Reasons I Can't Be Taken Anywhere

I’m pretty sure I was drunk when I agreed to go with my friend to her work’s Christmas Party. I mean, I don’t remember agreeing to go, so I must have been drunk, right? That’s pretty much the only reason I can think of for agreeing to go. Oh, that and the promise of free booze. That pretty much gets me in any door. For future reference, the best way to kill me is to leave a bottle of Grey Goose at the bottom of a well. That’ll surely lead to my demise.

My friend is a nurse, so this was a party filled with nurses and doctors and pencil pushers and paper shredders, etc. And it was held at Seven Oaks Country Club, which is hilarious in and of itself. I’m amused by the fact that Bakersfield has a country club. I’m even more amused by the fact that Bakersfield has several country clubs. But Seven Oaks Country Club is the big one.

Frankly, I couldn’t be arsed to tart myself up, so I went with a simple ensemble of tan pants and an orange button-up. I know they’re the wrong colors for December, but whatever. I finished it off with my Docs. I was going to wear my hobo gloves inside, but I thought it might be the slightest bit tacky. I didn’t have to worry so much, considering the stylish hilarity of the people attending.

Once inside, we passed the usual assortment of finery and entered the main ballroom. It was decked out and shiny in that 1950’s sort of way. It’s like being rich hasn’t moved into the 21st century in Bakersfield. We still think everything should be gold and ornate. Naturally, I couldn’t stop giggling the first 20 minutes I was there.

Of course, one of the waiters (servers, servants, pool boys?) saw me laughing and immediately asked if I needed a drink. Uh, yeah? I could tell that the lad wanted to talk. He looked miserable and helpful in that way people who are treated like crap on a daily basis at work are. But none of them talked. It wasn’t their job, sadly. I bet he had some great stories to tell, if only he could.

My friend pointed out various co-workers of hers, usually with some sort of story. There was a boy there she has a crush on. I did a little recon work for her, but he couldn’t be pulled away from his plate of salmon and salad. He reminded me of a younger version of one of my old bosses a bit. I see male pattern baldness and a calculator in his future.

Naturally, I was the most fabulous person there, although the woman in the purple prom dress came a close second. I’m not sure if she stumbled in from a adjacent party or something, but the prom dress was quite fabulous. Frankly, most everyone else there was boring.

They were boring in that sort of staid, milquetoast way that people who make lots of money and don’t do anything different or weird or fun are. It’s like this party is the biggest date on their social calendar and their idea of getting loose is to drink two glasses of wine and table dance. Only, minus the table dancing.

The other people at our table found my friend and I fascinating. Likely because I was offering a running commentary on how silly the whole event was. Actually, they were probably annoyed with me. But if you think you can drink Coors Light at a country club and not elicit a snippy remark from me, you’re sadly mistaken! Open bar does not equal piss water. Sorry!

There was one of my friend’s co-workers that drew my attention because he was dressed like Spike from Buffy The Vampire Slayer. She told me he dresses like that every day. Spike was followed around by a rather mannish ginger girl with a permanent frown. At one point, she nearly walked into me and gave me a look. As she was walking away, I offered, “Bitch, I will stab you in the eye with your own heels!” And, nothing…

Eventually, there was a slideshow and we were out of drink tickets. It was time to go. I rushed out, still giggling…