The girl who lives below us is a law student at UCLA. On my way up just past midnight, I saw her working diligently at her dining room table. "That should be me," I sighed.
But one of my 2005 resolutions was to make a conscious effort to be more social. To stop having that fatalistic outlook that so dominated 2004 as a result of watching too much "Forensic Files." Tonight was true to that determination, as I found myself at Falcon. After Finding Neverland, I asked Reyna what kind of flake I would be if I canceled on meeting another friend for drinks. Marie pointed out, "He's meeting up with friends, and if it's gay night there's nothing in it for you." But Jose's simple appraisal was, "If I promise I'll go, I go." So I went.
Who knew? Everything there was sleek and chi-chi, including the sea of men there for Beige on Tuesdays (read: gay night). I kept asking, "Is there a chance in hell that there is just one straight guy here?" "Well," my friend replied, "Yes, there is a chance in hell." Reminded me of the dialogue in Dumb and Dumber.
But we were on earth and the chances were slim. And what ensued was a night more lively and enjoyable than many in a long while. It was all the fanciful attention I am so vulnerable against, and I didn't remember such spirited socializing since my San Diego days. Or maybe that one night in Portland. Anyway, I felt strangely in my element, chatting about brasserie and patisserie and why Michel Richard may not be what you think it is. And I was complimented very nicely, however inflated, by a stylist who had also worked on Catherine Zeta-Jones. So I was tickled.
It is oddly gratifying to feel that you are somehow living your destiny.
posted by Lucy Sloan @ 1:44 AM
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