I should preface this story by stating that I am a very responsible drinker. I love having a glass of wine or beer with dinner, mimosa’s on Sunday and live and breathe for a good dirty martini. However, I am deathly afraid of getting balls to the wall drunk. Maybe it’s because I am a complete control freak (can you tell?) or because I’m completely vain and don’t want to embarrass myself. When I go out, I am in the pursuit of the steady happy buzz not haute messy drunk. The few times I have been slob kabob wasted I busted a heel on a pair of Louboutins, verbally assaulted someone for cutting me in the bathroom line, and on my drunkest occasion did an interpretive dance in front of an entire fraternity…. Let’s elaborate on that story.
Freshman year of college I was asked to a fraternity formal. I was pretty nervous about going since I had just met my date and didn’t know what to expect. Somehow I worked having all his frat bro’s invite my girlfriends so we could all go in one big group. As far as I was concerned my date and I were still in friend zone so I was happy to have a buffer. As the formal got closer I could tell he did not share the same “friend zone” sentiment which only fueled my anxiety. My cousin Shelby drove up to stay with me (she was invited to the formal as well) and being that she was of legal drinking age, we made a classy booze run to the local Food For Less ( I so desperately wish that was a joke… an outlet mall for groceries? #nothaute). We picked up 4 bottles of the finest $2.99 Andre champagne and were ready to rumble. By 4:00pm I was wasted. I had barely drank before and nearly polished off a bottle of Andre. With the help of my friends I got myself together by 7pm, our dates picked us up and we headed for a group sushi dinner. Side note, don’t eat sushi family style while highly intoxicated. The guys ordered those big assorted sushi boat things and while all the other girls daintily picked at the sushi and shrimp tempura rolls with their chopsticks, I started taking the raw fish off the top of the rice with my fingers and resting it on peoples (most of which were strangers) thighs under the table… at the time I though this was hilarious.
After I gracefully breezed through dinner, we headed to the actual party at the frat house. All my friends had run off with their dates and I was doing anything possible to avoid being with mine (he was adorable and sweet and I was just being a huge brat). I was in that drunken stage where I just wanted to be alone in my pj’s watching The Nanny re-runs on Nick at Nite. Everytime he would try and dance with me or canoodle me I headed straight to the bar and started canoodling with my real date Andre. After my second bottle of the day I decided to really take this formal shit to the next level. I went behind the dj stand and told him I needed to make an announcement. I stood in front of the speakers and all the people on the dance floor were disrupted by the loud feedback sound from my mic #partyfoul. “What’s up A E Pi!!! Who’s having a good time tonight??!!! Everyone if you could please take a seat and clear the dance floor there is a special performance I would like do for you all. Let’s dooooooo it. Yeyuhhhh!!!” Clearly no one was enjoying my impromptu mc/ stand up routine. Everyone was looking at me like I had just escaped the mental ward. I don’t know what makes me feel entitled to random dance performances whenever I feel like it, it’s something I am working on #maturity. Reluctantly, people started to clear the floor. Being the hospitable lady that I am, I started going into strangers bedrooms wheeling out desk chairs and bringing patio furniture inside so everyone would have a seat. Sitting on the floor wouldn’t do. I was trying to give the living room a stadium feel. Once I dragged anyone and everyone into the living room (this included going into bedroom, banging on bathroom door and breaking up very intimate moments) it was time for me to perform.The DJ started to play the song I had requested. “I Don’t Want To Miss A Thing” by Aerosmith flooded the speakers. Talk about a fucking buzz-kill. I crawled (yes, crawled) to the middle of the dance floor and started to interpretive dance to the Armageddon theme song. What the FUCK is wrong with me? There were leaps, twirls and apparently some ribbon dancing with a stray decorative streamer. Way to get crafty for a last minute prop girl!
The entirety of my performance is a complete blur but from feedback I heard it was very Romy and Michelle’s High School reunion. I refused to believe I actually would have the lack of social graces to do such a thing. For weeks I was convinced that even being that inebriated, there was no possible way I would do that #delusional. Despite my friend’s replay’s of my performance and the fact that I am no stranger to an inappropriate dance solo (Haute Messy – Gettin Jiggy With It) I had pretty much concluded it never happened.
A few months went by and after exercising complete self denial I had forgotten about my “incident”. One day, I was at Jamba Juice with a friend and as I waited in line I heard two guys start to sing “I don’t want to close my eyyyyes. I don’t want to fall asleep cause I miss you babe and I don’t wanna miss a thing” they were hysterically laughing and I did my best to avoid eye contact, slam my wheat grass shots and get the fuck out of there.
Haute Mess Lesson(s): 1. If you are chugging $2 champagne to prep for an outing, you should probably stay home 2. Most people find it rude to put raw Tuna on their legs. 3. If you do feel the need to perform a solo dance number in front of strangers, at least pick a song that’s upbeat. And don’t rearrange people’s furniture to create an auditorium, that’s just rude.