the zeitgeist of zoe

Okay, so Friday night I was invited to a fancy dress Ball by a friend.  A Battalion Ball to be exact.

I know what you’re thinking…”stop saying ‘ball’, it’s distracting”.

Sorry.

This is the first time I’ve been able to come out from under the covers (and/or have stopped puking long enough to write) and I doubt I’ll last long, but here is a summary of the pointers I learned (the hard way)…in case any of you find yourselves at a formal event in the near future:

1. I would like to start with this one basic rule: NO. TEQUILA. SHOTS. Period. No matter how much the wife of one of the Colonels begs you.

2. Get a sense of your surroundings. Don’t, after shot #2, meander up to the DJ who has been playing country music and “blah, blah, blah, America, blah, blah, blah” songs all night and request “Baby Got Back” by Sir Mixalot because you think it would be funny to see everyone’s reaction.  And don’t, when he stares at you blankly because he’s never even heard of that song, ask for “anything by anyone who doesn’t wear a cowboy hat for a change”. You will offend him.

3. And, he WILL honor your request (probably out of sheer spite) and crank up some Lady Gaga and poof, just like magic, the dance floor will become desolate and it will be entirely your fault.  Don’t then take it upon yourself to “liven things up” by going up to random military personnel at whichever table is closest and pulling them (in full view of their stodgy wives, whom you are almost certainly younger and cuter than) to the dance floor and proceeding to dance provocatively with them.

4. When, by a stroke of pure and utter luck, rather than drag you outside and skin you like the minx you are, said stodgy wives actually get up and start dancing with their husbands, and one leans in and says what a great dancer you are, do not, and I repeat DO NOT say, “thanks, I used to be a stripper”. Even in jest. Because trust me, she won’t know you are joking and that rumor will spread through the ballroom like wildfire through dry brush.

5. Once you do damage control in the Ladies Room and finally convince all the women you are not, nor have you ever been a stripper, this would be the time to quit while you’re ahead and try to either blend in and stay under the radar for the rest of the night or maybe even try to make a friend or two.

6. OR…you could regale some gentleman with a lot of little colored bars on his chest with your opinion of the pros and cons of the “dressy outfits” versus the “camo outfits”. Because the camo outfits have name tags on them. The dressy outfits that everyone is wearing tonight do not.  With the benefit of the nametags, I might have chosen someone else to keep saying the word “outfits” to like a total maroon.  Besides the General.

7. Also not a good idea is giving the unattractive wait staff serving your table descriptive nicknames like “Brunhilda” and “Quasimodo”.  If you must though, keep it to yourself. Don’t let the stodgy wives in on it.  Or, for that matter, the wait staff. If, that is, you have any hope at all of seeing a piece of that Red Velvet Cake that’s coming out for desert. Which in case you were wondering, I did not.

8. When you finally do calm down and get your date out on the dance floor for a slow dance, when the next song comes on (which will be something fast…you can tell by the look in the DJ’s eye as he stares at you malevolently from across the room) it’s not going to be good for anyone if you start grinding on your date like he’s a  brass pole. This may amuse the men in the room, but remember all your hard work in the Ladies Room quelling the “I’m a stripper” firestorm?  Yeah, well, you just un-did it.

9. If by chance toward the end of the night, you can find your way to said Ladies Room but somehow get lost in the bowels of the banquet hall and wind up in the restaurant part on your way back, should a handsome, waaaaaaay too young for you maitre d’ kindly offer to show you back to your party you might want to think twice about flirting openly with him like a disgusting, drunken cougar. No good can come, either, from scribbling your number on a cocktail napkin and coyly tucking it into his blazer pocket.

10. And if all of that weren’t enough, probably the most critical lesson of the night (apart from the first one, which common sense says would have prevented the entire debacle if observed) don’t…seriously now, I mean this one…DON’T then go home and decide to set up your new iPhone 4s.  Because you will somehow manage to change your Apple ID password to gibberish.  And although it made perfect sense the night before, you absolutely will not remember it the next day.  Or even the day after that.

The only upside to the story is that I managed to make it home before the projectile vomiting started.

Ok, hope you enjoyed my little run in with Mistress tequila.  I’m going back to bed now……..

P.S. Sadly, all of the above is 100% true.  Stay tuned to see whether or not I get invited to the Christmas party ; )