On occasion, my celebrity whoredom not only provides me with fabulous insights into the lives of people who, if they ever met me, would be really, really rude, but sometimes, gives me the inside scoop on glamorous hotspots I would have never been privy too. Apparently, Chandler Bing was recently spotted alone and wasted at a Members Only Club in San Francisco and somehow made an ass of himself.
Chandler popping painkillers solo: No surprise.
Lack of engraved invitation to join trendy club in my mailbox: Complete and utter shock.
The bitches at Otis, located at 25 Maiden Lane seemed to have missed my name on the fabulous list and are snubbing me. I’ve heard that old, “Oh, it got lost in the mail” bullshit before. Please. I invented it. But one would think the inclusion of a sassy career gal with knock-off handbags, an array of gay sidekicks and a penchant for the cheapest Chardonnay on the “by the glass” menu would add to the exclusivity of their joint, not take away from it. All these society types do is hang out with each other and overcompensate for the fact that they live in a tier two city. You’d think they’d want to mix it up.
Fine. Maiden Lane is old lady territory anyway. See if I care. I’ll start my own exclusive club. I wouldn’t be caught dead in Otis.
Unless, of course, it’s between 2 and 8pm, when the regular people are allowed in, in which case, I’m so there. I’ll just slip into the ladies at 7:45, while beefy security guards check people’s clothing labels and quality of haircuts and kick out the nobodies. I shall emerge at 8:15 to loosen up the Manolo crowd and add a little class to the joint. Maybe Chandler’ll buy me a drink…