Sunday, December 12, 2004

karma's a bitch...

Friday night, I met Gert and Collin for drinks at Sadie's Flying Elephant, where Collin and I got into a conversation about whether or not clumsy people are charming.
Collin: "Oh, it doesn't bother me. I find it endearing."
Beth: "I don't. I don't at all. I mean, come on. There's something to be said for a little grace."

Cut last night at the Pork Chop Express gig at the Tongue and Groove. I'm sitting on the arm of a big old red velvet couch, about to whisper gossip in Erica's ear, when suddenly I lose my balance and begin to fall off the couch. In an attempt to counter-act my tumble, I simultaneously grab Erica with the "death grip" (her words) and hook my heels under a chair, sending the chair flying.
Yeah, Beth. There IS something to be said for a little grace. You know, maybe it's endearing when Bonnie charmingly falls or Gert trips down stairs. When I do, it's sad and pathetic, prompting uncomfortable stares, forced smiles of pity, and lots of, "Oh my God! Are you okay?"
My new best friends, Laura and Tiffany, spotted Andrew Firestone in the audience. I quickly forgot about my humiliating, scene causing act of physical destruction and scanned the crowd. Apparently wearing a backwards green baseball hat, the former Bachelor stayed only for Pork Chop and split. I can't say I blame him. The band that followed PCE was super Euro, a hard rock version of the 90's Swedish sensation, Ace of Base.
Pork Chop rocked as usual, and needless to say, Gert and I got pretty trashed. At 1:30, we stumbled out onto the street to find a cab. Suddenly, a huge, black Towncar pulls up and the driver offers us a ride home. Figuring, fuck it, we dive atop the huge, comfy, leather seats and chat all the way home with Manny, who encouraged us to stop by Hotel Nikko where we were guaranteed to find some hot boys.
No thanks, Manny. Just take us home.
He did indeed, actually getting out and opening the door for each of us. There's nothing like pulling up to Alabama Street at 2am, with drug dealers on every corner and hobos pushing their homes along the road, with a fancy and mysterious car and driver. Fabulous.
In my new version of the drunk dial, I text messaged a bunch of friends. I finally passed out after receiving the following text:
Ben: You are a goddess who walks the earth among mere mortals and uglies and floating pieces of poop. You've never gotten a better compliment in your life. Put it on the blog."
Hmmmm, I wonder if goddesses fall off couches. I guess so...

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