I was not tardy to the party!

If there is one thing I love, it's a party. If there's another thing I love, it's The Real Housewives of Atlanta. Most of them are neither real nor housewives nor even from Atlanta proper, but rather delusional divorcees from surrounding suburbs. This includes everyone's favorite mistress, Kim, who says she is MY AGE (29)though she looks about 48 on a good day. That's what a pack of ciggies and a bottle of wine a day over a 15 year period will do to you! I love Kim because she makes me feel better about myself . . . while I may have no Sugar Daddy named Big Poppa, just a real dad who buys me sweaters from the Gap at Christmas, I don't have to get Botox and I know how to spell cat, along with many other words as I was the 1993 spelling bee champion of North Andover Middle School, not to brag. On the show, Kim is trying to be a country singer, and she is terrible, but she once sang a song called "Tardy to the Party" and it is the greatest song ever written, and I love it's message: Don't be tardy to the party! It might as well be my theme song, because one know that parties always have free food.

Today was super cool because we had a party at work to celebrate our successful year. They used to hold these meetings at lunch time and feed us pizza or Boston Market, but this year they held the meeting at 2. I wasn't sure if they were going to feed us, but then I saw tables set up so I begged one of the big shot's assistants to tell me what they were supplying. "I don't know Liz!" Whatever, she knew and just wouldn't tell me.

I walked to the kitchen area to get a cup of coffee, and my oh my was I not pleasantly surprised to see two caterers setting up trays with cupcakes! Woohoo! They were mostly mini-cupcakes, of which usually I am not a huge supporter, but the benefit of those is that you can try many different flavors. There was also one box of those delicious green cupcakes like the one I ate yesterday. I filed away in my head to make sure to grab one of the big kahunas when they put them out.

I returned to my desk and then a company-wide e-mail was sent out for everyone to assemble where we would talk about the year. The meeting was very rah rah, but let's be honest here--I wanted those goddamn cupcakes! The meeting concluded and then we were allowed to eat!

And . . . . drink champagne!

Two caterers walked through the mass of people with flutes of champagne. One caterer was a very cute boy. This is relevant to the rest of the story so tuck that fact away, readers. I drank two flutes and took one back to my desk in case of an emergency. I then went down to the sixth floor to converse with a colleague who missed the meeting. I bragged that I had two glasses of champagne, and he got all pissy on me, like it was my responsibility to get him drunk.

But, Liz loves a challenge and does believe that everyone should eat and drink for free as long as I don't have to foot the bill! So I ran back upstairs and, oh wow, the hot caterer was still there!

"Hey, hot caterer, will you help me bring some champagne downstairs?"

"Why of course, beautiful young woman!"

So hot boy loaded up a tray with champagne flutes (yes, I feel ridic writing out the words "champagne flutes" but I can't think of any other words right now) and we brought them downstairs and made stops at all the offices of the people who missed the meeting. They might have been tardy to the party--heck they MISSED the party--but it doesn't mean we can't throw our own!