I think it’s one of those great mysteries, like how the pyramids were built or how Tyra Banks ever got a talk show.
I’m pretty sure we are the “token commoners” that our fabulous friends feel obligated to have; it’s probably their service project for the year.
Whatever the reason, I just hope they never realize we aren’t that cool and that we are actually super lame (although I’m pretty sure Matt’s love of graphic novels and my lack of fashion sense puts them on notice that we are losers).
Recently, our fabulous friends C-squad and his wife Kvothe (not their real names), invited us to a reception at a very nice hotel in the city. C-squad works at a very prestigious law firm which was hosting a reception for potential clients.
I would never have anything of value that would ever need to be litigated, so I knew there was no way I could ever be a client. The value of my estate when I die will consist of a tube of Chapstick and all the seasons of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.
I’m pretty sure no one will be suing to gain ownership of this sweet estate. I will also most likely have a collection of various dog toys in varying stages of destruction.
I knew there was no way we would ever be clients of this firm, but C-squad said that didn’t matter, so we agreed to attend.
This firm hires only the best of the best and I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t hire me for anything, not even to clean their toilets, so I knew this would be the closest I would ever get to this firm.
We inquired as to the attire for this event and were told the attire was “cocktail.” To me, cocktail attire is a pair of dirty sweatpants, a t-shirt from college, my couch and a bottle of vodka in which to drown my sorrows (bra optional).
My trendy friend Scissorhands recently informed me that the side ponytail is back in style. I had no idea, and was delighted to learn this hair do was back.
I decided that a cocktail party was the perfect place to try out my new ‘do. It would demonstrate to the fabulous people at the party that I was fashionable, which would suggest I had a clue about trends and style.
However, I’m pretty sure my dress from Dress Barn may have clued them in to my lack of fashion sense.
I donned my dress and jewelry and spent far more time than I should have putting my hair into a side ponytail.
Although it may sound simple, mastering the side ponytail was no easy feat, and after wrestling with it in the bathroom for 30 minutes, and approximately 30 f-bombs, I emerged with a side ponytail that was rocking.
As per Scissorhands’ request, I snapped a picture of myself in the side pony and texted it to her, just to make sure she approved before I left the house. She texted back her approval, so I was free to leave.
We met up with C-squad and Kvothe and rode together to the reception. After all, we love the environment and wanted to be green. Although, if we really wanted to be green we would have walked. but I have a hard enough time walking in heels on carpet, let alone the cracked sidewalk.
We decided to avoid an injury and take the car.
We pulled up to the hotel, which is connected to a casino. As we waited for the valet to come around, we looked over at the casino and noticed two “hefty” women sitting on the bench against the window.
You know what? They weren’t hefty, they were just straight up fat. What was particularly disturbing about seeing them was the fact that their ass cracks were completely hanging out.
I don’t mean that we could see the top of the crack, or an inch or two. I mean we could see their entire asses. No joke. They were mooning the world and they didn’t seem to care.
After we composed ourselves from laughing so hard (and I threw up a little in my mouth), we discussed the significance of this, and if it was a premonition of things to come for the night.
We decided to take it as a good omen, and we forged ahead. We figured seeing two women’s bare butts at a casino was akin to a sighting of a rare bird in nature. Although those cheeks seemed far from extinct, we took their presence as a suggestion that better things were to come.
We arrived at the reception and were provided magnetic name tags, only after we affirmed we didn’t have pacemakers. Yet another reason this law firm is the best!
I considered telling them about the metal in my right ankle after an accident on vacation in Mexico, but I was pretty sure they weren’t interested in metal in other parts of my body. Although the scar is pretty cool, this crowd just didn’t seem like the type who would be interested.
Immediately after donning our name tags, a man arrived with glasses of wine. Silly man. Wine? Pft! This was a reception with free drinks. I wasn’t going to waste my time on wine. I headed straight for the bar where I ordered my delicious vodka.
The bartender made me a stiff drink, most likely because he didn’t want me to return to lean on his bar again and tell him he looked sassy in his bow tie. I was grateful for the extra shot no matter the reason.
We walked around and chatted with our friends, the entire time keeping our eyes on the food station. There were waiters walking around serving appetizers, which was great, but I had my eye on the prize…the dinner.
One waiter asked if I wanted nachos with a spicy chicken dip. Um, yes. These thighs should tell anyone who looks just how much I love nachos. He then presented me with a nacho with a small amount of dip on it. What?!
Where was the heaping pile of chips slathered in dip? I delicately took the nacho and did my best not to inhale it in one breath. After all, I needed to be classy.
It was delicious and I found myself casually stalking that waiter for the rest of the evening, determined to get the equivalent of a full plate of nachos.
I’m pretty sure he began to fear me, but at least he could hear me coming since I clunk when I walk in heels. I gave him fair warning of my arrival each time.
They finally rolled out the food and it consisted of meats and a few cheeses, individual meatballs, and veggies. Okay, I get the meat and cheese. Since there was wine there, that was acceptable.
But individual meatballs? Who eats just one? Where was the old crock pot from 1982 that was rusty on the side, but filled to the brim with delicious meatballs? Instead, each meatball was placed on a separate small serving spoon. Atrocious.
Although I’m not Italian, if Jersey Shore is any indication of Italians, they would have been offended by such a serving size and display. I silenced a fist pump and placed two meatballs on my plate. Naturally, I skipped the veggies.
I returned to our group and attempted to eat my food slowly, all the while trying to look professional and not spill anything.
I also kept one eye out for the waiter with the individual nachos, although by that point I’m pretty sure he was in the back room avoiding me.
The food was delicious despite the small portion sizes. Matt and I agreed that we liked the food, but a trip to McDonald’s was definitely in our future later in the night.
I grabbed another drink and joined the conversation, attempting to sound refined and intelligent (and hoping there was no sauce on my mouth).
By this point, my side ponytail wasn’t doing so well. It was sick and tired of being on one side of my head. It kept attempting to migrate to the middle of my head, where it probably thought it belonged.
I kept gently pulling it back every few minutes, which probably made me look like I had a nervous tick of pulling on my hair when I was uncomfortable.
My hair kept falling out of the side ponytail, and eventually, the entire left side of my head had hair hanging down, while a few pathetic strands of hair hung on to the ponytail on the right side, the way Heidi Montag is trying to hold on to her five minutes of fame.
Like Heidi, my side ponytail didn’t make it.I eventually went to the restroom (which was nicer than my house by the way) and I took out the side ponytail and repositioned it.
I also scolded it for making me look bad and reminded it not to embarrass me, all the while praying no one was in any of the stalls to hear my rant.
The rest of the evening went great, and I was shocked to discover I managed to get out of the reception without spilling anything on myself.
I realize this is a task that is accomplished by most people over the age of 8, but for me, I can’t ever seem to leave a place without at least a small remnant of food somewhere on my body.
I like to call it a souvenir.
We went to the hotel bar after the reception and continued to drink free drinks, which always taste better than ones paid for with my money. I was still fighting my side ponytail, but it was starting to fall in line and realize who was boss.
When the night was over, our friends took us back to our car where my husband drove us around the city looking for a McDonald’s that was open.
After our third stop at a closed McDonald’s, we decided the world was against us and we needed to go home. I was pretty sure my trainer might actually kill me with squats if I ate McDonald’s, so my sadness was outweighed by relief I wouldn’t have to do squats.
We arrived home where I immediately tore out the side ponytail and removed the heels that were causing my feet so much pain. I then proceeded to eat the leftover pasta in my fridge, all the while thanking myself for making it earlier in the week. I was obviously a genius.
Matt and I went over the events of the night, and the fact that we have no idea how we manage to get invited to such cool events with amazing people.
Maybe it’s because when people think of an open bar and all you can eat food, my face is the first that comes to mind. Or maybe they just want to see how long it will take me to spill something or fall.
Whatever the reason, we were so happy to have been invited, and are looking forward to the next event…and the next time my hair will not be in a side ponytail!