Jason went on a 3rd date Friday night with his latest waif-like fashionista. At midnight, he called and left the following message:
"I can't believe you're not answering your phone on a Friday at midnight. I had to end my date and now I have to tell you why. If you're out, I'll come meet you. Call me back."
I was so involved in Flipstick, I didn't hear my phone. I just got the scoop this morning. Apparently, after a fabulous dinner at Bacar and schmoozing at some Moma event, Jason decided to join Ms. $1600 Moschino dress at a dance club. It's a little shocking that Jason would agree to lower himself and actually enter The Fucking Roxbury or similar, but he had enjoyed some libations and wasn't going to say no to some charmer in a low cut dress, boobs or none.
At the club, sitting along the bar, this date begins to dance on her stool. Pumping her fists in the air, she finally screams, "It's like the music is your heartbeat!"