Despite my love for these girls, we have a tendency to flake on each other. Last night was meant to be our "FINALLY we are going to follow through with plans" night. I curled my hair, put on gobs of mascara, tried on a few too many outfits, did all those girly things that I have fallen somewhat out of practice doing, and finally after a little more than an hour felt like I didn't look completely masculine (although I did somewhat bare semblance to a drag queen). Anyway, it was 8:15 and I was about to start blending my first margarita when I heard the little dingle my cell phone makes when I have received a new text message. It read "sorry, my stomach is hurting, I'm just going to go to bed". WTF?!! Thanks Priscilla. I just wasted an hour trying to make myself socalclubsceneworthy, bought a bottle of tequila, tried on about six outfits, and now you're telling me you're canceling? Mind you, not even having the courage to call, rather text? And fifteen minutes after you're supposed to be at my apartment?!
GRRRR. I was fuming, but mostly just disappointed. I reached for an eye makeup removal wipe, but before giving it the initial swipe across my lids, heard again the chime of my cell phone. "Going out downtown. vip list, no cover, no line. want me to pick you up?" Thank you Trevell Quinley for swooping in and saving the day! I ended up at a notably pretentious, yet very pretty tri level club, getting treated by staff, clinking glasses late night with olympic gold medalists, and making the usual scene on the dance floor.
1 comment:
I like the way you write! Good job!
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