Sunday, September 28, 2008

Paris Hilton would be jealous.

This weekend, Jackie Kennedy (Onassis) was spotted dancing with Marilyn Monroe to a honky tonk band. If you were curious about the concept of two deceased women, who were not the best of friends, might have been dancing the night away in an Alaskan bar (the Alaskan) to a band called Honky Tonk Habit, you should rest assured that the zombie uprising is not upon us.

For my Hollywood party, my darling friend, Miss C dressed up as Marilyn Monroe, platinum wig, beauty mark, and all. I dressed up old Hollywood glam, which actually turned out to be very Jackie O. Looks like, even in costume, I can't escape politics.

At first, things were looking bad. Miss D called me about decorating. How it hadn't been done. I texted the usual decorators and they were MIA. Miss J wasn't even going to make it to the fete. I realized that, between the time I got off work and the time the party was set to begin, I would have to decorate the bar and myself. This would have been less of a daunting task had I not crawled out of bed that morning just in time to put on clothing and a hat and trudge to work with a mild hangover. Or had I not canvassed all day and come back damp and sore-footed with terrible hat hair. But alas, I accomplish things, that is just what I do.

I invented the star bola. It increases decorating efficiency by allowing me to hang two stars at a time by throwing one end over something and then letting the similarly weighted stars keep them there hanging. Brilliant. Mr. E and his girlfriend, Miss D, Mr. K and I managed to hang sparkly stars (thanks Miss D for finishing those) and lay out the red carpet, leading to the bar. The place would have looked even nicer if the Lucky Lady had been open to serve its purpose as the trash receptacle for Juneau's ugly, creepy, drunks, but alas I can ignore them. I suggested hip hop as a music to drive them out, but by 10pm they are impervious to the world, so saturated with the liquor or cheap beer.

Miss C met me at the bar and we went back to my place to get ready. Miss T showed up as well, and we all headed to the party together, looking very sexy, indeed. Miss A was dressed like Mary Kate, Mr. L was a porn star, Miss L was a Hollywood hopeful... we had a great mix and a great crowd. Miss L and I consulted on music, even designing the most glorious Pandora station with the dance music I wish would get played at the Imp or the Viking. We didn't get to listen to it. I put on techno. That was awesome. Miss C and I drank champagne. And by champagne I mean Cook's.

The highlight at the 'Vous was that this drunk Coastie was trying so desperately to seduce me. He kept trying to kiss my cheek and tell me I was so beautiful and all sorts of things. I told him that behind my big sunglasses I only had one eye, and he said that was okay. He was adorable and probably a nice enough guy, but I wanted nothing to do with drunk hookup mode Coasties. When we finished the champagne we went to the Alaskan for some lovely live music and libations.

At the Alaskan, there was a lot of dancing. I even made Mr. CPP dance with me. I danced with Mr. S, who is a delightful person. I danced with Mr. SS, who is also wonderful in his very particular way. I danced until my leopard print pump clad feet were well past the point of feeling nice. In my last post, I mentioned a blog rating which will now go from PG 13 to R. I felt and looked good last night, and I mean, not to brag, but I looked really good. The Jackie O look apparently suits me. I wasn't the only one who thought this, because the drunk Coastie thought so, pretty sure Mr. CPP wasn't upset when I reached down his shirt to check if there was hair, and I even had someone say the dirtiest thing anyone has ever said to me, something like this: 'makes me want to take you into the bathroom and fuck you.' Oh my. Now, if you read this, you likely know me, and if you know me, you know that I'm no prude, but WOW. How does one respond to a comment like this? I didn't know, so I didn't say or do anything. For all that flirting I still went home by foot in my cute crocs which have taken me on many a canvass, with Miss C to crash in my messy room and stumble to work tired again the next day.

Friday night, though not quite as fashionable, was fun as well. We went out to eat in honor of the leaving Mr. C, played pool, and had a power hour. The boys did the power hour, I managed a half hour. We then went out, again placing me at the Alaskan to dance the night away with Mr. S, Mr. B, and various other misters. I narrowly avoided dancing with the oddest person I've ever seen. Imagine an older guy with a big mustache dressed in flashy gangster clothing. Surely, he must be a nice guy, but surely I do not want to throw myself into his arms. I wore my cowgirl boots out that night, in honor of Honky Tonk Habit, but the shoes are slick and the roads proved slick and I now sport a nice road rash on my left leg. I always slip in the same place, always with at least one car to witness my lack of grace. Oh well.

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