I am groaning at the mere thought of even recording this story.

But what the hell, horrific humiliation has never stopped me before.

*~*

Last night I organized a fabulous birthday party for one of the roommates.

It was at a swanky spot, somewhat undiscovered in this town: translation = ultra-hip.

I was dressed for the occasion, the last wear of a whimsical summer skirt, a low draping tank and cardigan. And to top it off, I had on my most fabulous new purchase, the sexiest pair of pointed toe slingbacks that I could afford.

The night was fabulous. We threw back mojitos and laughed and ate.

Have I mentioned it's been a while since I drank? Maybe 4 occasions in three weeks. And as we all know, I can't hold my liquor under normal circumstances.

I stood up, to accompany one of the other guests to the bar for a cigarette.

We slid out of our booth, grabbed our handbags and drinks, and headed toward the cuban inspired bar, via the main aisle of the packed but intimate dining room.

I threw my head back confidentally and followed the other girl's lead, across the beautifully finished hardwood floors, past the cuban minimalist inspired couture pottery lining the muted yet colorful walls.

And just as I reached the center of the dining room, my right foot slid out from under me and as I righted myself, almost in slow motion, my Mojito slid from my hand and propelled to the floor - loudly shattering at the feet of the surrounding diners.

It. Was. Heinous.

I had become that girl. The one you laugh at and joke "get her another drink!"

My mouth dropped, I stood frozen, as a room fulled of people turned to stare at the train wreck I had become.

A waiter flew to my side and I somehow, gestured, arms flailing, and uttered a sincere, "I...am...SOOOooooooooooo...sorry..."

And then I fled the room.

I chain smoked three cigarettes at the bar. I refused to return to the table. But the other girl with me, who had a few herself, said, "Listen, you and I aren't close friends...YET...but who gives a FUCK about anyone in that room?! Fuck them!"

So I put out my cigarette, threw back my head, and walked back in, through the dining room, to my booth, and laughed when I got to the table. And then I listened to the girls tell me that after it happened, I flipped my hair, looked up, straight ahead, and scuttled out of the room. That impression didn't seem so bad to me, so I made a joke to the waiter and ordered another mojito.

Looks like things are getting back to normal, folks!

*~*

In other news, I had another memorial today, which prevented me from going to a different memorial.

But that was my last one. It's all over now.

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