Crack at an Embassy Dinner

Went to a special embassy dinner Thursday evening at the National Press Club. The room was filled with people who all had the same first name: Excellency (what a neat coincidence!). I love to socialize and was in my element from beginning to end, with only one problem.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays I am ON CAMPUS. 'Professore' starts his class at 4 and so I am obligated to get out of bed at approximately 5:45 a.m. in order to be at my desk by 7. I leave the office at 3 p.m. and walk the approximate mile and a half to get ON CAMPUS. On Thursday evening, I idiotically chose to then walk to the National Press Club another mile away.

This shouldn't be a problem, only...I was wearing Not Really A Wedge Heel Crack Wedge. By the time I arrived at the dinner and was being pulled around the room to start sentences with "So GOOD to see you..." and end them with "I adore your jewelry...we really need to get together for lunch. And SOON!" I was ready to collapse. And I don't mean collapse a teeny tiny bit, but collapse in melodramatic fashion and take three or four Excellencies with me.

While seated at our table, I made the mistake of laying off the crack. I'M A GIRL WHO OFTEN-TIMES USES CRACK, HOW COULD I HAVE MADE SUCH A TACTICAL ERROR? Needless to say, my feet expanded at an alarming rate and when it came time for more socializing, taking a crack hit was more akin to being showered with shards of glass and rusted nails. BUT I DID IT, AND, I MANAGED TO SOCIALIZE FOR ANOTHER HOUR ON MY FEET. By the end of this hour, I was short-tempered, impatient and ill-mannered not giving a rat's ass what the next story or punch-line was going to be because I don't care about where you went to school or who you went to school with and Newfie jokes are so 80s anyway and WHY ARE YOU TALKING SO SLOW? I was staring at people and willing them with my super powered eyes to HURRY UP OR SHUT UP (because I can do that sort of thing). But Excellency would have none of it. At this point in the evening, I was hanging out with my ovary donour, mom, and kept trying to get her to leave. How did I do this? I kept poking her in the back while people were in mid-sentence. WHO CARES ABOUT THEM? my eyes screamed. She would have none of it, either.

After saying my last goodbye, I noticed that I was standing braced and against a chair leaning with my full weight on that chair. It took everything for me to actually move and perform the Cirque du Soleil acrobatic of walking. My mother told me it was inappropriate for me to use the chair as a walker. As she wrenched my hands free, I almost hit her.

As soon as I slipped out of the National Press Club of HELL, I went off the crack and walked around with naked feat. It was raining and it felt good. So good that I almost cried.

Some other notable points during the course of that evening:
- Among the people seated at our table were two Catholic priests, one of whom was in his 90s, the other a man whose known me since I was a wee thing no taller than two feet high on crack (me, not the Priest). I kept staring at the former because I was certain he would, sooner rather than later, fall asleep and never wake up. He didn't. Phew. I wanted to give him a big squeeze but feared he would break if I did. I kept myself in check and my hands behind my back.

The later Priest and I discussed the inner workings of Opus Dei (yes: the albino in Davinci) and the philosophical underpinnings and their natural extension to oppression. After positing my opinion of Opus Dei, I found out that his brother's an Opus Dei member. (Ooooh. Maybe they're the ones trying to break into my account?) I'll probably die "accidentally" for what I said; if I do, make certain to investigate, SVU style s'il vous plait.

- My father kept pulling me all over the Press Club to introduce me to people (I couldn't let MY FATHER THE FEMINIST in on the agony of my crack hit because he refers to crack as 'tools to oppress women and I don't understand why you feel you have to wear them, just look at how comfortable I am in my squeeky clean white cushioned running shoes never mind that I hardly walk anywhere and prefer to instead drive around in my luxury Mercedes and what were we talking about anyway?'). At one point, one man made the following "joke": And here I was thinking that (insert baba's name) was a lucky man to have such a beauty at his side! I thought he SCORED! HA HA HA! I SEE WHERE YOU GET YOUR LOOKS, AAAAAAHAHAHA! I threw up a little in my mouth, but managed to keep smiling. I offered the diplomatic response of: "Why in the HELL would I date someone OLD? Are you CRAZY OR JUST DRUNK?" only it sounded like: "hee hee, that's funny. You're sweet. I get my looks from my mom, dumb ass."

- At one point during a speech being given by His Excellency Something Or Other, some guy yelled out "VIVE LE PALESTINE LIBRE!" It stunned me and gave me the hiccups.