A while back, I was invited to a get together at a colleague’s home. These functions were held about once per month with the intent to be casual gatherings to get to know each other outside of the office. It’s a very basic concept: last names A-K bring a snack, last name L-Z bring a beverage of choice. Easy. In fact, the last one of these was hosted by yours truly. Festivities wrapped up somewhere in the neighborhood of 3AM, and I had long before that changed into my yoga pants to appropriately (and comfortably) enjoy the evening.

This particular evening’s event was being held at the home of one of the more senior personnel on the team. I decided to leave the yoga pants at home, and opted for a pair of fitted jeans, sweater, statement necklace, and cute flats. Bottle of wine in hand, I hailed a cab and was on my way.

Upon arrival, my catastrophic mistake began to unfold. If I’d taken two seconds to consider the host, I would have known that there would be a higher end, well-heeled clientele at this party. So, here I am. Flats and a $10 bottle of wine. Here we go.

I walked into the main area and also realized that not only was no one in jeans, but there was a hired caterer, serving staff, and passed appetizer trays. Um, I’m sorry. What group of last names is responsible for hiring the bartender? What’s a girl to do? Obviously, turn on those flats and make back towards the street hoping that the cab hasn’t yet pulled away. Alas, in the six inches between me and the door, my hostess has somehow appeared, and now I’m here for good. Feeling nothing short of Jennifer Grey in the infamous “I carried a watermelon” scene, I said hello, and a member of the wait staff graciously relieved my sweaty palms of the offending bottle.

Having realized that I’m underdressed (shocking!) and very much in need of a drink, I make my way towards the bar area — where I quickly spend the remainder of the evening clutched to a high table with a mercifully long table cloth. Denim be damned, those little baby souffles were delicious.

In honor of my Jennifer Grey moment, I’m sharing my watermelon sangria recipe. Best enjoyed in equally underdressed company.

Ingredients:

10 cups seedless watermelon (no shame if you want to put on your lazy pants and buy the stuff that’s already cubed at the front of the store)
1 bottle white wine (no preference here, except I think Chardonnay is disgusting in all things — especially sangria)
1 cup of sparkling water (just for the fizz)
1 lime, juiced

Instructions

• Place about half of the watermelon into a blender and blend on high until you’re left with a puree/juice.
• Place the puree, remaining cubed watermelon, wine, sparkling water, and lime juice in a large container.
• Let all of this chill together for a least an hour or two in the fridge (the longer, the better), and serve cold!

I lead a rather nomadic life.  Roughly every 12-36 months, I uproot myself (willingly), throw all of my belongings in some state of luggage/long term storage/air freight/sea container, and then decide what ends up where, and how long will transpire prior to finding any of those items again.

Imagine… everything you own spread over several international locations.  Have a wedding to attend and want to wear that absolutely perfect black dress with the killer heels and the antique statement piece necklace?  Box 125, Lot 8, long term storage.  Drats.  On vacation and wishing you could find that cobalt blue maxi dress with the wedge sandals?  Sea container 2763, floating somewhere near Newfoundland.  Why didn’t I just carry all of these items with me, you ask?  It’s nearly impossible to plan for every single permutation of life when you only have a checked bag allowance of 46 kilos plus one carry on that can fit safely in the overhead bin.

This brings me to the blog:  my [underdressed] life.  While undoubtedly I have something to wear, it is never with me, and, invariably, I will end up underdressed at any event I am destined to attend.  This crazy life, however, has led me to some hilarious stories and some downright amazing food — both of which I will share with you here.

Enjoy!

Nothing strikes more simultaneous fear or joy in my heart than the following two words: happy hour.

The joy: A reason to bag on work a little early? Check.  Trying that new, exotic drink that has things you can’t even pronounce, but you would also never order when at full price?  Check.  A chance to see your co-workers get ever so slightly sauced before they have to go
home to their children and spouses?  Double check.

The fear:  I have absolutely nothing to wear. Not one single thing. In this mass of cotton, silk, spandex, rayon, and cashmere exists not one single article of clothing that will allow me sit around at my desk all day without itching, and also allow me to imbibe in that stylish
half priced cocktail.  Not to mention the shoes.

What do I do?  What any rational woman does, of course.  I pack an entire change of clothes for happy hour.  Oh, you wanted to just roll downstairs and across the street at 5PM?  Sure!  No problem!  Just let me do this phone booth change in the handicap stall while I pray that
none of my accessories precariously perched on that little purse ledge fall into the toilet.

Voila!  Ready for happy hour!  Now that you’ve arrived, after your male counterparts have only loosened their ties, you can sink your taste buds into that deliciously half priced cocktail. Enjoy, friend. You’ve earned this one.

Here is one of my favorite exotic cocktail recipes straight from Thailand.  Give this one a whirl at home, and the only happy hour outfit you’ll need is your jammies.

This is a loose adaptation of a cocktail while I had in Phuket a few years back:

• mix equal parts gin, vodka, chilled black tea, and sweetened condensed milk, shake with ice and strain
• float a shot of mango juice on top, and squeeze some lime juice to taste
• if you are fancy, add a star anise on top prior to serving