Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Don’t be That Girl

Published 8/21/2012


I dislike many things, but there are few things I loathe more than the bastardization of the English language.  Words like YOLO, swag, steeze, cray and ratchet, which is quite possibly the worst of them all, drive me absolutely up the wall.  Made up words make me really, really angry.  Really. But having said that, I have a tale to tell and though it started well, it ended in what can only be described as a sea of ratchetness,  a horrible swagless sea of ratchetness.

 I recently celebrated a birthday and as I am still attempting to be an actress, will commence to lie about my age, because if there’s anything in Hollywood worse than being talentless, it’s being over 23. In any event, a few of my friends were out of town on my actual birthday, so they decided it was only right that they have a second soiree for me. This was all well and good but as the night progressed,  I noticed that a girl very much caught up in revelry seemed to be following us to every single place we went.

I shouldn’t have been surprised to encounter such a character as my friends and I chose to head to Boystown, which  everyone knows is the place to witness drunken wrecks with reckless abandon. At Here on Robertson, this doomed girl appeared to be on her second drink and was still semi-well behaved but I could tell that mischief was afoot. She was engaging in frowned upon behaviors such as asking strangers to take Instagram pictures of her and her friends, and singing really loudly to Ke$ha songs.  When you see people engaging in this type of tomfoolery you should roll your eyes, and I didn’t hesitate to do so.

I thought that we would escape this creature as we ventured to what may be the quintessential West Hollywood spot, the Abbey, but unfortunately she was there too. I felt a little bad for her when someone stepped on her sandaled feet with their heels, but my sympathy quickly waned when I ran into her in line for the bathroom. Her friends were screaming “Drink, it’s your birthday!”  “Drink, bitch! Take a shot!”  To which she eventually replied, “It’s my birthday! Yay!” At the top of her lungs. Why do people like this go out?

I’m convinced that this ridiculous waif was determined to haunt me throughout the night because I glanced  over and saw that her fellow partiers had shoved cash in her hands and pushed her towards one of the gogo dancers on the bar who proceeded to gyrate in her face, to the delight of her friends and  much to her chagrin.

 It just didn’t end: she was at Pizza Rustica leaning against the wall and then stumbling away with the help of her compatriots.  And in the worst coincidence, she lived in the same apartment my friends and I went back to to collect our cars, and I would’ve been rid of her if I hadn’t had to step around her as she nearly collapsed in the hallway. Who does that? Get your life together dummy!...

The next morning I woke up, and came to the most horrible of realizations: That sloshed tart was me!  My toe was throbbing from being stepped on, there was still gogo dancer sweat on my face along with my makeup from the previous night, my head was throbbing, and my throat was still raw from the countless times I threw up.  Then the memory of that third Washington apple came flooding back to me (Yes, I am a lightweight)and I hung my head in shame, or rather tried  to because the room was still spinning.

People often ask me why I barely drink. This my friends, is exactly why. By the way, I finally Googled the ingredients in a Washington Apple and it has freaking whiskey in it! That explains a lot. I thought I could have my little “second birthday” and throw caution to the wind but I was so very wrong. Not that West Hollywood is the first or even seventeenth place that comes to mind for a classy night out on the town, but even there one should retain at least a modicum of standards.  I did not manage to do that. I allowed myself to be defined by words that Webster has not yet qualified as legitimate. I was that girl, and anyone who knows me, knows that that’s cray.

EVENING SCORECARD:

Venue(s):  5 (The Abbey is ridiculous, but then again I wasn’t the most reliable source that night.)

Alcohol Situation: 5 (Drinks…so... strong...)

Actual Beneficial Networking Achieved: 0 (Does the drunk guy in front of Millions of Milkshakes count?)

Personal Victory/Dignity Retained: 0

Atmosphere: #weho


3 comments:

  1. This was like watching Fight Club or The Sixth Sense. Had to read it twice. I think you have to revise your personal dignity to a negatve...-2 at least. Still better than the results of playing the Act of Valor drinking game: any time there is an explosion, american flag, or unecessary narration drink. I made it to the credits somehow. Also lets just say that if you didnt almost get locked in a club that was closing you are 1 up on me as far as dignity goes.

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  2. lol loved it ....cant believe it ..

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