Lame Christmas Party

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"Wow, you look nice!" Krisztina, my Hungarian roommate says. "You have a date?"

I laugh, "Yeah right! No, I'm going to that party our gym is having." (Yes, she's a member, too.)

With my hair straightened, my make-up perfect and natural-looking, I feel pretty cute in my black and white dress. Maybe that Scottish guy will be there!

It's raining, of course! Great. After I went to all the trouble to straighten my hair, it's going to start curling again! The thing is, after I straighten my hair, it won't curl up nicely again until I wash it. Instead, it'll just get a random wave/bump in it. It looks ridiculous. Still, I won't let it get me down.

I walk as fast as I can to the bus stop in my black heels and stand under the awning, trying to avoid the rain and the redneck guy smoking next to me. "Whatcha lookin' for?" he asks as I stare at the bus schedule.

"I need the 302 toward Watford, but I have no idea what the name of this stop is," I say.

"This is Fleetville."

"Fleetville?" I've never even heard of that. "Why can't they name this stop 'Morrisons', since we're right in front of Morrisons? What's Fleetville?"

He laughs, "Fleetville is the name of this area."

"Oh, man, I didn't even know that and I live here!"

So he helps me get on the right bus and points me in the right direction for my party. He tells me I'm a very pretty lady and he hopes I have fun at my party. I have to walk another fifteen minutes from my bus stop down a long driveway with dark trees all around it, because the party is at some country club. It feels like the middle of nowhere.

It's basically a dance club. I hate dance clubs. The Fitness First party is upstairs, so I go up and...it's totally dead. About ten people are here, standing in clusters of three or four, and they all turn to look at me when I arrive.

I try to look friendly as I approach the bar. I decide to have one drink, then go home. This party sucks. Some older men chat me up, buy me a drink. Older men don't seem as afraid of rejection as guys my age. Eventually, I get away from them and stand at the balcony over-looking the club below. No one is on the dance floor, but the lights are down, the techno music is loud, and a disco ball spins wildly from the ceiling.

"Hello there!" a guy's voice surprises me.

I turn to see a dark-eyed man smiling at me, looking a little bit nervous. "Hey there, how are you?" I ask.

He raises his eyebrows. "Where are you from? I detect an accent."

"America," I say, laughing.

My dark-eyed friend has long, dark, wavy hair down to his shoulders, and he's obviously very built. "What's your name?" he asks.

"Alicia," I say.

"I'm Surj, and this is my friend, Daniel," he says. I shake hands with them both, and they become my companions for the rest of the night.

They are friends with pretty much everyone else at the party, so they introduce me to them all. It's always the same conversation:
#1--They ask where I'm from.
#2--They ask how long I've been here.
#3--They ask how I like it so far.
#4--They ask why I've moved here.

Anyway, we all decide to leave and go to a pub in town where we meet some more of Surj's and Daniel's friends. They're all really friendly, and someone always buys me a drink. Daniel buys me, him, and Surj a shot of Jack Daniel's. I'm feeling really tipsy and I'm getting really flirty. I'm all smiley and giggly. I see men checking me out, smiling at me, but no one gets the balls to come talk to me or ask to see me again.

Eventually Surj and Daniel tell me they're leaving and I'm welcome to join them at another pub. Since I've been hanging with them all night, I say, "Sure."

We go to a more upscale-looking place where we can sit down and talk. They buy me a cosmopolitan. Daniel gives me advice on some cool hang-outs in St. Albans, which I promptly forget. If I have time to hang out, I'm going to hang out in London. St. Albans is boring.

"So do you scratch your ass often?" Surj asks.

"What?" I say.

He and Daniel bust out laughing. He says, "We were watching you at the country club, and you totally scratched your bum right in front of everyone!"

"I did??" I ask, completely appalled.

"Yeah, it was a good scratch, too! You must have really had an itch!"

"Oh my god, I don't remember that," I say, feeling my face turn red. Awkward silence follows. We call it a night shortly after, and Daniel gets me a cab.

Oh my god, I'm so embarrassed. These guys are members of my gym, too!

Reason number three for not going to the gym: I might see the guys who watched me scratch my butt.

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