Birthday dinner for the boys was fun, fun, fun! Turned into more of an "evening" than I was originally anticipating, but you roll with the punches when you're celebrating with friends. Two best friends, born on the same day, a few years apart. I went straight from work to grab Bunny and her boy, then to a quaint, Italian, family-style restaurant to meet up with the birthday boys and their party. Great crowd, we laughed and drank, and caught up with each other. I wasn't up for much else, but I decided to just go along with the evening and see what came of it.

After dinner, a handful of us headed to PB (not my favorite place) to a private party put on by one of the clubs and a magazine that Bunny's boy is a photographer for. I love to stand back and watch people when I go to clubs but don't feel very much a part of that particular "scene". Denise (a black, 6 foot 4" drag queen in a turquoise ball gown) and I stood inside by the wall and commented on the events unfolding before us. Women in fancy dresses scaling the poles on the side of the stage and shaking their thangs, Pacific Beach boys trying so hard, the bad shoes, the oversized suits, the cellphones propped to their ears, the little women with them too busy with being impressed to notice that the boy's tie is sticking out at the bottom, that he's struggling SO HARD just to look natural. Cute.

But the next stop took the cake. Bollicini's in La Jolla. I haven't see this much silicone and attitude since my work functions in Beverly Hills. Once we got to this restaurant-turned club-for-the-evening, I was unable to participate in any conversation -- I was too busy staring at the crowd, listening to snippets of conversations, appalled, irritated, and strangely fascinated and engrossed all at the same time. At one point, my attention was caught by a gorgeous, foreign-looking man with long, black hair, speaking to a few other guys. I walked closer, expecting to hear refined speech, perhaps an accent, but what I caught of the conversation was, "No man, she was like, flaming hot," in a strong, stupid surfer lilt. What happened to the successful man who is ALSO just an all-around cool guy? Does success have to equal attitude? No wonder why I'm drawn to the poor, struggling, and needy. They just have a sense of appreciation and general ethic that seems to be lost on the rich and stylish. Social intelligence just seems to dwindle at the exact ratio that numbers in the bank account rise. At least that's what I experienced at Bollicini. Money, stupidity, rudeness, and undeserved pompousness.

Nope, not having it. The women were striking poses, the men were looking too self-important. I went to stand outside and watch the life on the streets for 45 minutes before my crew came outside to leave with me. After that, we had a lot of fun, back at Bunny's, a few of us drinking and partying till dawn, till she had to get ready to go to the airport. Fun, fun, fun. Last night, I just played it mellow, laid down with my cats and relaxed, got some much needed sleep.

My grandfather is in town, I'll be seeing him tomorrow, that should be interesting. He's old, sick, a simple man, never asked for much and had to put up with so much more than most could handle with the wife he has, my mother's mother. I'll get more into that at another time, though. Tonight, I'm excited and energized to be out and about. Some voice-overs for Zim's product this afternoon, and then out on the town with a bunch of people I don't know yet. I do believe this calls for a bit of dolling up. Oh yeah, the makeup will be perfect, the jewels will shine just so, and the cleavage, well, visible. It's all about boys for me tonight.

I could use some penis-time. Perhaps some release in a sexual sense will take my mind off of all this social-right-and-wrong jabbering I'm recently accustomed to. Oh, yeah.

-Barbarella

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