floozy industries

Bitchachi

I went to a friend's goodbye party the other night. My pal decided he'd come with me and then we’d go to this private bar place to meet up with some of his new friends. Before coming over he called me and suggested we dress fancy. So, I put on a gold ultra-suede shirt, some late 70s vintage shoes with 3 inch wooden spike heels, and 80s style make up. Everyone at the goodbye party was impressed with my fancy costume. I was lookin' pretty good!

When we got to the private club bar, I didn't look costumed anymore. I kept wondering why I felt so comfortable and dawned on me that I was dressed like everyone else. Apparently, all I need to do to be in fashion is to put on a costume. Good to know. I have some old sequin leotards and tutus in the closet I’ll have to get out for my next trip downtown.

I was introduced to a few people in the crowd of about 10 or 12. They seemed tipsy but nice enough. After a couple of beers everyone decided to go over to the fashion party at the Levis flagship store. Our group surged up to the velvet ropes and we all got in without any trouble. The store was filled to the brim with drunken fashionable yuppies. Three floors of them dancing with pants racks and tables of folded v-necks. Cramming up to makeshift bars. It was totally lame, but I totally had fun, and my feet were totally starting to hurt.

At 2:00 we all shuffled out on to Stockton Street and all stood around in a group. I was chatting with my pal when one of the girls of the group pushed out the door and strutted right up to me. Out of the blue - out of NOWHERE, she says, "All the girls decided you’re a bitch... and we don’t like you." ... ...

I couldn't figure out what was going on, so I think I just said something witty like, "Uh... Ok." Meanwhile everyone in the group suddenly noticed some smudges on the toes of their shoes. She went on to explain that I hadn't whooped in celebration when the other girls whooped. She started to point out the other girls and tell me which had said it first (this was followed by a lot mouths silently saying "SORRY!" behind her). Finally, I thanked her for letting me know, and walked a few feet away. I thought maybe I was on camera. Or in 9th grade. She continued explaining to everyone how I was a bitch and why it was important for her to tell me, in fact, she was like, doing me a favor! I continued to stand a few feet away and look confused.

My pal asked if I wanted to leave, insisted he would leave with me, shocked by her behavior. I said no and we meandered with the group back to the private club bar. When we got there no one could get in... except me and my pal somehow. The other kids were out on the street. One of them came to get us and when we went out to join them, they were all hopping into cabs. On their way to her house. I looked at my pal, he looked at me. I shrugged my shoulders and I said, "Fuck it!" and I got into a cab and went to drink her liquor. Take that Bitchachi!

Epilogue:

Once we got to her place her tune had changed. Someone must have had a talk with her. She came up and grabbed my arm, talked about how we just didn't know each other then (way back then... an hour ago) but now we were friends! Now, I was the guest of honor!! She kept announcing it every few minutes. I kept ignoring her and trying to finish her Jack Daniels.

And that, my friends, is the story of how I was rejected by SF high society.

Posted by allison at September 7, 2005 10:32 PM