Monday Morning Walk of Shame...Into the Office.

This Sunday as I was walking to work in the bitter, maelstrom-esque blizzard, I noticed something I hadn't seen in quite some time. It was a girl dressed in yuletide attire walking down the street. You may think, well, that's not very odd. 'Tis the season! Then I got a closer look... She had NO coat in 15 degree weather. She was clutching her phone for dear life and her butt was covered with something that resembled holiday meat log remnants. At closer inspection, I realized that this was no evidence of defecation, but rather a schmear of dirt from the ground. PHEW! One less embarrassing factor for this girl, though still quite terrible.

Akin to picking up a lucky penny on the ground, I had caught a glimpse of the popular yet elusive Walk-of-Shamer. I had caught her in her natural element, outside of the stereotypical college campus and/or Halloween party (btw, the BEST day-after for spotting the mythical WOSer) I looked around as I felt at any moment poachers would shoot a tranquilizer dart at her for tagging and tracking. That may have very well put her out of her obvious misery. To her credit, she looked young enough to pull it off. Perhaps one of these days I will be blessed enough to witness the Cougar WOSer. But I hear they only exist in the Vegas and other old people vacation spots like Orlando and cruise ships...

The reason I describe this incident, is because I had a similar whirlwind of a night but at my office holiday party. I feel as though these events are ploys by the company to ensure that no one gets promoted. In my case, I felt I had little/nothing to lose. I'm temping at an awesome company with a very laid back attitude. But there is rumor about the company, that someone was fired for sexual harassment last spring at the annual company outing. I feared I would be the first girl in company history to continue the legacy of inappropriate touching/language. Though my act would be purely accidental. My spastic movement called 'dancing' could be misinterpreted to some due to my stellar skillz.

But back to the night in question... my last recollection was warming up my vocal cords with roughly 8 Jack and Cokes. Then I proceeded to stun the crowd with an ol' favorite, Sweet Caroline. I briefly remember some brash fist pumping and an inability to reach the 'high notes' (which there aren't any) so I continued to sing in the bass/tenor range. Not a very pretty sight especially with intermittent hacking front a winter cough I've been battling since quitting smoking. ....these were the last details I recall.

The next morning, I woke up with 11 sent text messages laying claim to my psuedo-boyfriend's belief in the afterlife and how idiotic women influence it. It was complete.jibberish. Though I must admit that my spelling/grammatical prowess did not lack despite the fact that my brain cells were not up to full function. Everything made sense from a purely mechanical perspective but the rants about how I 'LOVE HIM SO MUCH' came out to pure, and utter crap. Also, one thing that doesn't show up on my phone is how many times I place a call. I was later informed by the pseudo-boyfriend that it was exactly six times. SIX TIMES... Why do the boys we care the most about make us the craziest?? If this were some guy I'd been casually dating for 2-3 months, I wouldn't have even known that I had a phone. In fact, based on my history, I would have even gone so far as to re-create the inebriated olympic event, Phone-vaulting. Alas, my pseudo-relationship doom was sealed when I decided to take out my drunken rage/weirdness on to his poor, unsuspecting text/voicemail inbox.

I'd say the biggest and most painful side effect of the night's events was the football-sized bruise on my right leg. Based on it's appearance and gravity, I most like had one of three things occur. I either a.) slipped and fell on the icy sidewalk b.) was hit by a car or c.) got into a knife fight. Base on the fact that I didn't hear from the police or have an admittance band on my wrist from the hospital, deductive reasoning leads me to believe that the first option is most likely the truest. After consulting several witnesses of the evening, the conclusion is purely speculative. No one has actually seen the concreted beast that emerged from the sidewalk and attacked me.

Well, needless to say, I was extremely worried about the things I had done/said the night of the infamous holiday party. I was apprehensive to go in Monday morning. I approached with darting eyes and knowing stares. In a word, I was paranoid. I was doing....(gulp) the office walk of shame.

But it ended up being no big deal. Creepy part: my fortune cookie from lunch today said "You have a beautiful singing voice." I think it's my official calling to take up karaoke as a profession...or lounge singing.