Why Does Anyone Let Me Out In Public?

The other night, I went to this networking event that was open bar and apparently, I had forgotten all business etiquette. Or that there is something called “business casual” that exists, because I just wanted to look hot. I’m dressed in this short skirt from H&M, a pair of cute black tights, suede boots that go over my knee, and a low cut top. TO A NETWORKING EVENT. Remember that scene in Bridget Jones where she shows up to a normal party wearing a bunny costume and you’re all, “Girl, come ON!” Yeah. Uh. That was me.

I was the Bridget and everyone else were the partygoers wondering if I was the hired stripper. Compounded upon my outfit was the fact that I didn’t have a legitimate name tag because I was added to the list late. So, here I am wearing this unbelievably inappropriate outfit holding a full vodka/cranberry without any business cards to hand out and on top of it, my name is handwritten on my tag and I’m sure a lot of people were wondering if I just, sort of, wandered in off the street because I heard OPEN BAR.

Which isn’t to say that’s not entirely the truth. BUT THAT’S NOT TERRIBLY IMPORTANT IS IT?

But, then, THEN. The next night I go out with friends and the first bar we go to, I see two women from the networking event. Which would have been awesome, because they were really cool, but the whole scene was significantly less awesome, because, oh, I WAS WEARING THE EXACT SAME OUTFIT AS THE NIGHT BEFORE. YES. THE HOOKER OUTFIT. And, not even kind of the same outfit. The actual, exact one save for an underwear change, but they couldn’t see that, so being the awesome person I am, I said, “Oh my god! Good to see you again. I’m so embarrassed because I’m wearing the same outfit as last night. Ha! Ha! But don’t worry I changed my underwear!”

At this point, how do I even have friends? Honestly?

And, why does anyone let me out in public? Especially after, between the three of us girls (Nicole, Jessica, and me), we shared four bottles of wine while listening to Girl Talk and discussing the state of men in America and how they need to step it the fuck up. But, god, that’s a whole other post entirely.

And, of course, the guy I thought was so cute had a girlfriend, because that’s just a Jamie thing to do. And, god, I’m being terribly self-deprecating. But, don’t worry, the night gets better. Because, I grabbed a town car home and I’m basically convinced that this was not a taxi service at all, but was really this dude’s actual normal town car that he takes out on the weekend to get some extra cash by driving girls in short skirts back to their apartments at 2 a.m. You know why I think this? Because when I got in the car, I look at the passenger seat and some woman is sitting there stroking her pet Chihuahua like it was Mr. Bigglesworth.

And, then I say, “Oh wow! What a cute dog!” I pet it, it licks my hand a bit and I sit back discussing how cute the dog is with this couple while they drive me home. Then, I get home safely, tell the cute Chihuahua family bye and thanks and then eat the best pizza ever from Trader Joe’s, go to sleep and wake up in the morning wondering if I dreamt up a town car with a Chihuahua and a hot guy with a girlfriend and my wearing the exact same outfit two nights in a row.

Because, THIS CANNOT BE MY ACTUAL LIFE.

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