Author's note: this is a blog of my own personal perspective of the night in question and some details may be changed or exaggerated for effect. Names have been changed to protect the identity of innocents...
DRUNKARELLA (this is no fairy tale)
I don't wanna be that girl. That girl who always gets drunk at work events and is loud and obnoxious. Unfortunately, I was that girl for the second year in a row at the company Christmas party. My name: Drunkarella
There is something about work events that bring out the worst in me. This year's annual Public Defender's gala was supposed to be my mulligan, my do over from last year when I humiliated myself by doing the sprinkler dance. You all read about it. It was my first blog post and funny in a cringe inducing kind of way.
The Friday morning of this year's event, I pledged to myself that things would be different. Everything seemed to be going well. I got off work early. I got a hair appointment for a blow dry straightening and my fairy godmother at Fantastic Sam's smoothed my curls in thirty minutes. I put on my silver and black dress and twirled in the mirror for my mom. All I needed was my Prince Charming.
Things started going down hill. Prince Charming (aka Adrian) came home an hour late in a grumpy mood. He was tired and exhausted and snapped when I rushed him. "Just don't go, you're grumpy anyways," I told him in a anxious voice. He threw his shirt on the bed and said, "Fine, I won't go." I text messaged my beautiful work sister (no ugly stepsisters in this tale) who I will call Jane and she responded, "Just be nice, don't rush him." I apologized and we were out the door.
Traffic wasn't bad and we seemed to be back on track. After checking in, we went downstairs and walked in the ballroom. Just like last year, all the tables were full. However, this year Jane and my three other beautiful work sisters rescued us by saving us seats. I even had my own name plate.
This is the point in the story where I wish I could say that I sat down and had a great evening. Alas, it was not to be. Somewhere between the ballroom door and the bar, my plan fell apart and my good intentions went up in a puff of rum scented smoke. My fairy tale evening went down hill rapidly and I went from Cinderella to Drunkarella in approximately one hour. I can't even blame it on my usual insecurity about not looking good. There is no more fat girl excuse.
Upon our arrival, I immediately went to the bar and waited in line for a drink. The bartender was slower than molasses and it took a good twenty minutes before I got my first drink. "I hope she makes it a double," I thought to myself. She measured her pour out with a shot glass. I rolled my eyes and ordered another.
I also wish I could attest that I was attentive to my prince and a witty table companion to my work sisters. Unfortunately, that didn't happen either. I was loud and obnoxious and snorted with laughter like a pig at one point during the awards. "Shhhh," one of my co-workers whispered at me from another table. I got the giggles and couldn't stop laughing even when Adrian grabbed my knee under the table.
After the awards, the music came on and Adrian was ready to go gamble. I was not. "I want to dance," I slurred. When one of my co-workers, who I will call Mary, tried to grab Adrian by the tie to dance, he was done. "I am going downstairs to gamble, you can stay if you want," he said in his "I have had enough" voice.
If you assume that I stayed and danced, you are right. Prince Charming went on to lose half his kingdom to the Morongo Tribe at slots. I. on the other hand, screamed at the poor DJ to "play me some fucking 80's please."
When almost everyone had left the ballroom to continue the party upstairs at Club Vibe, the DJ (finally) put on Duran Duran's Planet Earth and I went crazy on that dance floor as if there was no tomorrow. I did the robot, the Pulp Fiction and my 80's bop (think Wham's dance in the video for "Wake Me Up Before You Go Go"). The good news is that there was no one around to see it.
My next stop was Club Vibe. I sat with one of the trial attorneys blathering on and on about my mother-in-law and my dogs. At some point (when the trial attorney's eyes started to glaze over), I realized how drunk I was and decided to call it a night. I found my Prince Charming sitting in the cafe eating his steak and eggs with a dejected look on his face. He, in a non princely manner, blamed me for his losses. I blamed him for leaving me alone to dance.
At five a.m., I awoke with a headache and a growl in my stomach. I went downstairs to the cafe, drank a cup of coffee and ate a biscuit. I sat at a slot machine and within five minutes, I hit the big spin. The spinner went around and around and stopped at the big jackpot for eighteeen thousand dollars. Then, it passed it. Barely.
I told you this was no fairy tale.