The fateful evening started classy enough with a holiday party hosted by one of the managing partners - JSI. Now JSI is infamous for it's mid-20s personnel and there have been now infamous holiday party moments which remind us of this fact. The main culprit is the open bar. My personal favorite past moment is of a young IT nerd enjoying a personal lap dance, in public, against the ballroom window by a gorgeous Indian woman dressed elegantly in a beautiful sari. But do not judge for this openly affectionate couple is now married. My favorite moment from the party this year is of the Illustrious Project Director announcing that "...if you have made a new friend or are accompanied by an old friend, rooms are at a special rate for $89!" I digress.
This year the party started off classy enough - light hor d'oeuvres, soft music, open bar. It slid from classy to kinda classy an hour later when the carving station, mashed potato and pasta bar opened. Background music - latin mix of salsa, merengue and bachata (getting to be my kinda party!). The lines were quite long and people were using their personal connections to jump the line, plate in hand. Bar, still open. Once everyone enjoyed their dinner the party slid from kinda classy toward trashy as the lights went completely off over the dance floor and the DJ initiated line dances such as Cupid Slide and the Wobble. Open bar. Then it happened. Open bar was to end in 15 minutes. All the way trashy as people made a mad dash to the bar and returned with 2 - 3 drinks in hand. What they could not carry, their non-drinking colleague carried for them. It was during this time that I realized I had 3 glasses of red wine in front of me ... for a second time that night. How did this happen? Moving on ...
I attempted to dance my way sober ~ sweatin' it out to the latin mix, Wobblin' my way to sobriety. When all of a sudden a suggestion: let's keep the party going! I look around to see the origin of this suggestion. A 23-year old gent on the project. He is wearing a v-neck sweater over what I am sure is a Brooks Brothers dress shirt and is an employee of Booz Allen. Surely he is classy. Safe. No way could this get any trashier. I was wrong. Oh so wrong.
We piled into his also classy looking pal's BMW to make our way to an obvious bachelor pad in Adams Morgan. I immediately spotted a 1000-piece puzzle on the dining room table as our 23-year old host offers a fine rum with ice and a dash of coke. It was smooth and delicious. Good rum, a puzzle on the table - oh yeah this is gonna be safe. Classy. Again, wrong. Now in his habitat the 23-year old gent takes off his sweater and pulls out a poison of which I am not familiar: Fireball Whiskey. And suggests a game of which I am also not familiar as a Black woman: Darts. I thought "whats the harm?" I slip off my blue suede wedges, take a chilled shot of this Fireball Whiskey (which tastes EXACTLY like the fireball jawbreaker I enjoyed in my youth...) and grab three darts and listen attentively to the rules. I do ok (though I am sure there are quite a few dart holes in the wall surrounding the board -- oops -- but in my defense, it was my first time) but SOMEHOW two more shots of this Fireball Whiskey finds its way in my hand. In my mouth. In my body. Coursing through my 33-year old system. AND THEN a suggestion to walk to a local bar to dance. Great! Dance it off. I still have time to class it up ... a little bit.
Wrong.
We get to the bar and the unassuming 23-year old Brooks Brothers wearing gent reminds us that he is celebrating a promotion. What does "celebrating" mean to a 23-year old? Shots. So now I have a 'Washington Apple' shot in my hand and a rum / coke in another toasting his fortune. Let's just say not long after the toast I find myself dancing and singing (loudly) to Taylor Swift. Yes. Taylor Swift. Also in her 20s. Ironic. Appropriate. All the way trashy. Now it is at this moment that the 23-year old gent looks at me and says "I'm going home and going to sleep..." HUH?! Where is that youthful energy? I've been set up. Bamboozled. Drunk.
What is the lesson? 30 is NOT the new 20 ... its just 30. Yo ass is old and you need to remember that your body cannot handle the same things a 20 year old can handle! The next day I was hungover until 3pm. I'm sure that 23-year old jumped up and probably went out for a nice run, stopping at a delightful brunch spot in DC. I made chili. In a crock pot. Sleeping as it simmered. 30+ year olds need to know your poison and STICK TO IT! Do not attempt to be adventurous and drink what a 23-year old has on hand. Stick to what you know. Stick to what your old ass body knows. Your organs have been processing poisons for much longer than a 23-year olds' body. S/He is both externally AND internally younger than you! If they do not have your particular 'safe' poison (Sailor Jerry rum or Bombay Sapphire gin for me) then politely decline and ask for juice, coconut water or carbonated beverage. By NO MEANS experiment. By NO MEANS take shots! Don't let LMFAO or Pink encourage you to jump around and see how many shots you can consume during their song. Don't do it. You will be sorry. Reminisce on the good times - the times you could drink anything and wake up feeling 100% - your 20s. But now its time to be realistic. Its time you act and drink like your age. Otherwise you will be hungover for 12 hours, promising Jesus you will never drink again if only the hangover will go away, looking forward to turkey chili. #lessonlearned #I'm33
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