Why you can’t take us anywhere.
July 8, 2007
Last night we went to the birthday party of a friend of a friend at a FABULOUS HOLLYWOOD NIGHTSPOT.
I’m not the kind of person who should go to FABULOUS HOLLYWOOD NIGHTSPOTS. In large part this is because I like to have conversations about how you’re thinking of knitting a dog sweater, even though you don’t actually have a dog. BUT, not only am I basically pretty dorky, I also get sort of mean when I feel that people in FABULOUS HOLLYWOOD NIGHTSPOT situations are not sufficiently making with the snappy comebacks:
Oh, you’re a writer, too?
I love writers!
No one LOVES writers. That’s ridiculous.
Later, at the valet stand:
Hey, ladies! So where’s the afterparty? Where are you going now?
EXCELLENT FRIEND KINAN
It’s very underground. In Culver City. You wouldn’t have heard of it.
…uh. Are you… kidding?
So… where is this place?
Look, you pretty much have to be on the list.
(fleeing to his car with frightened backward glance)
Also, the male bartender in the section where we were hanging out was wearing this shirt with short sleeves. But the short sleeves were cuffed. And had a single large button. Accenting his straining biceps. At first I thought this was HIGH-LARIOUS, and I had a delightful time imagining him flexing in the mirror, seeing if he could pop the buttons off, thinking about how impressed his patrons would be when he poured them a vodka gimlet and the buttons could BARELY CONTAIN THE GUN SHOW.
And then I realized that ALL the male bartending staff were wearing that shirt, and then I just felt bad for them.