Obviously, I want to tell you every detail of my night out at my partner's corporate holiday party, but I can't tell you EVERY detail because, honestly, I'm scared of the corporation. So I'll tell you a lot of it, but not the place it was at, because, well, I cannot afford a lawsuit. At most, I can afford a slap in the face and a "keep my company's name out of your fucking mouth" moment. Even then, though, I could only afford a slap on the right side of my face.

The night started with me getting ready at 5 pm despite not having to leave until 7 pm because I have 22 inches of hair that needed to be straightened and then curled to achieve the effortless wave look — the irony writes itself in that one. This process was accompanied by two glasses of pink wine and three and a half episodes of the show Friends (I finished my annual Big Bang Theory and Young Sheldon rewatches, and Georgie and Mandy isn’t on HBO Max yet, despite my emails) while I prepped some good conversation starters.

"Do you like eggs?"

"How many eggs do you think you could eat?"

"Gun to your head, could you eat 12 eggs?"

Those of you who have known me since my Indiana days know that I am good at cosplaying as a fancy boat person because my grandma had rich friends while I was growing up. However, at my core, I am an amalgamation of blue collar identies. So clearly, it made me a little nervous to attend a party where everyone is probably three tax brackets above me. But, I would not be intimidated by the fact that I was poorer and dumber than everyone there, for the lioness does not concern herself with such trivial details!

I do imagine, however, that the cumulative 401ks at that event could buy a small island, though, so I wasn't fully conversational with anyone but the bartenders and servers until around drink #4 (they were small pours, don't worry).

And then I saw the juggler.

Now it's important to me to point out that at this party, there were bingo cards with, like, 6 or 7 activities on them that you had to spot to put the sticker on the bingo spot. One of the spots was finding the magician, but not a single spot mentioned the juggler??? A disservice!! An oversight!! A grave omission!!

The juggler clearly heard us discussing this ignorance and stopped us to ask if we wanted photos with him. Unfortunately, I did not capture the moment with Sir Juggler on account of it felt too early in the night to start embarrassing my man, and also, I was scared. Jugglers and clowns are too similar for my liking.

I ultimately passed on the photo, but I couldn't let him leave without my compliments to his moustache.

THIS IS A PSA: IF AN ENTERTAINER ASKS IF YOU WANT TO TOUCH THEIR MOUSTACHE, DON'T DO IT. THERE IS A VERY OBVIOUS BIT INCOMING THAT I WAS TOO NERVOUS TO SEE. I TOUCHED HIS MOUSTACHE, AND HE BARKED AT MY HAND LIKE A RABID DOG.

So that broke the seal on the embarrassing behavior, and I soon broke out my tech deck. Y'all, the railings in corporate buildings are sooooo smooth.

At this point, we ventured upstairs, but not before passing two women who were literally dressed as Daft Punk-esque disco balls, and I started to realize I may be in the Hunger Games. That thought was immediately cut off, though, because as soon as our toes touched the top step, we made eye contact with my man's boss.

There’s something funny that happens when you’re an extrovert in a room full of engineers, where they kind of just expect you to hold the whole conversation. Or maybe it’s my inner Chandler Bing that cannot resist the urge to entertain in the socially-awkwardest of times. Alas, I picked the conversation up, and I held it in my arms like the sweet, budding child it was (I talked about the desserts at the party for 5 minutes straight and then said, “Okay, well, I’ve gotta get my mitts on a tasty treat”).

From there, it was smooth sailing (I could enjoy my buzz) and shortly after, the magician and I crossed paths.

Now I know what you're thinking, "Allison hates audience participation, surely she avoided him."

WRONG. I hate audience participation, but I LOVE magic.

I recorded a bit of his magic to see if I could put it in slow motion and figure it out (and also because I needed proof for my bingo card), but no dice. I think he may have been really doing magic.

I was itching to be a part of his bit, and oh boy, could he tell. Twas but simple card tricks and sleights of hand, I know this, but the real magic happened when he made everyone clap for me and the role I played in his trick. Ooo mama, I'm gonna be riding that applause for the next month.

My final rankings of the evening’s entertainment are as follows:

IN FIFTH PLACE: THE KARAOKE ROOM

Exactly what you’d expect, but the women working the bar in the karaoke room were the most delightful to yap with

IN FOURTH PLACE: THE ICE SCULPTOR

He could’ve done more tricks, seeing as he had power tools.

IN THIRD PLACE: THE LIVE BAND

They played Shania Twain. Banger alert!

IN SECOND PLACE: THE JUGGLER

The barking bit was good, despite it being at my expense

IN FIRST PLACE: THE MAGICIAN

Obvious choice.

A juggler almost bit me (it wasn’t Dave Coulier)

And then I saw the juggler.

THIS IS A PSA: IF AN ENTERTAINER ASKS IF YOU WANT TO TOUCH THEIR MOUSTACHE, DON'T DO IT. THERE IS A VERY OBVIOUS BIT INCOMING THAT I WAS TOO NERVOUS TO SEE. I TOUCHED HIS MOUSTACHE, AND HE BARKED AT MY HAND LIKE A RABID DOG.

My final rankings of the evening’s entertainment are as follows:

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