I woke up this morning my cheeks still pink from the shame of last night. I always thought I was hot but this is a bit over the top.
In my ongoing effort to meet a nice, normal, real man in this cesspool of posers known as Hollywood I decided to hit the streets with my girlfriend Nadia. No, not as a prostitute although I felt a bit like one poured into my jeans and stilettos, every curve of my body squeezed into sexy submission. This Saturday night found us venturing into the pulsing, pushing, sweating, groping, drinking, smoking good time known as the Hollywood club circuit, specifically the launch of the hottest new bar. For those of you living outside of LA let me translate hottest new bar. Hot new bar is really tacky old bar long since considered cool given a facelift entailing a bit of paint here, life sized photos of half naked anorexic gazelles there and a throbbing mass of people pushing and shoving outside the velvet rope in the hopes of entrance into this cavern of cool. Sadly, we were two such people and we were on a man meeting mission.
Being the uber-hip well connected women we are, it only took a bit of pleading and a blow job to convince the bouncer to let us join our friends inside. Once within the Promised Land we shoved our way to the cabana a friend had reserved and helped ourselves to the endless supply of free bottle service. I felt like a corrupted beauty queen as I consumed copious amounts of Red Bull Vodka, engaging in conversation as plastic as the breasts walking around this place. My sausage casing clothing was garnering the attention I had hoped it would and although the place reeked of douche bag there were actually a couple guys with potential. I planted myself in prime people watching position on the edge of our cabana and Nadia and I prepared for our Siskel and Ebert worthy critique of the ever growing collection of Barbies and Kens walking by. It wasn’t long before we tired of our game though and struck out to circulate the bar in search of a scenery change.
