This weekend, Spliff and I decided that sobriety was grossly overrated and took the road less traveled. The road to Amelia Island (a.k.a. Office Christmas Party Debauchery).
Evidently, Spliff works for the coolest company ever. They encourage public intoxication, shooting your coworkers with nerf guns, and Michael Jackson imitations. All of which, I am in favor of.
The party was at the Amelia Island Plantation where every employee was given a free room for Saturday night. Check in started at 11 on Saturday morning and the festivities began at 12:45…Naturally, we wanted to get there at 12:30 but managed to strut in at 1:15. Immediately, we were directed to a parking lot where we would pick up our golf cart, nerf gun, a map of the plantation, the name of our target, our teammates and our first clue for the scavenger hunt.
When the airhorn sounded, we were to decode the poem that would lead us to our next clue…and timed challenge. We had three hours to find six locations, complete all six of the challenges and answer trivia questions for points (which were super easy because they were all about Jimmy Buffett). The challenges included launching water balloons at your teammates who were waiting yards away to try and catch them in a towel, hitting golf balls onto a platform floating in a pool, strapping four people’s feet to two huge planks and attempting to walk in sync to move the planks to the other side of a field, and spinning around in circles and then trying to run.
But the guns…the guns were the highlight. Imagine if you will, a resort full of crazy people running around in golf carts toting nerf guns and a taste for blood…or…you know…a taste for the awesome prizes that they were giving to the winners. Either way, we were bombarded by bright orange bullets all day, and at one point a water balloon even smashed into the flimsy plastic windshield of our cart, soaking my face and hair. But it was a small price to pay for getting to run around the place and watching the expressions of the other guests as we flashed our guns to one another.
After the last challenge, we followed the smell of alcohol and ended up drinking five dollar beers in one of the many restaurants on the grounds before heading to our room to shower and change for cocktail hour. We were, again, a half hour late (which, in my opinion, worked out well. Because I didn’t have time to drink more than two Captain and Cokes).
After cocktail hour, it was time for more cocktails in a different room. I think they called this part “dinner”, which was where we drank more alcohol and pushed lobster raviolis around on our plates. And then salad. And then chicken and crab cakes. And then key lime pie. You know, because we had to have room for the 879 free drinks that would follow. Mission accomplished.
I managed to avoid Patron for about half of the night. Until Spliff returned from the bar with shot glasses full of clear, foul-smelling liquid. So, I did what any normal girl would do and shook hands with everyone I had met and said my goodbyes, for this, my friends, was the end of Coherent Crizzle. “It was nice to have met you, I will not see you again, because I will be drinking this here Patron. Good day.”
And then, after wishing everyone at the blackjack table a nice evening, I set my mouth, throat and stomach on fire. Er…I drank the stuff.
Here are the bits and pieces that I remember:
Meeting two very nice boys. Their names? Sean and Jason. Because I am incapable of meeting anyone who is not named Sean or Jason.
Dancing with Sean (because he is a dancing queen) and trying to prevent him from falling down. (Which, by the way, I couldn’t do and with all the spinning, sent him several times hurling towards the stage.)
Spliffany’s boss, along with three other girls, dressed up as the different stages of Michael Jackson and lip syncing to four songs. Spliffany’s boss…got to be the new, creepy Michael and carried around a doll named “Blanket”.
Watching Sean puke in the bushes while holding a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
Dropping my brand new sweater into a pile of puke on the way back to the room. And then yelling to some dudes standing nearby, “Is that YOURS?! EWWWE! Dude! I just dropped my new sweater in PUKE!”
The blackjack dealer who kept giving me chips when other people won and betting for me when he new my cards were good.
Doing the Electric Slide.
Taking my shoes off only to have Spliff step directly onto my big toe with the heel of her shoe. (It has turned a delightful shade of purple.)
While talking to Spliff and a group of her coworkers, I looked over and Spliff was lying flat on her back on the floor.
Waking up yesterday morning in a bed piled high with all of my stuff, still fully clothed and wearing a full face of make up and then having to come all the way back home.
Upon returning to the city, being harassed by Spliffany because I wanted to sleep, and she wanted to sit on the edge of my bed and say “What’re ya doin? What’re ya doin? What’re ya doin?” until I got up and played with her.
Spending yesterday afternoon, trying to drink myself sober at “brunch”.
That’s about the extent of the weekend. Aside from Friday night…when I hung out with Casper and Dan the Man (which I was going to blog about later, but figured that if Casper doesn’t get her own label soon, I might be shot) for martinis and pork. (Don’t ask, I don’t even normally eat pork…)
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