The day of the party, everything was in place: A $13.00 bottle of Shiraz (the worker at the liquor store said anything over $10.00 isn't cheap); a plate full of two-bite chocolate and cream cheese brownies made by Whole Foods and delicately placed on a cute Christmas tree platter from the local dollar store; flat-ironed hair to subdue my trademark frizz; trendy DKNY jeans that make my legs look thin and my butt firm; pink sweater with turtle neck (because I finally live in a sweater wearing climate); a padded bra for an extra boost from AA to A; and, of course, my "I am librarian with two master degrees and my husband makes as much money as your husband so don't snub me" attitude.
Even waited 20 minutes to not appear too eager then crossed the street to mingle with the former prom queens and ex-sorority girls. Walked in the door--show time. Quickly flipped through my catalog of personalities and found friendly, but not nauseatingly perky, mother of four. Scoped out the room looking for the plainest and chubbiest party-goers. Pretty girls have to invite a few homely friends to really showcase their beauty and to prove to themselves that they are not superficial. Conversation with my peers went well. Mostly I focused on my kids, their school, and the neighborhood. After about of 40-minutes of small talk and lots of wine consumption by others while I sipped soda, I was in my element. But the sorority girls couldn't be avoided. We all gathered in basement for more small talk, the wine exchange and a game of Naughty or Nice.
Time to mingle with the once sorority girls. Struck up a conversation with a skinny straight-haired blond lady and her friend a curvy, curly-haired blond lady. Repeated same conversations that I had upstairs. This time my kids were older than theirs, so I had to explain a little more about the school. Casually, threw in that I co-founded the school's new chess club (don't know how to play but just saying chess raises the appearance of your IQ by 10 points) and also mentioned my kids will be starting Chinese in January in addition the Spanish that is part of their regular curriculum.
The skinny one said: "So if my kids go to the neighborhood school, they will learn Spanish? I thought about sending them to the bi-lingual school. But I want them to go to school with um, um...normal...um, um... no that's not the right word, um, um...yeah, normal kids." Although this woman spoke English, she was in need of translator to find her real sentiment: "I want my kids to go to school with all white, good-looking, upper-middle class kids." (It would be a hoot to re- institute busing). Sensing her elitism and possible racism, I felt it was my obligation to talk about how the kids from the trailer park situated across from our upscale development make the school more economically diverse with about 11-percent of school qualifying for reduced lunches, which all was said with my multiculturalism is grand tone. Nothing alienates like demographic talk. My fun was just beginning.
Next, I moved onto the big circle of sorority moms who were discussing the best places to go for margaritas without husbands and kids. I listened quietly until one of the older women in the group asked me where I go for drinks with the girls. That would be nowhere, but somehow I managed to turn the conversation to career and education. I used that as opportunity to self-aggrandize in front of the sorority mamas. In under 2 minutes, I mentioned my 2 masters, career as librarian, past job as a reporter, and a child who was just placed into Gifted and Talented program. My groundwork has been laid to counter balance the good hair and straight, white teeth. I'll still have those 2 degrees when their breasts begin to sag and their teeth yellow.
When they depleted all the options for margarita talk, it was time to start the wine exchange with a game of Naughty or Nice. The rules were simple: Sign up for three bottles of wine/accompaniment that appeals to you. The Naughty or Nice coin would be flipped; the red side was Naughty and the green side was Nice. You would win bottles based on how Naughty or Nice the group voted your stories to be. (I don't drink wine, so I signed up for ones that had chocolate as an accompaniment -- the litmus test of high sophistication).
By that point in the party, the attendees polished off close to 18 bottles of wine, which is almost one bottle per person. So when it was time to confess the naughties of their past, inhibitions were no were no longer in sight, and the stories were flowing faster than the wine. The tales were actually what you would expect from this group of former pretty party-girls: lots of drugs and alcohol, lesbian stories, rowdy and raunchy all-girl trips to France, Amsterdam, and Vegas; tons of one-night stands and fraternity house hook-ups; public sex, public nudity, and a little bit of adultery.
The party even took a Moms Go Wild turn when one of the former prom queens exposed her red thong to supposedly re-enact a scene from a Vegas swimming pool. But really it was: "I am almost 40 and my ass doesn't have cellulite; how about you?" I didn't partake in the contest.
Although I made sure to laugh outwardly during these stories to not appear prudish, I was lamenting my misspent youth of being good and not having even one slightly naughty story because I don't think compulsive lying is the same as being naughty. While these women during their college days were kissing girls, screwing one boy after another, drinking to the point of blood poisoning, and riding bikes while high, I was writing almost around the clock. I wrote approximately 10 to 12 articles a week for a local newspaper while also writing for the school paper, working in the school's PR office, and writing really crappy sentimental poetry and short stories for the school's literary magazine. (I attribute the bad poetry to being tone deaf). It was all about my craft and that big break that I knew was right around the corner.
At the age of 21 while reporting on watermelon eating contests and the size cannonball splashes at a local Labor Day picnic, I told a reporter friend: "This is going to be my year. This will be the year that I am discovered." Wish someone at the picnic would have had a crystal ball to show me my great future: A handsome husband, 4 beautiful, intelligent kids, a minivan, and not a single freakin' byline in a national magazine. I would have scrapped all the writing and went for the meaningless sex, illicit drugs, and underage drinking. Still could have had my great life and the same byline count. These attractive, successful, happily married women with great kids and beautiful homes prove you gave have a slutty past and happy present, despite everything my mother said. Thanks mom. I have no naughty stories. Thought you wanted me to be part of the in-crowd?
Since I have earned several hundred bylines in 3 small newspapers with a total readership of like 27 instead of one filthy story, I had to go with a bad mom story for the naughty tale. "When my daughter lost her first front tooth, the Tooth Fairy forgot to put money under her pillow. I told her the Tooth Fairy got confused, and put it in my wallet. I only had a ten dollar bill, so I forked it over. Bet the Tooth Fairy won't forget next time." Luckily, my audience was drunk and found everything funny. I lost the wine to the woman who celebrated her 30 birthday by running naked in a field.
Two bottles later, it was my turn again. This time, the coin flipped to Nice. Dionysus was in my corner on this one. The competition was tough: A veterinarian who was giving free animal care for disadvantaged families; woman adopting a family for Christmas; another woman volunteering at the food bank. Those stories were nice but small potatoes compared to: "I am librarian, which means I am nice by trade. The library where I worked in Texas had many patrons who were just looking for someone to be nice to them. There was one homeless man in particular that told me on a daily basis that I was one of the smartest, nicest and most helpful people that he ever met. So occasionally, I would sneak him some food that was left over from the programs that I hosted." The crowd responded with a collective, "Aaah."
Victory! With humanitarian eloquence, I won a bottle of port wine and a box of organic chocolate truffles. I'll regift the wine, the truffles went to my husband, and I firmly planted my nice girl image.
But little do they know, I am the naughtiest of them all. I just wrote this blog.
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