She's Downstairs Getting Her Pasties On

First things first. Today is my birthday. I’m sure I’ve told you 26 times, which, coincidentally, is my new improved age, but I don’t care. Your birthday only comes once a year, and I will shove it down your throat whether you want me to or not (most likely: or not). Anyway, thanks for the love, if you’ve give me some, and if you haven’t: friendship cancelled. BTW: I was so glad to see the presence of several great San Diego-ans over the weekend, and Mark, I’m calling you out, you suck. But anyway, enough of that. The weekend was fantastic. And, DJ No Beer, I don’t know what we’ll do when you go abroad and we lose “our” beach house, it will be a sad day indeed, and I’m hoping that someone will be able to fill this void with a new Manhattan house so I can continue to play.

Anyway, I could do a weekend in review type thing, but I’d much just show a couple pictures that recap my Saturday (beach by day, bar by night) and than discuss my Sunday afternoon which was one of the weirdest days of my twenty-SIX-year-old life. Last week I wrote about a 1) beta-fish-eating friend (he’s ok), 2) a random guy at work who divulged his entire life story to me (and he just called and invited me to lunch on Wed, won’t that be fun), and 3) a v. Hollywood pool party. Picking up where we I left off, I absolutely MUST share more detail of #3.

First, a recap of the “guest” policy: “To be clear, the criteria for “quality” should go far beyond physical beauty and generally include whatever criteria you would use in selecting guests for your own high-end private functions.” I must say, I don’t think anyone bothered to read this guest policy. I have never in my life seen so many coked-out (I don’t KNOW if they were coked out but they must have been b/c no one acts like that without the influence of drugs), skanked-up, girls gone wild at one single pool.

Let’s set the scene: Sunday afternoon, 3pm. Roll up to party, held at wicked-awesome mansion in Hollywood Hills. Walk down to pool deck. I’ve never actually been on the set of a rap video, but I’ve watched enough to comfortably say that they might film at these Sunday pool parties. The men: a sea of True Religion jeans, D&G sunglasses, wife beaters, and bling bling bling – mostly motionless, just staring at the women. The women: fake breasts, fake butts (yes! I swear!), Brazilian cut bikini bottoms, 6 inch heels, and pasties – gyrating around the pool deck. I said pasties. White leather couches, white tables topped with buckets of Moet. There are two things to note here: a) why are the men wearing SO much clothing, and the women, SO little? B) Why are the women wearing pasties?

I can’t answer the first question. I can address the second. One deck below the pool, they were doing free manicures, free haircuts, and free massages (and the massages kicked ass). They also had a body painting station, where women would remove their tops and get their arms/chests/back painted with crazy paint and then have their little boobies topped off with feathered pasties. Please don’t even ask me if I partook. I may have done some stupid shit in my life, and I’m no prude, but I do keep my clothes on. Or at least my bikini.

It was a really distracting scene. You didn’t WANT to stare, you didn’t even want to LOOK, but you could not help it. How do you talk to a woman when she’s wearing pasties? Like, we were taking a picture of us (btw, most of the pics we took were in fact attempts to get other people doing weird shit in the background caught on film) and this woman walks up to Mana and is like, “want me to take it for you so you can get in?” Like, it’s totally normal for her to just be hanging out in pasties. But it’s really not!! Maybe in bizarre-o world it is…so maybe we were in bizarre-o world…I just really don’t know anymore.

Anyway, my favorite was this one girl that I’m fairly certain was getting paid. She was wearing quintessential stripper shoes (6 in spike stilettos, clear Lucite heels, clear toe strap), a “skirt” that was perhaps 3 inches long…and…I won’t use the word again. She was dancing like a stripper and she didn’t stop man. She was like a machine. Her #1 dance move: she flips into a handstand, and then does the splits while in the handstand, and then flips out into a backbend. She’s like 2 feet away from us. I also liked this one chick who was wearing a long skirt and a long halter and she was dancing by herself for hours on end. At one point she hopped into the pool, fully clothed, danced more, and then got right back out and continued to dance in her soaking clothes.

Wow, I just can’t do this thing justice. I’m trying, I’m really trying, to paint a picture, but this place just can’t be put in words. It was too ridiculous. I know what you’re thinking: “why were you there? It sounds rather atrocious!” It, at points, was. But, you just couldn’t pull your eyes away from the scene around you. I think that one of Mana’s friend said it well, when, near the end of the day when were sitting in the hot tub, she announced that if a midget in a cowboy outfit came out on a unicycle and then started having sex with the stripper woman on the pool deck, she would be neither surprised nor shocked. That was the essence of the day. It was absolutely fantastic people watching. And I think that people watching falls into my top 10 and maybe top 5 pastimes. And that, that made the day worth it. I like to think of it as a broadening experience, considering that it was the first time I’d worn a sundress and makeup to a “pool” party and then felt supremely out place b/c I kept my bikini top ON (and it was Abercrombie…not Versace) and wore flip flops instead of heels.

Well, that’s pretty much all I have to say about that. But, rest assured, I’ll be sure to write about it should I ever again attend another Hollywood pasties party.