At nine this morning, I groggily came awake and contemplated my sunny bedroom. I had been out late last night, at the Orange County party, and the little asshole cats were not pleased. So they spent all last night playing, fighting, and tearing the house apart. And when I woke up this morning, I was covered in toys--the stuffed mousies, hair ties, the feather-on-a-stick. The little bastards had just dumped them on me. My cats are awesome.
The Orange County party was...not as bad as I expected. Definitely posh and fab and glam, but at least 50% of the people there were over the age of 45. Which meant that the crowds were not as intimidating...but that it was much harder to get my flirt on. I gave it the ol' college try, though, and suffice to say that those OC boys will never lookat a Hoosier girl the same way.
In all seriousness, however, there were bouncers with a guest list and valet parking attendants and great big spotlights swinging about through the sky (and this was at a residential house!) and three open bars and at least 20 waitstaff, a live band and a trampoline, and various video games and table sports. I was determined to find out whose party it was, and finally I saw a guy with a nametag that said "Barry--I live here." At first I thought it was just a ploy to attract women (kinda like if I had written on my name tag "Mel--I kiss girls" or something) but it turned out Barry actually did live there. He made his money in commercial real estate. (I think that's the story of every wealthy person in SoCal.) Anyway, it was a gated community, and as we were leaving, I noticed that the gates had a great big monogrammed "B".
Me: I wonder what the "B" stands for?
Alexis: Barry?
Me: (Drunken snort)
Everyone else in the car: (Appalled silence)
So that was the OC party. Not what I expected I would be doing when I moved here, which makes it all the more awesome.
No comments:
Post a Comment