I love having friends who refuse to blow sunshine up my ass. That would encompass most of my true friends. We just don’t bullshit one another, and as a result, have a level of trust and camaraderie that a lot of folks just don’t understand. I find it epically awesome. Not your ordinary awesome, but like gold star, highlighted in glitter pen “AWESOME.”
My girl Cat is in town, and I have missed her like crazy. You’ve probably read blogs about this friendship, our escapades when we spent 3 nights a week at Dallas Nite Club because we had $5.00 between us and they had a queso bar so we could eat. Also, we never had to buy our own beer. We’d stand at the bar, give each other a kiss, and suddenly the shots and long necks would start coming our way. That’s is a whole other story. She’s one of the most direct, funny, kick ass people on the planet. If you haven’t read her blog, you’re missing out. I suggest you do so, as soon as you’re done reading mine.
Yesterday, she came over to get ready so we could head downtown to attend a launch party for a new magazine she contributes to. I couldn’t decide what dress I wanted to wear, so I was trying on a couple. I put on my new little hot pink number, and showed her.
Cat – “I don’t like it.”
Me – “Really? I love this dress.”
Cat – “I like it too. But not on you tonight.”
Me – “Do I look fat? Does it make my boobs look stupid?”
Cat – “No. You look like you grubbed on queso and enchiladas at 1am last night, and I know you’re going to be a raving bitch if you have to a)wear spanx under it in 100 degree heat or b)suck in all night so you don’t see a picture of yourself and jump in front of a train.”
Me – “Good point… let’s try the little black one!”
This is the kind of brutal honesty I appreciate about my friend. She would not let me leave the house in something I wasn’t going to completely rock. So the hot pink dress has been shelved for a later date (hopefully a DATE date), and I left in a sexy black dress that did not require some sort of foundation garment. Because let’s be real, had I needed to wear Spanx under my dress, I would have been crabby.
So we go to this party, walking 4 blocks in 5″ hooker heels. (Side note: I did not fall down once) On the way to the event, we pass by a patio where there are some boring looking women drinking wine and trying to be snarky to the passersby. Me, being used to people staring at me when I go places, especially when I’m 6’3″ in hooker heels and have hot pink hair and people are wondering if I’m a tranny, didn’t notice. Cat, on the other hand has Spidey sense when it comes to other women being bitchtastic, hears them say something about us. What does she do? She stops, turns to them with “the look” and goes “Problem? Issue? No? I didn’t think so.” I turn back, and these girls are sitting there with their glasses of Chardonnay and sensible shoes, slack jawed that the Amazon blonde verbally bitch slapped them. See why I love this girl? During this short walk, not one, not two, but three people said something about my hair. And, as I find happens every time I leave the home and interact with the general public, one of them said “You have pink hair.” Wow. Thank you Captain Obvious. I think I’m going to start telling people I see on the street “You’re wearing a t-shirt” or “You have male pattern baldness.” You know, just in case they weren’t aware.
We get to the party, meet a few people, I buy a $3.00 Topo Chico because I love me some fizzy water and I was dehydrated after my cross town hike in strappy fuck me shoes. Party was “meh” so we decide we’d rather go have a beer at the Mean Eyed Cat, then find some Mexican food somewhere. (Again, thank you dear friend for not letting me wear the clingy pink number that would have been all kinds of tight in the wrong places after yet another meal of queso.)
On the way back to the car (four blocks AGAIN in the *@*$&^% shoes), we stop to chat with the valet attendant, because well, we’re friendly. Cat turns, catches the heel of her leopard print peep toe stiletto on a manhole cover, starts to go down, does this amazing Jackie Chan spin, hits the corner of a brick on the walkway, almost goes down again, catches herself, crouches, turns, and lands ON HER FEET in the gravel surrounding a planter. Fan Freaking Tastic! I applauded her. Some dude driving by honked. Her reaction “I just sprained my pride. Fuck off.”
The topics of conversation last night included:
■Cabbage Patch Feet
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