WORD UP.

I went out again last night. Very different from the evening before.

Cocktails at the Penthouse Bar at the top of the Peninsula Hotel. Very chi-chi, I know. But a friend is in town from L.A., and D., he and I met to discuss how we might do business together. He handles talent, he's a manager, and I think I mentioned before that I'm a publicist (ie - sellout). He doesn't really have his shit together yet, and his clients aren't big enough to afford me. Like I'm some big deal...ha.

Anyway, it cracks me up to go out to these places and survey the well-heeled crowd. Shoot me if I ever evolve into one of them. It's like the ugly version of Stepford wives. Ann Taylor everywhere. I'd like to patent an invisible dye, that when you squirt it on someone outfit, it glows so that you can confirm that the person in question is wearing some Nazi chain line of clothing like Ann Taylor or Gap. It's the little things that amuse me...Anyway, I'm looking at these girls and I'm noticing that the more unattractive they are: A) the hotter their BF; B) the bigger their engagement rings. Really, it's bizarre. All of these heinous girls trapping men into marrying them. My colleague C. noticed the same thing and he was so confused. He was like, these girls must be doing something to get these guys to buy them these extravagant rings and to get these guys to say, "I want to send the rest of my life with you." C., being gay, was floored. But I had to agree. I mean, I can't decide who I want to spend the night with and these guys are like, yeah, I want to spend the next 50 years with these annoying girls with nasally voices who wear the same clothes as their sorority sisters. This is a phenomena I have not figured out yet. C.'s theory is that they are both really boring people looking for nothing more than what their boring parents had. And they are happy settling for that. Maybe he's right?

Here's another phenomena. Paul McCartney never spent a night away from Linda. What in hell did they TALK about every day??? Jesus Christ, some days I'm desparate to spend a night away from myself, let alone another being. However, that might explain "Let it be." He was probably freakin' out and was like " Jesus Christ Linda - enough with the fucking fish sticks - LET IT BE ALREADY." That's my theory.

So we drank at this rooftop bar. I smoked about 100 cigarettes. Love the cigarettes. Then we made our way East for dinner, but got sidetracked by a bar that one of D.'s friends owns...and since he was bartending, we opted for the liquid dinner.

Drinking midtown, where everyone looks the same. So some girl in a suit comes up to us and is like "SMILE! Girls. You're not going to meet anyone unless you smile. You're not at work, relax. Smile! " How ridiculous is that? I told her it's my job to smile all day at work, so relaxing for me is not smiling. Meanwhile, I'm thinking clearly the smiling isn't holding me back from meeting anyone because this guy next to me won't shut-up with that "wasssup" thing he keeps asking me, even though I am clearly giving him back and trying to ignore him. Ass. Go home and watch SportsCenter with your dog. And clearly we have the bartender's attention, as we've been talking to him for the last 10 minutes, and since he is the hottest piece of talent in this bar, and controls the alcohol - which we weren't charged for - I really don't think I need to smile. So, take your drunk face, your Banana Republic suit, your yuppified cell phone, and your Nine West shoes and hightail your Pollyanna act out of my prime bar space and over to your husband, who may possibly care - since he's agreed to spend the next 40 years with you. Thanks ::SMILE::

D. and I keep drinking. Quickly. I think the Sierra Nevada knocked me on my ass, because the next thing I remember was sitting in the back of a taxi, rolling my head back and looking up, out of the window at the passing street signs as I made my way uptown. Smiling.

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