Ten years ago today, I was in Los Angeles on Spring Break with three of my friends from graduate school. One of the girls had just recently dropped out of grad school and had moved to West Hollywood. She lived in a one room…place, I suppose you might call it an apartment. The place was incredibly tiny and consisted of a main room, a kitchoset (you know, a kitchen closet…duh), and an itty bitty bathroom. She had no furniture, except for a twin bed. Needing a place to
pass out sleep, we bought Baywatch air mattresses intended for lounging at a pool to sleep on. Not exactly a Holiday Inn, but back then our 22 year old bodies could handle a few nights of sleeping on a plastic, air-filled tubing.
Being St. Patrick’s Day, we made plans to go out on the town to drink green beer and meet cute boys. It was difficult for the four of us to get ready with the one itty bitty bathroom, we depended on one another to tell us if we had on too much blush or if our hair was sticking up. I had forgotten to bring something green to wear, but luckily one of the other girls had a lime green tank top that she let me borrow. I couldn’t wear a bra with it, but my friends assured me that I looked fine without it. We checked one another out before leaving the apartment and decided that we all looked HAWT.
Our first stop was the Santa Monica Pier. The evening started off well with lots of guys looking at me and flirting. This was kind of a rarity since two of the my friends were drop dead gorgeous and typically garnered most of the hotties’ attention. “Wow!,” I thought to myself. “I really must look extra good tonight.” After many, many drinks (and even more attention from cute boys..because me? HOT!), we realized we were all too drunk to drive anywhere. We’d heard that there was an Irish pub nearby that not surprisingly was throwing a St. Patrick’s Day party. Being responsible women, and too drunk to drive, we decided to catch a ride in a limo with some strange men that offered to give us a lift. Genius, right? *ahem*
Luckily we arrived at the Irish pub unharmed and unmolested and were greeted by a little person in a leprechaun costume taking the cover charge. We paid our $20 cover and entered a bar so packed, I was sure I’d be trampled. But since it was St. Patrick’s Day, we stayed and had a few green beers that we held very close to our bodies and drank by little sips without moving or bumping into to mass around us. Eventually we got a table and were joined by some guys (who were totally checking me out!). They must have assumed we were wanna-be actresses because they claimed to be screenwriters and wanted to send us their screenplays.
When we finally had heard enough from our “screenwriter” friends, we decided to leave and go dancing. I don’t particularly like to dance, but since I’d been drinking, dancing sounded AWESOME. Rather than risk our lives with strange men in limos again, we took a cab to the Sunset Strip. We paid another $20 cover and entered a place that was filled with gorgeous people. I felt completely out of place, but nevertheless was getting attention from lots of guys. I couldn’t believe how HOT I looked! Even though I had been to the bathroom lots times that evening, I mean, HELLO! I had been DRINKING all night, this was the first place that had a bathroom with lots of lighting.
I looked in the mirror after using the facilities and finally figured out why I was getting so much attention.
You could see my b00bies right through the lime green tank top.
And that, my friends, is why you should never trust your friends when they’ve been drinking and tell you that you look good! Also, wear a bra!
Happy St. Patrick’s Day!