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Blingin' Your A-game by lucy "dubb sac" williams I was glammed and glitzed and ready to go, prepped with the necessary superfluous decorations. I sported my sassy bikini, hott tan velour J-Lo style jumpsuit, gold earrings, gold necklaces with the letter L and the word Pisces, and hott sunglasses. I got on the bus, with my bottle of champagne in tow. 
Immediately, I felt uncomfortable. The majority of the preppy privileged group were dressed in sundresses, polo button-downs, and khakis. There were a couple of tube tops. Luckily, the pot brownie I downed before leaving was beginning to do its job. As the bus shoved off from the Marina Safeway parking lot, I opened my champagne and settled in for the predictable. The plaid-clad group and I were en route to attend a going-away extravaganza for our friend Maverick, a great guy. I have known this kid for a handful of years through a childhood friend. He's her boyfriend; they'll most likely get engaged and married at some point. For now he's going East to increase his market share by attending a prestigious business school. 
The party was in Napa, and the majority of these well-to-do participants were from San Francisco. They are a fun group. I have definitely done some fun partying with a good handful of them. And this sounded like the kind of party I like. We had a bus captain who wrote this highly inspirational e-mail to the crew: "I didn't get elected bus captain because I cry easily or over the inevitable. I was elected bus captain because I am a leader and because I am very very good looking... let's not cry over the departure of our friend Maverick; let's celebrate in true 'Maverick Style.' I want everyone here to bring their A-Fucking-Game to this party on Saturday. I want to see every fucking drop of beer drunk, the shit bocced out of the bocce court, and every ass crushed. Let's send Maverick back East with a party to remember. 
"If you plan on swimming," the message concluded, "please bring a towel." The house in Napa was sick. The party was very nice, garden party nice. The catered food and swill were fabulous. But the pool house, garden, bocce court and many other kick-ass aspects of this property were not necessarily the proper setting for the type of debauchery I had envisioned. And maybe the fact that the honoree's parents, older siblings, siblings-in-law and their offspring were also present possibly encouraged the partiers to act like the proper ladies and gentlemen they were raised to be. No one was down to throw cannonballs in the pool. Now what I'm about to say isn't meant to be bad about this crew. It's just how I actually feel about my place with them. 
I feel that my place with them is more on the nonexistent side of existing. I grew up with similar types of folks. I have known some since 5th grade. Even in high school, among this type of crowd, I knew that I was different. I don't mean different in a bad way. I mean different. I should get over it, but I feel better acknowledging it and then moving on. My insecurities are just that, my insecurities. I know this, but that doesn't mean that I was not mislead by the hype for this gig. I should probably take this time to mention that when I am uncomfortable and there are ladies walking around bringing drinks, refreshing drinks, I tend to drink -- a lot. I have been known to drink when I am uncomfortable. I was definitely uncomfortable at this party. And with the excess of walking bars, I was getting pretty sauced. It should also be noted that getting sufficiently sauced is part of bringing you're A-Game to a going-away gala. As the end time drew closer, my drunk self and I had had about enough of the gathering, so we retired to a changing room in the pool house. There, I had a nice private photo shoot. The photos produced are great for a plethora of reasons. Some of the draws I would like to highlight are the comedy factor, the artistic factor, the stud factor, and the lame factor. I was told to bring my A-Fucking-Game, for Maverick. So I did, he deserves it. It was a good lesson for me and a good chance for me to show my fleeing friend just how much I care. |
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