hiccup
Returned from the Pulp Cocktail Party at the trying-to-be-swank Deja Vu lounge. Typing is difficult. Free drinks and food are easy. Good conversation with Shanley about…crap. Cool people that I met: Lynne Margolis, Alice Winn, Alexei Somethingsomething, Matt Somethingrandomhipster, Tim Somebodyrandomsciencewriter, BJ Somebodywearingbaggyjeans, Steve SoontobeRollingStoneintern (bite me), Shawn (Sean?) Israel, Shawn Brackbill. Shawn Brackbill. Met the guy and he apparently forgot me minutes later. At the end of the night as I was saying my goodbyes I said to Shawn, “Nice meeting you.” His response? “Um, I don't think we met…” Who's the lightweight now, motherfucker? I looked at his mouth real hard and said, “Aren't you Shawn?” “Yeah…” “Well, I'm Kelly and we met earlier.” “Oh…” I then went on some self-deprecating drunken apology for him because I'm an idiot. Fucking hipster photographers. You're lucky you're cute. Oh well.
Anyway. I love my boyfriend but I have to admit that I'm a little disappointed that he wasn't up for the secretish De La Soul Concert this evening. What the hell? I looked cute, too. Sort of. The too-big-slightly-dumpy denim skirt kind of killed it. But who am I kidding? I'm tired as hell. I guess I'm getting back at him for last night's dirty rice breath with my Absolut Citron breath.
Must go to bed. Drink water. Avoid hangover.
Love,
Carrie Bradshaw/Donatella Versace/belligerent hag
