seraphcelene (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
seraphcelene) wrote2006-05-01 09:42 am
seraphcelene) wrote2006-05-01 09:42 am
Entry tags:
I wrote the story myself. It's about a girl who lost her reputation and never missed it.
Listen up, cause I'm only telling you this once!
Don't go to Harbor Drive. Just don't do it.
The people are old and unattractive. I swear there were folks there that hadn't seen the sparkle of the disco ball since it was invented. I would have been appalled except that it gives me hope for the future. I refuse to go gently into that good night.
But there's always a darker side to the story. There's the not so bright and shiny veneer of desperation spread across people who have been out partying too long and too often and with no other purpose than to get wasted and meet their One True Love.
I saw that girl AND that guy at Harbor Drive. Actually, I saw a couple of those girls, cougars in too much make-up and cowboy hats. They travel in packs, so beware. You can recognize them by the freckled and leathered skin peeking out of tops intended for plastic girls half their age.
Let me say it now to all those who don't know:
Flashing skin for skin's sake is NEVER a good idea.
Know your body parts, my dears.
There's a trick to it. Maybe just let your a shoulder peek out, or the delicate press of your collarbone. Wear your hair up if you've got a great neck and show off the curve of your spine, the vertebrae pushing upwards like the hungry stretch of a baby's fist.
Show your legs, if you've got'em. Boy do I WISH I had legs like that. You know the ones. Like those four girls standing at the corner of the bar. All of them 5'10" or better with bad posture. They wore kitten heels and bootleg jeans. I say go for the stilettos and a short skirt. Your legs are longer than I am tall. Embrace! Throw your shoulders back and be proud, damnit!
Don't wear an FBI cap with monkey fur boots or that black leather cowboy hat and a button down leopard print shirt. It's just not that cute. For real. Really. I mean, it is pimp, but in ALL the WRONG ways.
As you can tell, Harbor Drive was just obviously too Fab for us. Sin and I managed to hang for a good hour before we scooted out. We ended up at The Underground, tricked out and too cute for our own damn good.
Still, it was a good time. We met up with 2x4, MonkeyTime and his knuckleheaded friends and had too many drinks. Thanks, Sin! Loved the Tuaca bombs. That's your new drink, my loves! A shot of Tuaca dropped into the energy drink of your choice. Me? I'm partial to Rockstar, except under house party circumstances, in which case it's all about the Liquid Crack. That, however, is another story, although the effects are almost the same.
I didn't crawl home until 6.30 in the AM and then I had to drag my limp and weary body to my Grandmother's. Luckily, there were few ill effects from my Friday night. Just exhaustion, exertion does that, plus ... insomnia and I have become REALLY good friends in the last week and a half.
So the moral of this little tale? Harbor Drive isn't quite what it's rumored to be and never drink Coco-Cola with Pop Rocks. Your head just might explode.
Don't go to Harbor Drive. Just don't do it.
The people are old and unattractive. I swear there were folks there that hadn't seen the sparkle of the disco ball since it was invented. I would have been appalled except that it gives me hope for the future. I refuse to go gently into that good night.
But there's always a darker side to the story. There's the not so bright and shiny veneer of desperation spread across people who have been out partying too long and too often and with no other purpose than to get wasted and meet their One True Love.
I saw that girl AND that guy at Harbor Drive. Actually, I saw a couple of those girls, cougars in too much make-up and cowboy hats. They travel in packs, so beware. You can recognize them by the freckled and leathered skin peeking out of tops intended for plastic girls half their age.
Let me say it now to all those who don't know:
Flashing skin for skin's sake is NEVER a good idea.
Know your body parts, my dears.
There's a trick to it. Maybe just let your a shoulder peek out, or the delicate press of your collarbone. Wear your hair up if you've got a great neck and show off the curve of your spine, the vertebrae pushing upwards like the hungry stretch of a baby's fist.
Show your legs, if you've got'em. Boy do I WISH I had legs like that. You know the ones. Like those four girls standing at the corner of the bar. All of them 5'10" or better with bad posture. They wore kitten heels and bootleg jeans. I say go for the stilettos and a short skirt. Your legs are longer than I am tall. Embrace! Throw your shoulders back and be proud, damnit!
Don't wear an FBI cap with monkey fur boots or that black leather cowboy hat and a button down leopard print shirt. It's just not that cute. For real. Really. I mean, it is pimp, but in ALL the WRONG ways.
As you can tell, Harbor Drive was just obviously too Fab for us. Sin and I managed to hang for a good hour before we scooted out. We ended up at The Underground, tricked out and too cute for our own damn good.
Still, it was a good time. We met up with 2x4, MonkeyTime and his knuckleheaded friends and had too many drinks. Thanks, Sin! Loved the Tuaca bombs. That's your new drink, my loves! A shot of Tuaca dropped into the energy drink of your choice. Me? I'm partial to Rockstar, except under house party circumstances, in which case it's all about the Liquid Crack. That, however, is another story, although the effects are almost the same.
I didn't crawl home until 6.30 in the AM and then I had to drag my limp and weary body to my Grandmother's. Luckily, there were few ill effects from my Friday night. Just exhaustion, exertion does that, plus ... insomnia and I have become REALLY good friends in the last week and a half.
So the moral of this little tale? Harbor Drive isn't quite what it's rumored to be and never drink Coco-Cola with Pop Rocks. Your head just might explode.