut the fuck up. Really? Come on, y'all. Trannies aren't that rare and I'm pretty sure that just the sight of me isn't worthy of your silent attention. We pause at the entrance to marvel at the quiet. I'mma go on inside now. As you were, ladies and gentlemen...

 This was the second of three parties our shop is involved in this week. No, it's not like this all the time. The first one was in honor of the businesses and people that remodeled a hotel downtown... The bar was open for the occasion but none of us were obviously buzzed, yet. We were happy to see people enjoying our furnishings and proud to have the public recognition. You can see me here around the 23 second mark going all "Hell yea Bitch!" while I adjust my remote control garters. They catch me again fucking with the remote, somewhere in the 50s of seconds, and then they actually come up with the cahoonas to televise me, not once but twice, hoisting the 72 lb. battery/handbag to a new position on my shoulder.

 OK, I can deal but then... Each speaker, and there were at least five of them, took their turns at the podium and spent a third, even half, dare I say most of their time, yea hell I do, looking straight in my eyes as they spoke to the crowd. Their eyes would dart this way and that, and then re-fixate on mine. Maybe they just liked my smile. Maybe I should have looked away or maybe this was some kind of headlight double deer zone. Actually, it was twilight, so maybe. Maybe I should have been sheathed in shiny black PVC. ...would have been seriously more fun.

I skipped the last party but not for what you'd think. This was one for a restaurant/bar owned by a "happy" couple of people, and I'm like, sort of happy too, so yea.We built this walnut focal point for them - It's a swervy sort of suspended ceiling, seen to the right, here. During it's construction in the shop, I sat down on it, so now I can say "my ass has been up there" and maybe win a bar bet as to where the strangest places your ass has ever been.