I attended 2 fantastic holiday parties this weekend. .:: My voice: Dripping with sarcasm:. One party can be categorized as I-met-a-boy-who-I-thought-was-sane, but-turned-into-a-mentally-challenged-5-year-old-with-ADD-on-steriods. The other party was almost worse because I attended a function as my Dad's "date" and ended up having to get a ride home with 2 80-year-old's because he met a woman who wanted to go dancing (and apparently spend the night at The Eugene Hilton). During the holidays, as I get older, I tend to feel like a cross between Bridget Jones (not in a "wanton sex-goddess" kind of way) and an Anna Maxted character.
Take last night for example. I arrived at my friends Christmas party completely unaware that she has changed the rules this year and everyone is supposed to come dressed up in as much holiday attire as possible. As my hosts open the door I am greeted by approx. 20 party revelers who are dressed to the nines in jangling bell christmas sweaters, red and white striped stockings, reindeer pajama bottoms and some of the most gaudy (and Goodwill's finest) holiday attire I have ever layed eyes on. And immediately I get boo'ed becuase I'm wearing black pants, black heels, and a black "boob" top. Cute, yet completely unfestive. (Guess who won the Scrooge award for the night?!?! And I am NOT a holiday grinch!)
However, things looked up when I saw my current crush standing by the tequila shots. (Side note: This crush, let's anme him "Operation Mistletoe," is a very quiet, yet pithy guy. He tends to make me smile and we've engaged in a sly flirtation for a couple of months now.) I mosey on up to him and decide to comment onhis choice attire of the evening: skin-tight, white women's pants with a tiny holly pattern, a crocheted white, brown and green Reindeer sweater, and a red Santa hat . . . White ball and all! We shoot the shit and down about 3 tequila shots over a 1/2 hour time period and suddenly, I have a feeling this will be one of those unexpected great nights.
Cut to 3 hours into the night. I am getting a little hammered, but more than drunk, I am annoyed. Operation Mistletoe has had another 5 tequila shots, plus chocolate martini's, plus dr.pepper and soco's and is running around acting like a fucking moron. This guy, who has always been so sweet and reserved has just told me for the 18th time that he can't stop staring at my boobs, he sat in the salsa 15 minutes ago, has broken my Scrooge award present, tried to put his tongue in my ear and almost fell over and took me out with him and is now running around the party with no pants on and only Christmas-inspired boxers and reindeer slippers. Oh, and he's hit on every other girl here. Another one bites the dust.
This weekend it will be round two, please pray for me that this next weekend goes better.
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