2004-03-01

Hello, Booboos. Last Thursday night I went out with a few folks for a friend's tiny, upscale party at a little classy valet parking joint. She was taking us out, even though it was her birthday, because she had money. Who are we to argue?

By the time we arrived, about twenty minutes late, the ladies had already done some work on the first bottle of red wine. We ordered a white (my preference, mostly because of the skanky black teeth and lip-liner Halloween ghoul look I acquire with red) and kept on chugging. 3 bottles of white, 4 bottles of red, 3 orders of oysters, a tar tar, snacks and 4 hours later, she asked for the check.

She had told the waiter when we arrived to let her know when she reached $200. The bill was $650. Uh oh.

The problem? One girl ordered the red but birthday girl approved the wine brought out. Somewhere, there was miscommunication. Whether the wrong wine was ordered or the wrong wine was brought, we'll never know, but the green light was given, and everybody guzzled four $75 bottles of wine.

So that was a problem. Not a big "we're not paying, let's make a run for it" problem, but a "how could the waiter do that" problem, which personally I disagree with because you should always know what you're ordering and always confirm that it is the same as what's brought. But I kept my mouth shut, cause he still didn't utter a word when we surpassed the $200 stop sign.

Thus, the evening ended on a sour note. At least she liked her presents!

On Sunday, my drummer and I rocked out a wicked set for our friend's tenth birthday. Or so she'd like us to say. Leap year's babies can get away with it, especially on their, ahem, 40th. The drunken guests were suckers for the tunes, the accordion song passed without major incident (during rehearsal the day before, I forgot to unlatch the bottom half, which makes for a v-shaped accordion. No no.), and it was decreed (by me) a smashing success.

I was home by nine, relatively sober and exhausted.

Cheers to my favorite Hollywood boy toy of them all, Tim Robbins, who had some effective, worldly comments. But high five to the surfer dude gone introspective ex-con, Sean Penn, and his clear and clean announcement that there are, in fact, no WMD's. Fuck fictitious presidents! (Shoutout to Michael Moore!)