#WTF: People actually throw drinks in real life? (... and how to find the culprit using social media)
How have the franchises for the Real Housewives of Dallas, and Miami not done better? I used to say that South Florida had some of the most vicious women I had ever seen, but clearly that was because I had never been to Dallas.
I still can't believe I had a drink thrown on me!
Who ACTUALLY throws a drink outside of a television set?!?!
On the bright side of things, I have a new nickname, and my own mother said in 31 years she's never seen that side of my personality.
Last week, I went to Texas. First, I went to Midland to show Rooster, and Butch (my business partners from the CNBC show the West Texas Investors Club) a live demo of DropIn, Inc, and then I went to Dallas for a charity gala honoring my OG LA gf's (recently passed) step-father.
I got into Midland with my mom (who's a DIE HARD fan of WTIC, and also my date for the gala since each ticket came as a pair), and after catching up with everyone, went to work fixing anything "techie related" in Butch's house.
<tangent> The guys are no joke. When you're in town, you stay with them. They're insulted if you don't. </tangent>
From computers, to very laggy wifi, and even setting a new custom helicopter ringtone on iOs 10 (which was easier said than done), Gil cracked up laughing at how much I was running around.
"Do you ever stop, girl?" spoken with his signature Texas twang.
Yes, I said, but I also love what I do and love that I am capable enough to help. I'm also SO pissed off at this custom ringtone that now it's now ON, and I can't give up.
We sat across the picnic table from each other, and while I zoned back out into my mission, Gil stopped and asked if I was a card carrying member of MENSA.
I laughed saying "no, but I know you are!"
<tangent> Gil really is a member of MENSA. On the show these guys come off as comedians (which they also happen to be), but don't let the front fool you - they're brilliant, brilliant businessmen. </tangent>
"Your eyes he said, your eyes as you think. I can tell you are just by looking at you."
I moved my computer to the side giving him undivided attention, "I don't like to take tests," I admitted. "I think a true measure of intelligence, or talent is when you get off your ass and can actually do something."
"Step one in taking a test is learning how to take the test," he said.
"Not my thing," I continued as I leaned in closer.
I've been thinking about this for the last few months, and I'm curious on your thoughts ...
Everything that I've registered as a "feeling" is actually a quick process of what someone is saying, how they are saying it, and whether or not the body language is congruent with the noise coming out of their mouth. I'll say, "I really like this person," or "something about him/her didn't rub me right," but what I'm actually saying is is 1+ 1+ 1 didn't = 3; there's a digit missing.
"Now you're starting to understand logic," he said.
"It's all so simple," I pressed.
He laughed taking a sip of his drink as I turned to Butch and Rooster.
"I know you guys don't like buzzwords, and coming from how many things I've had to fix today, I know tech isn't your strongest subject, but I want to show you how easy DropIn is to use."
I asked my mom if she wouldn't mind filming the demo, knowing how their openly luddite nature could work in my favor from a sales and marketing perspective.
Hey, if Butch and Rooster can figure this out "this tech thing," so can I!
We filmed the demo, and Rooster asked what the difference between what we are doing, and what Facebook is doing with their live feature.
"I don't want to tell you, I said, let me show you."
I opened up Facebook my phone and went live (on their still janky but working wifi).
He then understood the differences, and when I told him that for insurance alone, 1/5 of 1% makes us $100 million dollar company his eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.
My mom later told me after the demo that between season one and now, I've become an entirely different person.
I laughed saying, I could see it in my eyes, but that more than anything I've become a much more confident person. With Talk Nerdy it was a false confidence/ bravado mixed with sheer will to execute. On the island, I thought I was getting married and popping out babies, but had no idea I would sell two businesses. Now? I don't know, but what I DO know is that whatever gets handed to me I figure it out; I've shed the lone wolf skin, and have gotten more of a "real world" education in building a true company in the last year and a half than I ever could have in college, or business school.
The rest of the families arrived, including Rooster's children, nieces and nephews.
"Let's go rabbit hunting," said one of the kids.
"You can't kill the Easter Bunny," said my mother.
I then turned, and before I could get a word out she cut me off -
"Don't you give me this 'it honors the animal crap.'"
The creator of my own destiny, I said, "I'm game" (pun intended).
Sure, it was "only a rabbit" but from stories I heard from friends on the island, and from my own experience of LOVING to fish - how different can this be, I thought?
15 minutes into Elmer-Fudd-style hunting on Butch's property ...
... Petra cottontail had met her maker, and I was Better Than Ezra level Good.
My mom laughed as I re-entered the hangar.
"I KNEW YOU WOULDN'T BE LONG!"
"Well, I did it, I said (in the literal sense of physically being there), but I can't kill just to kill, and won't harm an animal unless its life has value."
<tangent> I've heard of the term, "going at it like rabbits" but I never thought about the aftermath. Overpopulation of rabbits is a real thing, and they can be very costly to home owners as they eat wires and wreak general havoc. Think of Petra as less Easter bunny more Donny Darko.
While being able to see both sides, I'm glad I stayed true to my heart. Pull the trigger? Fuck no. I couldn't even watch the fur fly, let alone be the one responsible for it.
As the kids eventually wandered in, I doled out a round of Lincolns in honor of their accomplishment.
As I did, I looked down noticing Maggie's ring, and laughed saying samesies! We both have big floral rings ...
<tangent> Mine is an early bday present from the parental units. What's cool about it is that this is the first piece of jewelry I picked out for myself. The others have been family heirlooms, or gifts from the guys I dated. Sure my parents still paid for it, but it meant a lot to me that they didn't just "buy something they thought I would like." I like what I like and want what I want, if someone truly wants to buy you a gift that you like, why not ask them? </tangent>
The next morning, Butch drove us to the airport in his "Rolodex Ride."
I was particularly proud of the addition of *you're in the last photo, and like mother like daughter she's also in the reflection taking photos of her own. :)
I can't remember the full story behind why he has all these names and numbers as my brain doesn't function in the morning enough to process logical thought ...
... but I do remember him saying that he's had the graffiti design style since he bought the car.
A hug, skip, and plane ride later, we arrived in Dallas for the Margarita Society Ball. Outside of being there for my friend, I was really happy that the DMS donates toys (as part of their admission process) to at risk children. To date they've raised over 7 million toys. (Which bee tee dubs, I picked out STEM related toys and had WAY more fun shopping than I'm sure the kids will even in playing with them.)
<tangent> That's one thing that I've always admired about my OG LA GF Chelsie, even a decade ago, every Christmas instead of us giving gifts to each other, she would organize a tree and we would all give gifts to underprivileged kids instead. Do you know how few people in their 20s even THINK about doing something like that - LET ALONE ACTUALLY DO IT YEAR. AFTER. YEAR?!
I got ready as my mom napped, and then met up with the girls leaving the hotel heading to a pre-party with their friends.
My dress was sex in the form of fabric, and so tight at first glance it looked like body paint.
(I didn't bother taking a selfie knowing that my friends would have all the photographic evidence needed.)
Moments into the "intimate party of 50 something people inside a penthouse" I realized that this evening was going to be a fantastic shit show.
Around 9:30pm local time, my mom said she was ready so I grabbed our tickets from Chelsie and an Uber. Yes I love my friends, but my mom was my date, and deserved to be treated like a lady.
I got back to the hotel (where the event was held) and the lines were already long. I had also found out that attendance the previous year was close to 12,000. Knowing my mother doesn't like crowds meant that I was going to have to work extra hard to keep her happy.
We arrived at the party (which was segmented off into a series of rooms contained to three floors of the hotel), and I found the "latin" room knowing that my mother would want to dance. We grabbed some of the signature margaritas being offered, and hit the dance floor.
For how hard my mom works, and how hard of a year it has been in general for her, it was great seeing her so happy.
Now, to sustain said level of happiness, there were three variables that I had to take into account:
- Her feet - I had never seen these shoes before, and she did not comment on how comfortable they were/weren't while getting ready.
- The crowd - How pissed off is she going to get when she realizes how packed these rooms are going to get? The only way I can keep her focused on other things is to ...
- Keep her drink full - This is not a half full/ half empty scenario. This is a mission of no droplet left behind proportions. There is nothing I can do about the crowd but if I don't keep that damn drink full, this night is not going to end well.
The room started to fill up by the second round of margaritas, so in between songs I asked if my mom wanted to rest her feet (in the only four chairs in the room, which happened to be by the stage). As we walked over to sit, we were immediately stopped by a woman who said these were her chairs.
Not a problem, I said continuing to sit down. We're only going to be a minute, and these are the only chairs in the room.
I was very respectful, but also very firm that since no one was sitting in them at this exact moment, we weren't going to do any harm.
Seconds later, this other woman comes by telling us we needed to leave.
She didn't ask, she "told us." As my mother went to stand up, I said "no one tells my mother that she can't sit down if she wants to sit down. We will only be a moment," I said still respectful but also very stern.
Fume poured from her ears as I happily decided to fuck with her some more.
I looked over to the left and noticed this ...
"Finger Ease Lubricant," I said laughing to my mother like a 13 year old boy.
As I went to put the lube back where I found it ...
Meany McGee marched back over, grabbing the lube, examining it, finally putting it back on the ground (where I had just placed it).
Remember when you were a kid and you touched something you weren't supposed to, there was always that adult in the room that had to come over and touch whatever you just touched JUST to make sure that you didn't do anything to it?
This was EXACTLY that moment, only I'm in my 30s, and even my own mother thought it was funny.
Sparing the further obvious jokes, I was proud of our fuckery as we finally decided to leave, and check out some of the other rooms.
I made sure to wave good bye to my new friends ...
A few rooms, and rhythms later, we came back to our original dance floor and got in line for another drink. As we stood in the now excessively long line, I noticed that there was only one bartender.
As the clock ticked, a solid half hour passed as my mom neared the end of her glass of wine. She was still dancing, so I knew I had that going for us - but again, wasn't sure how long that would last.
As we neared the front of the line, we both noticed that the group ahead of us was letting their friends cut.
Again one bartender so every additional drink really adds up, and it wasn't like they just let one of their friends cut - they had a group of 5-10 total.
I tapped one of the guy's shoulders reminding him that there was a line, and his friends should get in it.
The Cutter Numero Uno heard me say that and walked over. (Letters are purposefully capitalized.)
"I'm not getting a drink, I just had to tell him something."
Yeah right, I thought but didn't say.
Seconds later they were served at the bar, and I saw The Cutter Numero Uno grab her drink.
I immediately walk over asking my mother to hold our spot in line.
"Now we have a problem, I say stern but not loud. I could have handled you cutting if you had the balls to admit it, but you didn't and now you lied about it."
"What are you going to do about it," she asked aggressively?
I didn't really have an answer, but since I couldn't stop her from getting her drink, I could at least stonewall the rest of her friends.
Words like a whip, my little Irish ass successfully blocked them long enough for my mom and me to get our drinks.
As I literally turned my back on them ...
... I felt a cold splash down my back.
I reach behind and feel liquid.
The Cutter Numero Uno threw her drink on me, I said to my mother. (Please for the love of everything holy tell me that you all understand what word I'm trying to say, but would never say out loud.)
She covered her mouth shocked, as I turned around and saw the girls flipping me off.
I returned the gesture, as I started laughing.
My mother, not nearly as amused as I was, ran over and grabbed a cop.
Negate, negate, I thought as the officer approached.
The only thing worse than my mom not having a good time is having to sit in a police station filling out paperwork.
I turned to the officer and told him that I wasn't sure where the girls went (which wasn't entirely false since they did leave the room).
Let me know if you find them, he said leaving.
I will officer, thank you.
My mother now fuming herself couldn't believe what they had done.
"How are you so calm," she asked?
One, because now I have a hilarious story about that one time I had a drink thrown on me. Two, because when I flipped her off, I gave her something shiny to stare at (my new ring was on my middle finger).
Three, because I won - she threw her drink on me, that means that she has to get in line to order another one.
How about this I say, the lines are only going to get worse - why don't we head downstairs to the bar, get our own drinks and food and throw our own party?
That sounds great, she said laughing.
We then went up to the room still chuckling, and took our only selfie.
I then swapped out heels for vans, as we went downstairs.
Dining on chicken wings and drinking wine from glasses (not dresses), my mother laughed saying I have a new nickname - pitbull. "I've never seen that side of your personality before. You were so calm, yet stern. I wouldn't want to fuck with you."
You're my date, I said. It was my job to make sure you had a great evening and I wasn't going to let anything get in the way of that.
"I've had a great weekend, thanks for all the work you put into everything. You're a good egg," she said as we cheersed.
I smiled saying, "I learned from the best."
Oh, and the dress? Totally fine. However, I did learn that someone throwing a drink on you is considered a form of assault. Again, not that I wanted anything to do with a police station that night, but if this ever does happen to you, you can go after the person.
How would I have found the girls?
The first thing I did was scroll both the hashtag and the location.
It took a matter of minutes to know their names, cities, and frequently visited locations.
Not that I would of course do anything with that information, because after all...
::whispers:: ... I have class.