I guess the universe figured I’ve had enough quiet Friday nights.
First, I have to have dinner with a potential movie investor (I’m torn about this one. He seems like such a nice guy, and what I really want to do is scream “Run! You can’t make any money investing in indie films! Go buy some real estate or something!” but I do need that pile of cash he’s threatening to throw my way).
After that, there’s the wrap party for the low-budget beatdown, and The Blonde is having her birthday party (delayed a month because she’s had the flu from hell) at some Sunset Strip clusterfuckery (called Privilege, in case you were curious).
I can’t wear the same outfit to all three places (for dinner and the wrap party, I have to look really conservative. Nothing tight, no cleavage, no short skirts. Of course, at The Blonde’s party, I have to wear something tight and/or short or I’ll look like someone’s mom), so I’m going to have to change clothes in the car, if I can find a parking place on Sunset on a Friday night.
Actually, I might not make it to The Blonde’s party. Although she claims to have a guest list, I’m not certain the door guys will honor it after 10 pm, and I won’t be able to get there any earlier.
I’m off to have some coffee and figure out what I can wear that I won’t have to pull over my head.