Fake Personalities, Fake Lips, Fake Boobs

I'll be the first to admit when a night has a strong possibility of be a coin toss. In the style of Dickens, it could either be the best of nights or the worst of nights. If the title of this entry didn't tip you off immediately, I'll tell my story and let you be the judge:

Wiping off the condensation off my mirror post shower, I looked at my reflection and knew I couldn't do a night like this on my own. At least I wasn't completely prepared to go into battle solo. In a last ditch effort, I call my friend Dave and ask him to join me. Knowing that he is very outgoing and can always make an adventure out of any situation, he is my best bet for survival. He agrees to join me and we take off to the west side.

The girl's birthday (Catrina) starts off with in her apartment before heading out to The W. Getting our ducks in a row, Dave and I pass a half G of Trader Joe's Vodka of the Gods back and forth before shaking off our nerves and stepping into the party.

I've always said that you can predict how fun the night will be based on the first 30 seconds you step into the scene. Immediately my eyes are drawn to 4 to 5 older women. Much older. Like say... 39 - 43? And I've seen more conservative attire on the El Centro prostitutes. And they all had fake, fake breasts falling out of their paper mache' tops. I give Dave a weak smile and pour him a shot.

Catrina gives me a quick hug and helps Dave and I transition into meeting her friends (remember, we know absolutely no one here), but most people aren't in the mood for chit chat. People are here to drink. Dave and I take our places against a wall and observe.

"I have never met a weirder crowd than this," says Dave.
"I know, I know. But we haven't give it a chance yet. Give it another 20 and we'll see."

More people pour into the party. A few more urban cougs stroll in and squeal with delight when they see their other friends. Imagine very stereotypical teenage girls from the Valley... but moms. With fake breasts. And collagen pumped into their lips. Another trendy couple shows up and they paw each other affectionately the entire time. Although our age, the girl's breasts are not real.

With the Vodka of the Gods coursing through my veins, I want to find out how some of these woman are friends with Catrina (who has just turned 24). I saddle up right next to two woman in deep discussion. They turn to me and flash me their best pearly smiles.

"So how do you know Catrina?"
"Oh. Catrina used to babysit my son."
"Uh huh... and you?"
The platinum blond pulls out a stick of gum from her Louis Vuitton purse, pops it into her mouth with a flick of her wrist and begins to smack loudly. She looks up with a look of confusion. As if I have thrown her completely off guard.
"Oh me?! I just know Catrina through my friend here. Hey what time is it? Aren't the clubs going to close pretty soon? I need to dance tonight."

I've hit a brick wall. I look to Dave for support but he returns my glance with raised eyebrows. In other words, "Let's get the fuck out of here and salvage the rest of our night."

I make up some excuse on why we have to leave before joining them at The W and Dave and I are out the door.

Perhaps next time.