We're pathologically social. We're professional leisurists. We're burrito lovers, bar flies, art whores and music nerds. We dish the good dirt, and we'll risk a parking ticket for a cheap sample sale. Sometimes, we blog drunk.
Confession: I was a beeyotch last night
Guess which finger!
Two people, one party. Two wildly disparate reactions.
Case in point: the lovely Scott T Sterling and I headed separately to the BPM party last night. He got there early, hit the open bar, and proceeded to get retarded in the best possible way . He's in the DJ booth, rubbing bony elbows with Paris Hilton, texting that Ron Jeremy had just arrived.
I myself had donned a lame-ass outfit (skirt: Ross, 1999), and met loyal comrade Gemini downstairs with a sour-faced frown. I shuffled heavily all four blocks to the Avalon, and gave the bouncer an eye roll when he made me wait in a cattle line for 3 minutes. Sure, he was a d-bag, but what bitchy demon from Medieval lore had possessed me?
By the time we arrived, there was nothing even close to an open bar. BPM would have won me over with free lukewarm shots of Gilby's gin at that point. Or this .
But I learned two valuable lessons last night:
1. Sometimes, even Professional Leisurists need a nap before heading out.
2. Always bring a flask.
I'll abide by these edicts, and see you out, transformed, tonight.
Miss Alie Ward
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