I was talking to Big Chris last night, and he admitted that Monday was his favorite day to read my "daily diary" because he could hear all about my madcap weekends filled with booze, boys, and constant humiliation. While the holiday season is upon us, and I've got parties up the wazoo, there were no major hilarities this weekend. Maybe, I'm losing my touch.
Friday night was a party at Mercedes, where I did one Jell-O shot and called it a night. Saturday was a fabulous party at Janine's, where the only excitement was when angry neighbors threw eggs at us and we returned fire with apples. Also "Itty Bitty" (Amanda) caused the greatest party foul by losing control of her dance moves and knocking my huge goblet of wine over. While I don't recall this, I apparently screamed, "Damn you, Itsey Bitsey! That was the last of the good wine!"
Sunday began with brunch at Foreign Cinema with Gert, Joe, and Joe's fabulous new boyfriend, Robert. The highlight of brunch was when Joe and I were told that our scrambled eggs would be served "medium rare." Uh, okay. We spent the rest of the afternoon drinking at Lime, where I had my first white cosmo and some bathroom trouble.
I headed back to the ladies for a touch up, and found the door to be locked. I did the requisite knock and heard the standard, "Someone's in here." Thus, like a civilized person, I patiently waited until the inhabitant exited. I, in turn, enter the ladies and lock the door. No sooner had I sat down (because yes, Chris, girls sit when they pee) than I hear someone trying the door. No knock. Just frustrated fumbling. I then hear a woman angrily ask a waiter, "Is there a key for this bathroom because the door won't open!"
"Well, Ma''am, someone's probably in there. It's a single use bathroom.”
With that, she bangs on the door and screams, “There’s a line out here!”
This is all over the course of 30 seconds. Clearly, she was dealing with an “emergency” situation. We’ve all been there, but I like to think I would have handled the situation with a little more grace and tact. Thus, I took my time. I reapplied make-up. I played with my hair. I re-washed my hands. Finally, I emerged, to find an exasperated looking lesbian. “All yours.” I smile and walk away, hearing her mutter under her breath, “Fuckin’ girls!”
My weekend ended with a fabulous and huge cocktail party thrown by a friend of my parents. Hosted by a gay Republican lobbyist, the guests consisted of San Francisco’s political elite and gay, gay men. It was fascinating and wonderful to see my father at the bar, standing next to a Superior Court Judge and a leather daddy.
So, gang… no hooking up with ethnic DJ’s, no falling down stairs, no handicapped boyfriends. Just a simple bathroom altercation with a lesbian...