Sleep, schmeep: the Weekend of Ward

Ah... getting dumped really sucks. There's nothing that saddens me more than to hear of a friend's fractured heart.

That being said, I'll confess that there's no shame in enjoying the efforts to cheer them up. Case in point: a good ladypal of mine recently suffered a disappointment from a beau. We all voiced our newfound hate for him, rallied any troop with a tolerance for tequila, and set a date for Friday night at La Cita. Complication: the broken hearted girlfriend? Ended up having to go out of town. We were left with the ethical decision, "Should we get redonk in her absence?"

The answer was yes.

So Friday night was a blur of locations and comrades including but not limited to the ever-loyal Georgia, K. Kutasy (hitherto known affectionately as Whorepants) and Making-the-Chain Micah, who was dressed curiously "as a douchebag"—which meant that he was wearing a blazer of some sort due to a laundry crisis.

We piled into cars, pockets heavy with filled-up flasks, and headed downtown to meet up with the rest of the cadre. La Cita's Punky Reggae Party was packed and sweaty, and the throngs fighting for beers proved too much to bear. After a while we globbed together like a gang of pirates and stumbled over to Charlie O's, whereupon we discovered that Everyone We'd Ever Met happened to be there. Handy! Charlie O's morphed into a Silverlake house party featuring:

1. Room temperature Tecate,

2. Sitting on a rapidly deflating air mattress,

3. Hanging out outside, in front a motion-sensor light that had to be periodically danced-in-front-of in order to keep darkness at bay

Before we knew it, we were destroying a plate of pancakes at Fred 62 at 5 am.

So I hope it cheers up my broken-hearted ladyfriend to know that the party staged in her honor perked the rest of us up quite considerably. And yes, this Ward accepts rainchecks. 

High five peeps,

-Miss Alie Ward
Ward on the Street