Ciao lovers!
Its Sunday and I hope your greens are picked, peas are shucked, and chitlins are cleaned. Can you believe we're nearly 3 months into the year? Time is such a thief. Just yesterday it felt like January 1st and you stood over your garbage pail vowing to stop eating bullshit, work out more, play with your kids, pay bills on time and give your husband BJ's outside of Christmas & his birthday. We all made silent promises that we sent into the universe and felt assured that we would alter fate and become better people.
Well here it is February 21st and some of us are still stuck in the same rut. But thank God for the Chinese New Year because, you can start over again dear reader. I myself don't believe in resolutions, but I always say "okay I'm not starting off the new year doing yada yada yada..." It's like Ground Hog's Day when poor Bill Murray starts to go ape shit, because the same thing happens over and over again. Eventually he decides to have a little fun while he's caught on the hamster wheel, and last night I tried to do the same.
I went on a date with my good friend Wes, a man whom I adore. We drove down to see Melvin is his closing weekend of Putnam County's 25th Annual Spelling Bee, a marvelous show. Mel is so great is this production. I beamed with pride, as I watched someone I championed for years do such a marvelous job. Wes and I sat in the theatre like two total geeks laughing and fighting back tears because the singing is so fucking good.
Anyhoo after the show Wes said he wanted to share some good news and to meet him in Hollywood at the Velvet Margarita. Anyone who knows me, knows I HATE going into Hollywood at night. Anything in the vicinity of Hollywood and Vine is like going to the fifth rung of hell. The streets are littered with freaks from all over the county. Emo Mexican kids who still worship Depeche Mode, thugged out homo-erotic gangsta rappers, black girls with fresh silky Indian remy hair and stank attitudes to match, awkward Asian kids escaping some dictatorship desperately trying to fit in, honky tonk frat boys chugging beer, whilst skinny cum stained blondes scream "wwwooohhooo spring break!"
Friday and Saturday nights in Hollywood are so awful even the homeless people seek refuge.
After circling forever we found parking 3 blocks away. Generally I don't like walking through Hollywood for fear of getting doused with gasoline and set ablaze by some wackado Scientologist. But in the spirit of Carrie Bradshaw, I figured my outfit was fierce and my heels where the perfect height for jumping over puddles of vomit. So we walked to the Velvet Margafuckingrita where I judged every person I passed on the street. I smirked as I looked at these desperate assholes who thought this was fun. I scoffed as I thought "Pshaw! I've just returned from an evening at the theatre. This is merely a night cap darling. Soon I'm off to my gorgeous home where I will sip tea and listen to NPR. You clay-brained idiots are so not sophisticated enough to join my entourage at the Velvet Margarita, a cantina for champions. You boiled-brained apes---"
CRACK. Wait. What the fuck was that? Why am I wobbling? Why NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!
My shoe?! My heel!
MY HEEL HATH BROKEN!
The heel on my fucking Burberry patent leather shoe came off clean. Oh you have no idea how much I hate the British now. The tea dunking periodontitis crooked tooth question after every statement slave catching BASTARDS can NEVER make another shoe for me. (Burberry is an English company in case you didn't know).
Suddenly, I was one of them. I was one of the freaks! I had a frilly gold shirt that looked like I stole it from Prince & The Revolution, a jacket with shoulder pads, skinny jeans, a purse made from a vintage obi (A Japanese sash from a geisha get up) and a sad limp from a broken heel. My hair was lifeless and my make up was gross. I looked like Ziggy Stardust.
God bless Melvin, who stood looking terrified after he saw my dearly departed shoe. But like my foremother Ethel Merman I was determined, and decided the show must go on. I limped to the Velvet Margarita and saw my friends...and actually had a decent time. I knocked back some vodka and reveled in Wes's good news. He booked a great TV project and we were all genuinely happy for him.
The cantina is actually tres chic. Good drinks and food loud music yada yada. Just not my thing. So after a while it was time to go and we bid farewell. Upon exiting the club, I geared up for my 3 block tip toe walk back to the car. And you know, the freaks didn't seem so bad. Harmless in fact. I felt like we were, I dare say, apart of the same bizarre tribe. Like The People Under The Stairs. They didn't really know they were fucked up. And so I thought, "fuck it. I'll embrace my inner freak." So I started hobbling and smiling at my frats and sorors. Then some dude offered to sell me a rabbit.
"Yo baby girl, I got that rabbit." It was a big black man 6'3'' 300lbs holding a tiny small rabbit. The rabbit was tiny and lying paws up in the palm of this giant man. Poor lil fella looked like it was ready for its first gyne exam feet in the proverbial stirrups. He was selling a rabbit a 1am on the streets of Hollywood y'all. It was then I decided to pull up my tent, and take the circus to another town. I got back to my car in record speed. A tragic outfit, a broken heel and a helpless baby bunny rabbit was about all of the glamor I could take.
Happy Chinese New Year.
NEXT BLOG: How Eating Cheetos From Couch Pillows Kills Ugandan Ants.
ciao
x
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