Where's Queenie?
Here are your clues...
While visiting this city I have:
1) seen 1 B-list current celeb with an older yet ageless wife, 1 has-been making a comeback with a very good plastic surgeon, and 1 recent divorcee whose split made him more famous than his now non-existent acting career.
2) eaten an endless lunch listening to a publicist in serious need of an eye lift drop names like Gretel with a bag of breadcrumbs
3) spent an entire evening trying to shake some drunk 22-year-old PR assistant whose limbs could have doubled for toothpicks.
Where was I.....Los Angeles, CA of course! This one was really too easy right? I mean, there is not another city in the world as simultaneously soul-less and superficial, where every third person is in "public relations," and not a one of them could relate to the public if their life depended on it. I mean you'd think the sun rose and set on a handful of stylists and life as we know it might cease to exist if a guestlist isn't properly alphabetized. Smoozing is the only skill required, though I think a few of the little assistants got "smoozing" confused with "boozing," cause by the end of the night I wasn't clear if they were forming complete sentences. Of course, it probably only took one glass of wine to have them good and shnockered seeing as how they all weighed about 90lbs. soaking wet. As the hors d'oeuvres tray passed and I grabbed yet another and the stick-figure declined yet again, she actually had the nerve to look at me with disappointment on her face and claim she was "allergic" to so many things she had to pass up the goodies. Honey, I hate to break it to ya, but being "allergic" to everything is called anorexia in all other parts of the world.
Not here in LA though. You would be shocked by the state of these folks. Every damn person who walked through the door had hot pink hair and at least one piece of leather clothing. Not that I give a shit, cause crazy folks spend money too, but I just don't understand why you'd put so much effort into lookin like a fool. They have all the latest fashions in studded collars and skull jewelry, and would be quite trendy if they were just a bit less scary. And at the prices they're paying for their lace-up attire, now that's what I call tragically hip.
It is truly another world out there, and one in which I hope to never spend more than 36 hours. Any place where half the people are employed to buy overpriced clothes for the other half just lacks too much morality for Queenie. I mean these "stylists" are basically girls and gay men who never outgrew their all-day mall stints from adolescence, and have decided to fashion a living out of bribes and gift bags.
Other than being sunny and 65 degrees, there wasn't a redeemable thing about LA, and I'm quite sure California would fair much better were the city to sink in the Pacific.
*** Key for #1: Ashton Kutcher, Bo Derek, Chad Lowe
While visiting this city I have:
1) seen 1 B-list current celeb with an older yet ageless wife, 1 has-been making a comeback with a very good plastic surgeon, and 1 recent divorcee whose split made him more famous than his now non-existent acting career.
2) eaten an endless lunch listening to a publicist in serious need of an eye lift drop names like Gretel with a bag of breadcrumbs
3) spent an entire evening trying to shake some drunk 22-year-old PR assistant whose limbs could have doubled for toothpicks.
Where was I.....Los Angeles, CA of course! This one was really too easy right? I mean, there is not another city in the world as simultaneously soul-less and superficial, where every third person is in "public relations," and not a one of them could relate to the public if their life depended on it. I mean you'd think the sun rose and set on a handful of stylists and life as we know it might cease to exist if a guestlist isn't properly alphabetized. Smoozing is the only skill required, though I think a few of the little assistants got "smoozing" confused with "boozing," cause by the end of the night I wasn't clear if they were forming complete sentences. Of course, it probably only took one glass of wine to have them good and shnockered seeing as how they all weighed about 90lbs. soaking wet. As the hors d'oeuvres tray passed and I grabbed yet another and the stick-figure declined yet again, she actually had the nerve to look at me with disappointment on her face and claim she was "allergic" to so many things she had to pass up the goodies. Honey, I hate to break it to ya, but being "allergic" to everything is called anorexia in all other parts of the world.
Not here in LA though. You would be shocked by the state of these folks. Every damn person who walked through the door had hot pink hair and at least one piece of leather clothing. Not that I give a shit, cause crazy folks spend money too, but I just don't understand why you'd put so much effort into lookin like a fool. They have all the latest fashions in studded collars and skull jewelry, and would be quite trendy if they were just a bit less scary. And at the prices they're paying for their lace-up attire, now that's what I call tragically hip.
It is truly another world out there, and one in which I hope to never spend more than 36 hours. Any place where half the people are employed to buy overpriced clothes for the other half just lacks too much morality for Queenie. I mean these "stylists" are basically girls and gay men who never outgrew their all-day mall stints from adolescence, and have decided to fashion a living out of bribes and gift bags.
Other than being sunny and 65 degrees, there wasn't a redeemable thing about LA, and I'm quite sure California would fair much better were the city to sink in the Pacific.
*** Key for #1: Ashton Kutcher, Bo Derek, Chad Lowe
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