Behind the velvet rope
Dear Reader,
It is with great shock that I compose this post.
How is it possible that a person such as myself would know someone who knows someone? Who would have ever thought is possible?
But tonight, somehow, yours truly ended up behind the velvet rope...
Granted, yours truly was asked to take her Chuck Taylor clad feet off of the coffee table.
At 2:30 or so in the am, I ended up in what I believe to be one of the trendier spots in Washington, DC: Lotus. Having never been there before (and probably never again) I didn't know what to expect. What I should have expected was a handsome doctor getting my $10 cover charge refuned to me. (It is who you know, my pets.) And, naturally, I should have expected to pay $8 for my Amstel Light, but it still shook me to the core.
Anyway, like at the last establishment, I was touched on the hand by a young man wanting to buy me a drink...only this man probably could have purchased a company from Negro Modelo...that's the only reason I could think he made it past scary, rich bouncer guy. Believe you me, it wasn't for his dancing skills. He definitely did a Rockette kick over said velvet rope.
Now, if anyone is thinking I've gone soft or turned to the dark side, let me reassure you. I still spent my 30 minutes in Lotus pointing out the super short/un-functionality of the outfits of my fellows carriers of the Y chromsome. (I can't make this stuff up, lovers: shiny, short, and clingy everywhere I looked.)
After mananging to convince the young stallion in the crisp white shirt that I did not, in fact, need yet another beer (it would have been number 8, after all) I went back to watching. Just watching. Watching Ms. Trustfund walk by with her ass hanging out. Watching Mr. Daddy-Has-Money with his wallet hanging out.
I could only gawk along with a new friend who could only repeat the phrase "Where are we?!" as often as I took a slightly perfumed, overly intoxicated breath.
Where were we indeed.
It is with great shock that I compose this post.
How is it possible that a person such as myself would know someone who knows someone? Who would have ever thought is possible?
But tonight, somehow, yours truly ended up behind the velvet rope...
Granted, yours truly was asked to take her Chuck Taylor clad feet off of the coffee table.
At 2:30 or so in the am, I ended up in what I believe to be one of the trendier spots in Washington, DC: Lotus. Having never been there before (and probably never again) I didn't know what to expect. What I should have expected was a handsome doctor getting my $10 cover charge refuned to me. (It is who you know, my pets.) And, naturally, I should have expected to pay $8 for my Amstel Light, but it still shook me to the core.
Anyway, like at the last establishment, I was touched on the hand by a young man wanting to buy me a drink...only this man probably could have purchased a company from Negro Modelo...that's the only reason I could think he made it past scary, rich bouncer guy. Believe you me, it wasn't for his dancing skills. He definitely did a Rockette kick over said velvet rope.
Now, if anyone is thinking I've gone soft or turned to the dark side, let me reassure you. I still spent my 30 minutes in Lotus pointing out the super short/un-functionality of the outfits of my fellows carriers of the Y chromsome. (I can't make this stuff up, lovers: shiny, short, and clingy everywhere I looked.)
After mananging to convince the young stallion in the crisp white shirt that I did not, in fact, need yet another beer (it would have been number 8, after all) I went back to watching. Just watching. Watching Ms. Trustfund walk by with her ass hanging out. Watching Mr. Daddy-Has-Money with his wallet hanging out.
I could only gawk along with a new friend who could only repeat the phrase "Where are we?!" as often as I took a slightly perfumed, overly intoxicated breath.
Where were we indeed.
posted by ruehllin at 3:28 AM
3 comments
