catcall

Purse-alicious

I was in LA this weekend with Amanda. She had to buy clothes for her new boutique Paperdoll and I needed to get outta Seattle and feel the sun on my skin. We stayed at The Standard in Downtown LA but despite being in the heart of such verdant and lush famous-personville, our lone celebrity siting of the weekend occurred at SeaTac.

As we dragged our pathetic coach class asses past the leather seated royalty in the first class section (I've sat in first class once on my life. ONCE.), I caught eye with a pasty pale, cleft-chinned, sunglasses wearin' wannabe and thought: that's the soon-to-be (former-Paris-Hilton-sidekick-now-a-tragic-little-waif-who-needs-a-sandwich) Mr. Nicole Ritchie. He was spinning at Element Friday night and apparently wanted to get the hell out of Seattle as soon as possible (it was a 6:30 a.m. flight) because he must have missed his lil' lady.

Saturday night was a great night. We went to Adam's apartment in West Hollywood where he insisted on being the host with the most and treated us like royalty: cocktails and dinner. Thank you Adam. Chris Dryer the Writer, Sarah With a Cup Full o Stoli, and Eric "Art Bar" from Vegas arrived ... and thus began the walking and wandering and total sensory overload of a night in LA during Gay Pride Weekend.

The cherry on top of this night went down in a club called GirlBar (yes, all girls all the time) when Adam insisted that Amanda and I just shouldn't even consider trying to dance while holding our handbags. Ever the gentleman, he graciously stepped in and removed our bags from our shoulders then promptly dissappeared into the crowded dance floor leaving us to shake our groove thangs unencumbered.

Much much later later later, the thought occured to us: "Where are our purses?". We squirmed our way through the all girls all the time crowd. I look up in shock and awe of His Utter Amazingness. Off in the distance, Adam is shaking his moneymaker on a raised stage overlooking the entire club, strobe lights strobing, shirtless, sweating, and dancing like his life depended on it with A PURSE ON EACH SHOULDER. He had the routine, the moves, the vibe. He was on fire. Check out the fire. Careful, don't get burned.



Hold my handbag and you have my heart baby.

posted by gracegow @ 10:15 AM