Back in the day, Grey Cloud and I went out in the Marina with his roommate whom I'll call "Strippername." Strippername became so inebraited, I needed to pull her outside where she then tried to fight me.
Um, I don't fight. I'm from Mill Valley.
So I stopped and announced, "There is something to be said for being a lady!" and cabbed my classy self home.
Cut to present day.
Somehow, Thursday is the new Friday. I know Wednesday was the new Thursday, and then Tuesday was hot for awhile but these days, it's back to Thursday.
At least in Spotscisco.
Thus making Le Club my new Le Peach Pit, really only because Mel and I strolled in last night without a "ressie" and as we were stopped at the door, Colin casually announces in his fabulous British accent, "Oh, let them in. They're VIP's."
Shut up! The only other place I've been a VIP is Capp's Corner and that was years ago. I couldn't get a comped drink in that shithole if I paid for it these days.
Anyway, guess who was back last night?
After meeting Mr. X at A16, Mel and I headed up the hill and walked right in (again, VIPs).
"Mel. It's him."
"Le Douche. 3 o'clock."
He was working some chick, but looked over to acknowledge us.
"Hi." I offered, perfectly sober unlike him.
"Oh, hey. I know you. Where do I know you from?" He slurred.
"Um, you know us from here. And we share an alma mater. Remember?"
He then proceeded to trump his previous douchness tenfold.
I really don't understand how guys like this, obviously successful, relatively attractive assholes, think they're cool when they're sitting in a bar alone (albeit, a very cool bar) and say things like, "You know what's wrong with women your age? Your moms never taught you how to act like girls."
Hand to God, that's verbatim.
Um, you and your crooked tie are 2 inches from my face, spitting words at me and asking me what my friend's problem is while rubbing my back and telling me I have too many opinions. Whose mom is the fuck up now, Le Douche?
Although, I can see his point.
Earlier in the evening, as Mel and I were walking down Chestnut Street (go fig), a beautiful, well-dressed woman walking immediately behind us suddenly vomited GALLONS (and I mean GALLONS) onto the sidewalk. We actually stared, then like the well-bred ladies we are, grabbed each other's arm and left that tacky bitch on the sidewalk alone where she belongs...