Party at Mr. Big’s

Last weekend Mr. Big threw a huge Christmas party at his house. We’re talking 150 guests, tents outside, outdoor heater, caterers, a bar set up in every room of the house. It was big. Massively big. And full of people.

Women people.

Scantily clad women people.

Now, I’ve known from the very beginning that Mr. Big was a party boy. He likes to go out, have a good time, has tons of friends. Many of them, apparently, girls. I busted up laughing one day when I one day stumbled up on his MySpace page. Remember that I met him on an online dating site? Well, every photo of him he had posted on the dating site, he had the original of on his MySpace. And by original, I mean non-cropped version. In the originals, there were different girls hanging on him in every photograph. He’d cropped them out to post on the dating site. Clever boy. But, looking at the pictures on his MySpace, I have to admit, they tickled my jealous bone a little. Especially the ones from last year’s Christmas party where the theme was apparently lingerie, as there were photos of him in boxers with some nearly nude blonde’s legs wrapped around him.

I hate Nearly Nude Blonde.

Okay, back to this year’s Christmas party. Big told me it was a ties and cocktail dresses event. However, it’s December. So, I picked this long-sleeve sweater mini dress, tights, and a pair of killer high-heeled boots. I figure dressy, but I won’t freeze my nuggets off. I get to the party, and, by the fact that I have to park a block away, I see it’s already in full swing. I go in, find Big, who, by the way look incredibly hot in his suit and tie, and we start to mingle. Or rather, he starts to mingle. On our way from one end of the house to the other he is stopped by no less than five girls. Dressed in just-below-the-booty, sleeveless, cleavage-baring, neckline-plunging-I-kid-you-not-to-the-belly-button little scraps of fabric. All of them model-thin, wearing more eyeliner than Marylyn Manson. Who all scream his name, throw their arms around him, and kiss him. One even grabbed his butt.

Picture me standing there, now feeling about as covered up as a nun at a porn convention, holding out my hand saying, “Hi, nice to meet you. I’m chopped liver.” The only consolation – all the girls are accessorizing their screw-me stilettos with goose bumps. They’re hovering near the heaters, cowering next the fireplace. I may be a nun, but I am the only one not risking frostbite. Point for me. (I think…)
(Oh, and guess who else was there? Yep. Nearly Nude Blonde. Thank the gods, she was there with a new guy this year, but I still paused to silently hate her a little. Hey, I’m only human.)

So, I make it through the room without clawing anyone’s eyes out (which is a sure sign I should be up for a Nobel Peace Prize), and Mr. Big pours me a drink. Incidentally, there are drinks everywhere. A bar set up in every room. A bathtub full of beers on the lawn. A shot luge. (What’s that you ask? Yeah, I did too. See explanation here. I starred at the 300 pound block of ice so long that some kind person took pity and explained it to me.) Huge tubes dispensing some kind of punch. Beer pong set up in an empty bedroom. The numbers of local taxi companies pasted to the front door. It’s a serious party.

But, to Big’s credit, he sticks by my side the entire night, ignoring every other girl there. What’s better? I meet his co-workers. Which is cute that he wants to introduce them to me, but the really cute thing is that they proceed to tell me how he talks about me all the time at work, how they’ve been dying to meet me. After one of them visited the luge, he even let spill that, “This guy is so in love with you!” Were it not for the vodka breath and drunken slur, that would have been a total “Awwwwww!” moment.

However, meeting his friends also had another side effect. I got to know a whole new side of Mr. Big. Friend number one: “Aren’t you freaked that Big is moving to a new place in a couple weeks?”

Me: “Um… should I be?”

Friend: “Dude! He’s gonna be within walking distance from downtown. Doesn’t that worry you?”

Me: “Uh… no? Should it?”

Friend: “Okay, if I were gay, and I was dating Big, I would totally be worried. That guy’s a total player. You should be worried.”

Thanks. I am now.

As if that wasn’t fun enough, I had at least three other friends come up and tell me stories about Big that were… illuminating… to say the least.

Honestly, despite the girl friends who forgot to put on all their clothes, I trust the guy. But, as the night wore on, I realized that I really don’t know as much about Big as I thought I did. I mean, things I really should know. Mr. Big and I have been dating six months now, which, by my standards, is past the getting-to-know-you stage and into the are-we-getting-serious?-‘cause-it-feels-like-we’re-getting-serious stage.

So, I need your help, gals. What do you do if you’re in the serious stage and realize you really haven’t gotten to know each other yet?



~Trigger Happy Halliday