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Saturday, May 4, 2013

The after party

Well, I was right that there was no fan.  There were a few fabulous people and a lot of wannabe fabulous people.  And a lot of very short people.

At the beginning of the night my friend and I were sitting on a fancy sofa talking and this guy walked up and took our picture.  He must've though we were models.  He was from China, they have excellent taste there.

One of my favorite parts of the night was pointing out the actual models.  It was like being a kid on a road trip and trying to find the most Volkswagen bugs.  Except, instead of cars, it was ridiculously skinny women with painted faces and weird hair that either looked like it had been through a wind tunnel and sprayed in place or wrapped around a Ho Ho on top of their heads and sprayed in place.

We spent the majority of the night on the dance floor, though.  There were photographers all over and a few of them danced with us, but they took pictures of the women all around us.  I said to my friend, "They all want to dance with us, but no one wants to take our picture.  I guess they can tell we're not models!"  She said, "We must look like the escorts!"  Fine with me.  Escorts get to eat.

At one point, some dum-dum grabbed our hands and started dancing us around.  My friend was able to escape his grip and go talk to this cute guy who I thought was gay but turned out to be German (the whole European thing threw off my gaydar), so I was stuck with Grippy McBreak My Hands.  I had to keep saying, "Please don't hold my fingers so tight!" and, "You are going to break my fingers!" and, "When you dance with a lady, you need to loosen your grip on her hand!  You are squeezing the fuck out of my fingers!"  Finally, I took a few of his fingers in my hand and squeezed the shit out them to show him how it felt.  I said, "That's what you're doing to my fingers!  You need to hold a lady's hand like you would hold a piece of fruit.  Be gentle or you'll crush it!" He started to mumble something about making excuses, but was interrupted by a phone call so I took my chance to escape.


So, to sum up my first fashion event after party, I didn't have gorgeous, straight men vying for my attention, but I also didn't bump into anything or trip over my own feet.  I'm counting that as a win!

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