Open Apology Letter. I am sorry for getting belligerently drunk at the company Holiday Party.

While I understand that this apology letter is considerably late, you must realize that I am just now overcoming the initial shock and utter embarrassment from the sequence of events at the company Holiday party.  Also, the skin on my right hand fingers has finally healed from the 3rd degree cheese fondu burn I suffered that night- so I now can type this letter without wanting to kill myself after every key stroke.  By the way, I don’t really think the cheese should have been boiling out of the fondu fountain, but I had no business hiding Randy’s contact lenses in the cheese sauce to begin with.  I thought maybe we’d have a good laugh about it in the end, but apparently the clear contact lenses are, in fact, not made for cosmetic purposes and he actually needs them to see.

In all fairness, it was Randy’s fault.  He’s the one left them in saline solution on the side of the sink while he urinated.  Why I was in the men’s bathroom is another story.

Please understand that I did not intend on arriving as early as I did, but as a result of sheer boredom from waiting 3 and a half hours for others to arrive, I consumed a lot of Jack Daniels.  And peppermint Schnapps.  Which, by the way, is an awful combination when it finds its way back out.  I am not entirely sure how much alcohol I actually had consumed, but my bar tab was $86.00.  At nearly 5 dollars a pop, you do the math.

Why I thought greeting everyone with a quick bite on the nipple was a good idea has yet to make sense in my sober mind.  I’m sorry to those who I drew blood from as I am sure you’re also sorry for punching me in the head to get me off of you.  It was kind of awkward afterwards, but I am sure it is all just water under the bridge now.  Right?  Besides, some of you really railed me in the face, so you owe me more of an apology than I do you.

I really wish we could all forget my brief hysterical crying tantrum in the middle of the dance floor.  Hormones mixed with alcohol is obviously a terrible combination, and I am sorry for scratching and spitting at those of you who were brave enough to try and comfort me.  Carol, I am sorry for head butting you.

Why I am actually still employed is an absolute mystery to me.  After seeing the photographic evidence of my performance of the act of fellatio on the CFO’s Holiday Bugs Bunny silk tie, I was prepared to shamefully gather my personal belongings from my cubicle on Monday.  It actually disturbs me; my current employment here. I mean, I would have fired me.  Especially after mimicking queef sounds into the band’s microphone during the middle of their rendition of Black Eyed Peas’ “Boom Boom Pow”.  So to say that I am delighted that I still have an incoming paycheck from this company is a lie.  It’s weird y’all didn’t fire me.  Really kind of weird.

I conclude that I am really sorry for basically ruining everyone’s party and general Holiday spirits.  Also, Dan, I am especially sorry for stealing your iPhone, calling your mom, and telling her that you told everyone at the office you wished she would have aborted you because that would have been better than living with her for 18 years.  I am also sorry that she seemed to agree.

Kindest Regards,

Betty


Is it really Monday? Really?

The party was a hit.  Can’t top a James Bond themed party with a live band and endless champagne.  Plus the drummer is my boyfriend, so I got to spend all night making sexy eyes at him while I danced with old men.  That night had definitely made me realize that I am not a champagne girl.  4 glasses in and I was lit and ready to dance on the tables.  I prefer whiskey, or even beer. 

Id post a picture of my ensemble, but really I looked like a hooker from the 60’s, and I wasn’t a fan of how my makeup turned out.  I spent 90 dollars getting my hair and makeup done professionally, and it was just a huge disappointment.  Also, it took 3 washes to get all the hairspray out of my hair.  Waking up the following morning, I looked like a dead 60’s hooker.

As always, I was the first on the dance floor.  I am always the first, encouraging others to pound their drinks and get on the floor with me.  Finally, 4 songs in to the night, I got a few people to join me.  But by then I was winded and was 90% sure my feet were bleeding from my God awful shoes.  I’m certain it took that long because no one wanted to be the person to go dance with the half lit hooker.

The next morning, my boyfriend and I recapped the night by making fun of how other people were dancing.  He never mentioned how stupid I looked.  Because he loves me.  And because I’d knock his block off.  I’m not one to poke fun at people dancing because at least they’re letting loose and having fun; but if you look like you’re trying not to shit on yourself, I’m gonna mention it.  Behind your back.

ANYWAY, who is ready for Super Bowl 46?!  Giants?  Pats?  Who will it be?

P.S. – Tom Brady sits when he pees.