Boredom Leads to Stealing

Saturday night—party night international. Early last week I got an invitation for a Big Brother friend’s party from someone who is quite well known for being a friend’s crush. I was on the fence about the whole affair but decided that I should at least go and give it a try for no other reason that what else would I do? So Shelly, Lola, Lizzie and Bess made plans to hit the party and see what kind of fun we could get into.

Besides a late start, due to many a female fashion crisis, we headed off to the strange land that is Silverlake after picking up a couple bottles of fun. We found rockstar parking—thanks to Lizzie and the no sex—and after a bit of confusion we eventually found the right house and made our entrance. And wanted to leave as soon as we did.

The party was lame—not just kind of dull or slow but just lame. The host wasn’t as hotte as we remembered, the people all classic Hollywood types with the too old dressed too hip in full effect and just awkward to boot. I spent the majority of the party in the kitchen with Lola catching up then anything else. Of course, Lizzie and Shelly worked the room rockstar style while Bess drank and Lola and I took turns smoking. Excitement personified.

After what seemed like forever we finally made our excuses and headed out to find some other adventure. We ended up at the Bigfoot Lodge—emo to the extreme—and sat around sipping beers, snapping photographs, and making smack talk. I felt a bit out of sorts without any black on or poetry to cry over but it actually worked out well.

The high point was Lola and I making fun of a boy that Lizzie and Bess brought back to our table; I don’t want to be mean but the boy looked like someone we know and once pointed out—let’s say the flirtation stopped. Of course the boy deserved it for telling Lizzie that she was too old—he was too much wrong for us to deal with.

Once his exit was made we continued with the paparazzi action until the bar hit last call. It was at this point that I noticed a yellow parasol next to us and I joked that I should swipe it since it was obviously deserted. I was told by the ladies (those paying attention) that I shouldn’t and I wouldn’t get away with it.

So of course I slid off my jacket and wrapped the parasol up in it as we were leaving. This caused much amusement for the ladies—because not only was it a big gay gold parasol but because I pulled it off. I was feeling proud of my theft skills and my girl gang of accomplices until it was decided to take photos with said stolen parasol in the parking lot of said bar I swiped it from. No hardened criminals here.

Of course the moral of the story is don’t make me bored—or I’ll steal stuff. And what to do with big gay parasol? I’ll find someone more deserving and just pass it on it’s merry little way. It’s bad karma to have stolen goods.