Lessons Learned in ATL, Part 2.

1. The bougie bar CAN be raised.
People that know me would likely point to a small bougie streak. OR, they might point to the 8 lane expressway that is my bougie streak. Either way, suffice it to say I like the finer things. I'm the girl that will order a glass of sparkling wine at the bar for no other reason than my existence is celebration enough to justify a champagne glass.* A friend of mine once accused me of being bougie because I carried my Kate while on an island vacation to do some exploring. What can I say? It's my go-to bag, darn it!

Anyway, we'd been invited by the basketball player to a fundraising event that was happening that Saturday. The fundraiser was -- wait for it -- a polo match! As in, Pretty Woman, Kentucky Derby, fancy-hat-and-cocktails-in-the-middle-of-the-day polo match. Jade and I generally follow the philosophy of "EFF it, WHY NOT?!" So naturally, we were IN. The only problem was that we legitimately needed to look the part. There was going to be a fancy hat contest, for heaven's sake! Also? We needed to get this done in about 45 minutes. Well, let me just say, we were phenomenal. After digging in to Jade's closet and my suitcase, throwing things together and going to 2 different stores, we were equestrian chic and hot to death. Simply put, we were amazing.

When we got there, we were pleased to discover that our wool floppy hats fit right in. Our bougie bar? Splendidly raised. Just when you thought our fabulous level had peaked. HA!

2. The scumbag elevator always goes down another floor.
The last and most important lesson I learned in ATL is that I will never be desensitized to the scumbag factor. Just when you think you've reached the bottom, there is someone swimming in the gutter below the surface.

While at the polo match, we met an attorney there. (Of course we did). This attorney was on par with Smiling Irish Eyes from the fundraiser. Except he was much MUCH older. He was 15 years older than me if he was a day. Much like that guy, he was definitely overweight. He encased his pudgy in pinstriped vest and matching pants. Atop his head he had a pinstriped fedora. To bring the fit-out (as opposed to an outfit) out, the attorney had on mirrored sunglasses -- a la Megatron. While the sunglasses were necessary at the beginning of the day while standing outside, the tables were all open air but covered. Sunglasses, totally unnecessary. (Sunglasses at Night was on constant loop in my head).

Anyway, he was totally inappropriate, but it was generally funny. Let's be honest, I'm not easily offended by words. For example, he said to me "how tall are you? You're like a pin-up doll." A what? Yeah, I asked that too. He says "Like, I'd pin you up against the wall, doll." WOW. Did you just say that out loud? I was stunned, but it was still hilarious. And hey, drinking may have been involved. So I'm willing to roll with the punches.

And then, we jumped on the scumbag elevator and hit a new low. At the end of the day, someone said something that was wildly inappropriate but generally hilarious. In pure pheebee fashion, I reacted (over)dramatically, pretending to be so floored that I lost my balance. While I was bent over and giggling, I felt the rather distinctive feeling of 2 smacks being placed squarely on my arse by a foreign and uninvited hand. You know those moments when time totally stops, and you can't hear anything going on around you and you're moving in slow motion? Yeah, that's what it was like. I was so pissed I saw nothing but red. I'm not really a violent person, so my first thought wasn't to kick or slap him (although, that would have been totally preferable). My initial reaction was to tell him EXACTLY what I thought about his old fat self.

I spun around, and through clenched teeth I asked him if he had, in fact, just smacked my ass. With a disgusting pervert grin on his face, he says "yeah I did. *giggle*. You're wearing a thong, aren't you?"

At this point, I was doing everything in my power not to cuss him out AND kick him in his old wrinkled nuts. Clearly seeing the look on my face, Jade attempted to run an interference. She was talking a mile a minute (all I heard was "please don't" and "ruin" and "for real, like seriously") and her hands were making gestures akin to a baseball manager standing in the dugout telling his player to steal 2nd. So, what I say to him is "WHY THE PHCK WOULD YOU DO THAT? WHAT WOULD POSSESS YOU TO THINK THAT WAS OK? ARE YOU OUTSIDE OF YOUR MIND?"

He appeared to be surprised by my reaction. And pretended to apologize profusely. "I'm sorry. My bad." "I phckd up." "I was flirting with you." I was only hearing snippets, because the choice words in my head were SO DAMN LOUD!!!! I'd like to think he was actually apologizing, and was just drunk-stupid. But, no one is that stupid. The next thing he said was "do you want to meet me in Vegas next week? I have to go for a conference, and..." I'm not sure what he said next, because I was busy responding to the first part of the sentence "WHY THE HELL WOULD I GO WITH YOU TO VEGAS?"

Oh, did I mention that he was married? And that his wife was AT THE POLO MATCH?

Now, at this point, people who know me might ask "why didn't you cuss him out in your own special way?" Well, I refer you to lesson number 1 for today. It was a day of bougie, and there was a certain façade that was necessary. Plus, we were invited guests of someone that neither of us knew all that well. And, that person was the client of Jade's friend. Business before ego. Friendships before business. I couldn't go HAM because there were too many important relationships at risk. This was an unfortunate circumstance, because I had a couple sleepless nights since it bothered me so much that I didn't have the opportunity to tell that vile bastard exactly what I thought of him. Ultimately, I just have to remind myself that karma is a bitch with a looooooooooooong memory.

Perhaps even more tragic is that after it happened, Jade and her accountant friend were somewhat underwhelmed. Not because they're heartless, but because this caliber of scumbag is commonplace in ATL. It's a small wonder that any quality woman isn't single for life or so deep in her madness that she must be sedated just to get through each day. Honestly? If this was commonplace, I'd constantly suffer from laryngitis. There's no way I could keep holding my tongue. Even more sad, even if I had the opportunity to say something, it would have done ZERO good -- it would have fallen on deaf ears. Well -- not zero. I would have felt immensely better.



*In fact, Jade and I met and bonded over a glass of Moscato d'Asti. We'd both been invited to a birthday party of a guy we didn't know. I ordered myself an Asti (again, because my existence is celebration enough), and Jade was intrigued. I offered her my glass so she could give it a shot. And boom! We bonded. See that? Alcohol brings people together.