I mean that in an egotistical way.
Last Thursday is a prime example. I work for a professional corporation that VERY rarely has happy hours charged on the company card and even though everyone gets along, its not like we all hang out together on the weekends. But for the first time, we had a paid-for happy hour. It was So Much Fun. Especially when a few inappropriate things were said from that one co-worker you NEVER thought would go that far, but she did and oh it was the best.
I cracked a joke to my manager about missing work the next day due to said happy hour and I got the stink eye. Whoops.
The person sponsoring the event (aka the one with the credit card) must've thought I was like THE coolest person because he invited me and my dear friend who is also a co-worker to go to... The Capital Grille (!!!) after everyone left. So.. The Capital Grille.. It's like the Ritz Carlton of restaurants. The food is both UHmazing and UHmazingly expensive. You feel like a princess at this place, but I could NEVER justify paying for food that expensive... because I'm a quarter Jewish and that totally explains why I'm so cheap.
It's not my fault. I was born this way (lady gaga). I grew up eating Micky D's or spaghetti every night. If we went to our grandparents for lunch or dinner and made our own plate, we were forced to eat everything on it. Our eyes were always bigger than our stomachs of course. I remember tossing food over my shoulder hoping it would make it over the fence behind me so my g'rents wouldn't notice. I don't think they ever did but if they had, I know they would've made me pick it up from the dirt and still eat it because they were cheap too and wasting food was a cardinal sin. So to this day, if food is in front of me I have to eat it no matter how full I am.. which also explains my weight issues.
I'm off on a tangent.
My point is... if you are a spoiled brat, a.k.a a regular attendee of Zee Capital Grille, you probably don't care to be me. But if you ate dirt when you were little, you wish you were me because sometime in my life I think I got hit with a lucky stick.
Such as when I went to:
Las Vegas. I went for my 21st birthday for 3 nights (I know I know, I sound like a spoiled brat already, but actually my best friend treated me to this trip). The very first night we were there, we run into a DIAMOND member of Caesars Palace!
What is a Diamond Member you ask? Imagine being filthy rich. So much so that you find throwing your money away to gambling no big deal, it's just a fun game. Every now and then you get lucky with a few bets and that keeps you coming back for more. Since you are basically paying all of the hotels bills, they decide to comp everything. EvERyTHING. Food, penthouse suite, any Vegas show, a personal chauffeur, agent, you name it. Thats a Diamond Member of Caesars Palace.
All this guy wanted was for us to get the most out of our trip. So what did he do for us? He gave us front row tickets to Celine Dion, paid for at least 3 gourmet meals, and (my favorite) treated us to an ENTIRE day at the Caesar Palace spa! I lied, that wasn't my favorite. My favorite was Celine Dion, by far. I idolize her, but have you ever met a guy who likes her? In fact, any guy I've ever known has expressed hatred towards her. I find that absolutely ridiculous but maybe I'm missing something. What's the beef against her?
So anyway, this guy had already experienced everything there is to do in LV and just wanted us too as well! He wanted nothing in return.
That only happens to people who are lucky.
If I remember correctly, his name was Scott Trabucco (or some variation) so if you happen to run into him, please let him know I'm ready for another trip to Las Vegas and thanks.
New York City. I went right after graduation this past December with a friend who also graduated with me and helped me get through college emotionally and saved me from going bald due to living a life of work, school, and no play. (quick break while I catch my breath) It was a much deserved trip to say the least.
A few highlights:
We met the mob boss.. whose name shall never escape my lips for fear of the mysterious deaths of everyone I love. Wait, does the mob kill mysteriously? I don't think so come to think of it. I think it's pretty obvious when they kill people. The issue is no one can ever find the mobsters who did it... No, no, that's not it either. The mob is so big and powerful that they have infiltrated the system so their always protected. I seriously never believed that the mob existed, until I met the mob boss. He's actually pretty cool.. besides the whole drugs and murdering stuff.
Later, we were hanging out at this random bar when a group of about ten filthy rich 50+ year old men walk in and start chattin it up with us. They were having their annual "guys night", how cute! Within an hour, they invite us to ride around NYC in their... white... stretch.... limo.... EXCURSION. "Yes please!" Totally harmless, you know, cause their old men. Well, needless to say, we rode the CRAP out of that limo and let them spoil us with drinks All Night Long. Easily in my top 10 best nights out.
The next night we went to Wollensky's Grille, which is quite comparable to Zee Capital Grille, but we had already anticipated getting the "hook up". You see at the time, I worked for a pompous @ss who happened to be from NY (surprised?) and he told me to "drop his name" when we go to this restaurant. I figured they would just take care of a few drinks.
Me: So I was told you know a Joe Schmoe (my best effort at name-dropping... not as subtle as I had hoped)
Irish bartender with thick accent: Joe Schmoe! That dick!
Me: .... (not surprised)
But I guess when the Irish call someone a "dick", its actually a term of endearment because I was Princess Kiki for the evening! I thought it odd when they wanted to escort us to the restroom... until they took us to the kitchen to meet all the cooks and the head chef where we were then asked to pick out our own desserts! Where do these people come from? They don't even know me, but yet I'm famous somehow...
Free drinks, free dessert, and unlimited compliments all night long. Thanks, Joe Schmoe. Sorry I quit working for you shortly after.
But if Wollensky's Grille did anything wrong that night, it was picking out our cab driver when we left the restaurant. In NY, you expect cab drivers to drive like a bat out of hell. But when he was thisclose to running someone over, we knew we were in trouble. Within 2 minutes of his irresponsible driving amidst dancing to techno and singing like he was auditioning for American Idol (did he forget we were in the car?), we hear sirens. Oh.. sirens had never sounded better. The cop pulls up next to us.
Cop: "Hey idiot! Stop driving like a maniac"
Cab driver: "Na na na na BOO BOO"
I'm not kidding.
That was enough for the cop to officially pull him over and rescue us! I resisted kissing the ground.. which was pretty easy after you've spent a day walking on the streets of NYC.
We chatted it up with the big cop and his little cop partner for a few when we find out that little cop partner dude went to school with my friends brother. For realz? Is the world really that small?
Next thing you know, we're riding around NYC in a cop car with the Sergeant of the NYPD Anti-Crime Unit. I know this because he gave me his business card and I just now pulled it out and typed it as I saw it. If I had known his full title then, I might've asked for an autograph. Too far?
Moving on.
You can't leave NYC without a fake designer purse. So the last day we were there, we run into a "vendor". NYC's not like it used to be when it comes to fake purses. Supposedly these days you can get in deep doodoo for selling fake purses, so now a lot of it is underground. But in this case, he had them all wrapped up in a ginormous blanket. I asked to see a few.
There it was. A real fake-Chanel purse! I had to have it! I would've paid top street dollar for this purse, but as it turned out I didn't have to.
I pick up Chanel purse and pull strap over my arm. I pull out money. I begin to bargain with legit vendor. Vendor looks nervous. Sirens begin to sound in the distance. Vendor freaks the freak out. Vendor ties blanket up and sprints away. I look down. Chanel purse is still cozy on my arm. I freak out in excitement. I start walking in opposite direction, fast. I get away with free real fake-Chanel purse. Mob boss kills vendor.
Luck I tell you! LUCK! And these examples are just the tip of the iceberg.
Although some of the above sounds a bit unsafe (like, oh I dont know, getting in a limo with strangers, riding with potentially corrupt cops, or even mentioning that I met the mob boss)... remember I'm lucky so you are totally protected around me. And you will also have the time of your life.
So when should we hang out?
