Cocktails & Cartwheels—How I Got Kicked Out Of My Best Friend’s Engagement Party

May 5th 2015

Story originally written and experienced: May 2nd 2015

“Can I kiss you?”

She asked, staring at me with a sincere look in her eyes.

Golden hair down past her shoulders and a black dress she hoped would convince.

“Who…me?” I replied in drunken, disheveled dismay.

“Yes, you.”

And I couldn’t believe what happened after that.


 “4 minutes! She’ll be here in 4 MINUTES, everyone!” I announced frantically, bouncing from table to table at the bar circa 10:01 pm on this particular Saturday night.

Thing is.

My roommate and best friend had just gotten engaged.

It's true.

Bling a ring.


And the second thing is.

There was a whole hell of a lot of us waiting to surprise her right afterwards.

“2 MINUTES! She’ll be here in 2 MINUTES!!”

I continued to scream as I



From booth to booth.


Everyone forgot to say as she walked into the room, immersed in drunken banter that seemingly reigned supreme.

First things first.

First things first.




They all obediently relayed a few moments after that.

The evening was excellent.

Chock-full of cocktails and candid photos…

Bride down.

Breakin it down with the bride-to-be.


Investing in hours of celebratory madness with a steady stream of shots, mixed drinks and complimentary beers endlessly coming our way.

I really should have known.

With such an arsenal of boozy beverages, that this night,

As always

Would take an expected turn for the weird.

“I want to go to Spring Lounge!!!” my newly-engaged roommate said to me as the evening was coming to a foreseeable end. “It’s where Davis and I met and I want to end the night there.”

“PICTURE!” Harper interrupted us, swooping a camera in front of our face.

One moment please.

One moment please.


Once Instagrammed in the finest of filters, Harper and I agreed to go and said we’d grab a cab and meet her and the rest of the party there.

Insert uncalled for picture of a bear in a cab.

Insert pointless picture of a taxi-bound bear here.


Alas, we had arrived to our new party destination.

To the same establishment whenst I once got a rogue ride from a headless Spiderman.

“I.Ds, please,” the bouncer named ‘Monday’ said to us and then swiftly changed his mind.

“Nah, you ladies are good. No one’s here anyway.”

Twas true.

The bar was nearly deserted prompting Harper and I to grab beers and choose any seat we wanted whilst we waited for the couple-to-be and the rest of the party people to arrive.


There was a man face-down on the  floor—all due to an attempted headstand that failed quite miserably after his efforts.

A similar example as demonstrated by this anonymous baby.

A reenactment as demonstrated by this anonymous baby.


“Did that drunk guy just try and do a headstand?” Harper inquired with a chilled PBR in hand.

“100%,” I replied as we laughed at that exactly that.

Suddenly I heard a


Coming from my right side of our table.

“Hi…?” I replied to the girl who spontaneously appeared.

“Can I kiss you?”

She asked. Staring at me with a sincere look in her eyes.

Golden hair down past her shoulders and a black dress she hoped would convince.

“Who…me?” I replied in drunken, disheveled dismay.

“Yes, you.”

And I couldn’t believe what happened after that.

“Why um…why do you want to kiss me?”

“See those guys over there?” she pointed to three men outlining the perimeter of the bar—one being the perpetrator of the unsuccessful headstand just a few moments before.


“They dared me to come over here and ask you to kiss me.”

“Hmm…super interesting stuff…yeah, I’ll kiss you. I don’t care.”


“Yeah. But…what’s in it for me? If I smooch you, you win the dare, but what do I get?”

“Well…what do you want?”

“Great question,” I pondered until I stopped and realized this “…Well I saw your friend do a show-stopping headstand earlier…

Never forget.

Never forget.


Made me think of my gymnastics years...what are the chances he’d want to take it to the next level and participate in a cartwheel contest with me?” I asked rhetorically, high heels already unbuckled and my hair wrapped in a pinned-back ponytail.

“That’s not a bad bargain. Let me go ask him,” she said making her way back to the bar.

Harper and I continued to laugh about absolutely nothing, entertained by the idea and also drunkenly wondering why I suddenly had bare feet.


There was a man face-down on the floor—all due to an attempted cartwheel prompted by the competition I suggested just mere moments before.

“I DID IT! I DID IT! NOW IT’S YOUR TURN!” he screamed, even more brain damaged and wobbly than before.

As demonstrated by this anonymous Santa.

A reenactment as demonstrated by this anonymous Santa.


I prepared for cartwheel battle.

Purple romper intact and a level of pride that was completely incurable.

“OLIVE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” my roommate shouted as she finally arrived at the bar, only to witness a cleared-out space in the middle of the venue, my heels on a table and an unnecessary series of stretches I was performing for my acrobatic debut.

Prepping for battle.

Give me a sec.


“I just challenged this guy to a cartwheel competition and he said yes and now it’s my turn,” I responded very matter-of-factly.

“Oh HELLZ YEAH!” She said taking a seat for the show.

“Oh HELLZ NO!”  we heard the bouncer say as he charged towards me at the bar.

He was displeased, and incredibly discouraging of my circus-like ways.

Miraculous footage of the partial confrontation documented for your convenience below:

Translation: “No, I said no! This is MY HOUSE. I said no. And that’s it. Point blank. No I said no. If she can’t listen then she gotta leave.”

I didn’t listen:

And all hell broke loose after that.

“THAT’S IT. SHE’S OUTTA HERE!” Monday the bouncer said reacting in rage.

Everyone fought for me.

“IF SHE LEAVES, I LEAVE!!!” Harper threatened.


“DUDE DON’T MAKE HER GO SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO MAKE OUT WITH MY FRIEND!” the deranged stranger shouted from across the bar.

No cigar.

I was chased out appropriately.

Reenactment as demonstrated by Homer Simpson and this anonymous dog.

Reenactment as demonstrated by Homer Simpson and this anonymous pup.


Kicked out from the very engagement party I was throwing for my celebrated best friend, heels in hand and dignity lost way, way long ago…


As I sprinted home in a terrified tizzy directly after that.

I remembered shamelessly thinking that.

Truth be told.

If someone were to propose the idea of marrying cocktails and cartwheels once again.

Chances are tragically good.

I’d probably say yes.