I'm still nursing a headache from the Opening Night Party last night. The culprit? Champagne. I know that when I drink it, it will give me a headache, yet I did it anyway because, well, in all honesty, the line for the champagne bar was much, much shorter than the line for the Bombay Sapphire bar. Eventually we got there ,of course. I thought it was cute that they tried to have themed drinks -- I say try, because I think most people would have been happier if they'd just handed out bottles of gin to sip out of.
My friend and I arrived just shortly after the movie got out, so we (barely) avoided the cattle call up the steps and inside. Assuring her we just needed to act like we knew what we were doing, we headed straight to VIP. Thisclose to being let in -- I mean it, the dude was getting wristbands ready to put on us -- our attempt was foiled by a woman who told us "UH, NO PRESS in the VIP area!". Of course, this was a lie. Clearly, she just didn't like us. But oh well! Who needs to be in the cramped little VIP room anyway, when we can wander around upstairs with everyone else?
And whoa. EVERYONE else is right. It was packed! We avoided the stairs by taking the elevator (it is amazing that no one else seems to know that is there!). Of course, by the time we got up there, the lines were ridiculous. The only food I actually got to sample was some Ezell's chicken, which I already know is tasty. But really, eating a fried chicken leg, potato salad, and biscuit while fancily dressed with a side of mimosa is the height of hip. Dead sexy, for sure.
I didn't see any celebs, but I wasn't really looking -- however, I couldn't find anyone else I knew either. My friend Eric happened to run smack into me, but that was about it. Oh! I did see Miss Tara Morgan, and she looked fabulous! She scurried off before I had a chance to tell her that, though.
And -- I bow down to the power of alcohol. When we first arrived, everyone was looking stiff and bored, and the only people on the dance floor were some kids who looked to be around 12. An hour and many gin & tonics later, the floor was filled with adults shakin' it, dirty dancing, and in some cases, even stripping. No, that wasn't me. I was too busy drunk-texting a cute boy and sending him photos of my cleavage.
Say what you will about the DJ--but I loved her. She played all the stuff I like to dance to, and so, I did. I am shameless after I hit an open bar five times.
So all in all, a success (for me, at least). I came, I saw, I drank, I danced, I took seriously pixilated camera photos, and I arrived home via cab at 12:30am to promptly pass out, awakening at 7:30am to crawl to work with the worst headache I've had in years and some mystery bruises (was I doing the bump too hard out there on the dance floor? I honestly don't remember).
Viva la Opening Night! Viva la Bombay! Viva la Champagne, no, I can't even joke about that yet.
Image from Good Housekeeping (Tom Kelley Archive / Getty Images).
Pretty cute. Remember,only cheap champagne will give you a headache. Where are da pictures?
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