Alumnae events make me want to die

We had an alumnae formal dinner last night. And I swear the whole night I was hoping that some crazed slasher movie serial killer would jump through the window and stab me in the head. Repeatedly.

There are two breeds of alums. The rarest kind is the cool alum. These alums come back every so often to see The House and meet the new girls and actually donate some of their disposable income to us. They have lives and families and are normal. We like them.

Then, there are your crazies. I swear these women were ALL awkward when they were here and since graduation, have done nothing meaningful with their lives. They just want to return to the days when they were in The House and thought they were so cool. Most of the ones that come back on a regular basis, unfortunately, are like this.

The House is usually kind to those who have seniority. We get to be in line first for everything, have the biggest and best rooms, the best parking... everything. Yet for these twisted and sick Stepford torture alum events, it is completely backwards. Those who are higher in rank... are paired with the most pathetic and annoying alums, while the younger members get the one or two cool ones that show up.

I got paired with The Divorced Bipolar Alum With a Bad Boob Job.

I wanted to shove a mini quiche down her throat the entire evening. She decided that she just had to tell me every little detail of her snotty kids and her messy divorce. And her boob job which she had done "for a great bargain price!" in Mexico. While I'm sure there are credible doctors in Mexico, whoever did hers, fail. They were uneven and hard as rocks. And hurt like hell when she threw herself at me periodically for comfort for how pathetic and sucky her life is. I think I have bruises.

And she kept crying one minute and then laughing hysterically the next while telling me she's practically dirt poor right now because of the on-going divorce battle and how she's sleeping with her lawyer but how it was on the "down low" because apparently Mr. Lawyer has a wife and four kids. Great. So not only is she free-loading our food, she's also plotting to make another woman's life miserable.

And then she opened her purse and took out a case of pills. I'm not even kidding. In the middle of a cocktail attire dinner event, this insane alum popped some pills. Like jellybeans. But with mood flavors instead of actual flavors. Honestly. Everyone knows that if you're on happy pills, you pop them in the secrecy of the bathroom or in your bedroom where the police will find you naked and foaming at the mouth when you overdose. That's like the cardinal rule of celebrity/rich people abusing drugs.

When she left she wanted my phone number so she could "keep in touch with me" because I am apparently "SO SWEET". I think that's only that way because she was medicated and didn't pick up on my blatant cynical and snide remarks. In any case, I gave her the number to Dr. Phil. He needs some new crazies to yell at and lecture now anyway.