1.29.2005
Can't Buy Me Love
But I can buy me two pairs of shoes, two pairs of boots, a cashmere scarf and a pair of jeans. Ahhh...that's better.
So Thursday night I ventured out - sans Puppy, K or Just Joe - to a couple of media parties with my friend M who is in PR. The first event was at some ridiculous Scottsdale gallery with the world's most bland art. But the salmon petit-fours were amazing and they poured a decent glass of wine. M of course looked adorable as she is petite and 27 years old. She can't help it. I looked English Mum-like (I kept thinking of Shaun's mom from Shaun of the Dead - yes, I have issues) in my pinstripe button-down, suede jacket, dark brown work trousers and black patent mary janes. Ooh, I am a Man Magnet, don't you know.
Anyhoo, we shmoozed and mocked and I met the editor of this new, painful "hotel" magazine that the party was launching. It's like all these advertorials about local boutiques and spas and then "features" on cacti and salsa. I shite you not. The editor, however, was a pretty cool chick. A little loopy. Tall. Sandra Bernhard-ish. But also a fan of downtown Phoenix's ratty old Bikini Lounge - the only remaining tiki bar in the state. So of course I adored her.
Then it was on to the next shindig, in THE MALL. In a jewelry store. The kind of place that does all that suspension stuff where diamonds are smashed in between the platinum with just enough force that they don't require a setting and they won't roll off your hand into a gutter somewhere. Or whatever. They served pink champagne, and though we were packed into a very small space with a fairly large number of people, the bubbles took the edge off quite nicely.
And my little Editor Crush from (I can't tell you) Magazine was there. Looking adorable. And with his girlfriend. ARG! She was so plain jane-ish, I was so much cuter. I am so much cuter. He saw me and was like "Hey! Dive-bar girl!" That part, not so much, but at least I was remembered. Sigh. I wound up talking to him for about 40% of the time we were there, but of course there was that girlfriend thing milling about, being very serious, so he couldn't laugh with me as much as I think he should have - ha ha. Found out he's a vegetarian - right after I told him how delicious my steak was last Saturday night. Hm. But he's generous, too, as he bought the primster girlie a lovely ring. Hum. And M and this other girl were like "he is adorable" - so since I have the Stamp of Girl-proval I am officially setting this guy as my Bar for Dating. Rowr.
The party-goers...man, I have to give them their due. There were a few Cougars mixed in with the "Everybody Wear Black" crowd, and the people who own the store are these oddly Sprockets-like Germans with accents and rimless glasses. Two of them pounced on this poor Coug in a horrible red sweater - made her try on this angular and avant-garde steel necklace that was basically wires with balls on the ends bent into a square. The poor Cougstress kept trying to make it land comfortably on her collarbones, and asking her friends, "Is this me? I don't think it's me," and basically crying for help, but the Germans insisted it was pefect. Senor Sprockets told her, in his thick Germanic accent, "Look at huhhh...she iz wearing ze necklace and it looks faaaabulous," and from behind him apparated this petite black-clad woman out of the crowd, who then very dramatically pulled back the extraordinarily large lapels on her (black, natch) shirt and exposed another version of the bizarro necklace, her pointy face and rimless glasses showing no sign of emotion. Or life. What a saleswoman! Totally creepshow.
Anyhoo, afterward M and I headed down to this righteous dive bar down the street that still had its cracktacular xmas lights blazing, and had yet another drink, talked about sex and feminine hygiene (no, I'm not kidding, but they weren't on the same theme, so that made it okay) and fended off lame advances from the intoxicated dudes at the next table. Ah, life.
Last night I stayed home and watched a horrible movie - "Silver City" - and finished it, though usually when a flick is that bad I veto it asap. I was compelled. I don't know why. Tonight I am either going to a gay bar with Just Joe and K or to what the Puppy promises to be an "epic" punk show - this band called Avail. Sounds fishy to me. Sounds skinheady. If the Germans from the jewelry store are there I'm going to lose my lunch.
Alisa Out!
So Thursday night I ventured out - sans Puppy, K or Just Joe - to a couple of media parties with my friend M who is in PR. The first event was at some ridiculous Scottsdale gallery with the world's most bland art. But the salmon petit-fours were amazing and they poured a decent glass of wine. M of course looked adorable as she is petite and 27 years old. She can't help it. I looked English Mum-like (I kept thinking of Shaun's mom from Shaun of the Dead - yes, I have issues) in my pinstripe button-down, suede jacket, dark brown work trousers and black patent mary janes. Ooh, I am a Man Magnet, don't you know.
Anyhoo, we shmoozed and mocked and I met the editor of this new, painful "hotel" magazine that the party was launching. It's like all these advertorials about local boutiques and spas and then "features" on cacti and salsa. I shite you not. The editor, however, was a pretty cool chick. A little loopy. Tall. Sandra Bernhard-ish. But also a fan of downtown Phoenix's ratty old Bikini Lounge - the only remaining tiki bar in the state. So of course I adored her.
Then it was on to the next shindig, in THE MALL. In a jewelry store. The kind of place that does all that suspension stuff where diamonds are smashed in between the platinum with just enough force that they don't require a setting and they won't roll off your hand into a gutter somewhere. Or whatever. They served pink champagne, and though we were packed into a very small space with a fairly large number of people, the bubbles took the edge off quite nicely.
And my little Editor Crush from (I can't tell you) Magazine was there. Looking adorable. And with his girlfriend. ARG! She was so plain jane-ish, I was so much cuter. I am so much cuter. He saw me and was like "Hey! Dive-bar girl!" That part, not so much, but at least I was remembered. Sigh. I wound up talking to him for about 40% of the time we were there, but of course there was that girlfriend thing milling about, being very serious, so he couldn't laugh with me as much as I think he should have - ha ha. Found out he's a vegetarian - right after I told him how delicious my steak was last Saturday night. Hm. But he's generous, too, as he bought the primster girlie a lovely ring. Hum. And M and this other girl were like "he is adorable" - so since I have the Stamp of Girl-proval I am officially setting this guy as my Bar for Dating. Rowr.
The party-goers...man, I have to give them their due. There were a few Cougars mixed in with the "Everybody Wear Black" crowd, and the people who own the store are these oddly Sprockets-like Germans with accents and rimless glasses. Two of them pounced on this poor Coug in a horrible red sweater - made her try on this angular and avant-garde steel necklace that was basically wires with balls on the ends bent into a square. The poor Cougstress kept trying to make it land comfortably on her collarbones, and asking her friends, "Is this me? I don't think it's me," and basically crying for help, but the Germans insisted it was pefect. Senor Sprockets told her, in his thick Germanic accent, "Look at huhhh...she iz wearing ze necklace and it looks faaaabulous," and from behind him apparated this petite black-clad woman out of the crowd, who then very dramatically pulled back the extraordinarily large lapels on her (black, natch) shirt and exposed another version of the bizarro necklace, her pointy face and rimless glasses showing no sign of emotion. Or life. What a saleswoman! Totally creepshow.
Anyhoo, afterward M and I headed down to this righteous dive bar down the street that still had its cracktacular xmas lights blazing, and had yet another drink, talked about sex and feminine hygiene (no, I'm not kidding, but they weren't on the same theme, so that made it okay) and fended off lame advances from the intoxicated dudes at the next table. Ah, life.
Last night I stayed home and watched a horrible movie - "Silver City" - and finished it, though usually when a flick is that bad I veto it asap. I was compelled. I don't know why. Tonight I am either going to a gay bar with Just Joe and K or to what the Puppy promises to be an "epic" punk show - this band called Avail. Sounds fishy to me. Sounds skinheady. If the Germans from the jewelry store are there I'm going to lose my lunch.
Alisa Out!
