2003-08-15

L.A. Is Crawling With Psycho Nutbags...

Remember Krazy K? Of course you do- she's the friend, the model, the over-complimenter, the over-apologizer. Well, Krazy K's promotions guy put her on the list for a party. She had him out me on the list, too. She wanted me to come and there were supposed to be lots of agents and producers there. I didn't want to go, but Krazy K (and my Aunt Colette) convinced me it might be some great thing.

So I put on a flattering dress and brave later rush hour traffic to get to Krazy K's. I get there and she's in lounge mode with a beer (She doesn't do soda or juice. It's booze or water). She says I look so "hot" and "she can't look that hot." And she doesn't know if she wants to go now. Did I tell you Krazy K is a model? And when she says those kind of things to me I feel uncomfortable? Because I feel like it's either insincere flattery (and I hate the idea that people think I'd swallow it. Like one time in high school this girl I knew, Carleen, told me I don't get lots of boys asking me out because I'm so pretty they think I'd say no. It had the opposite effect of cheering me up. It actually made me pissed at her because it felt like she was mocking me.) Oh, yeah. Got off track. Anyway, I feel it's either insincere or stemming from her sometimes excessive attachment to me. (which I feel has more to do with mother issues than anything else, but that's a whole other story.)

Anyway, there was no way in hell I drove up to hear that crap. I kicked her in the ass and ironed her skirt and was determined to be up and happy for the both of us if it killed me. We went to the club the party was at. It was a pretentious nightclub with over-expensive Diet Coke. I opted for the non-alk because someone had to drive and I accept that Krazy K cannot go out without sampling the booze. She can't party sober.

What Krazy K forgot to mention was that the party was all models. There's 5'2, size 12 me in a room filled with models with their half-tops and backless dresses. Anyway, K keeps the depression up. So I decide to just keep the happy up. We walk around, I make jokes, and K indulges in some strange behavior. Example: We sit on this poofy thing and she lays down. She keeps saying I should lay down too and who cares what people think and it's fun. The hell? It didn't look fun. It looked like she was drunk. I told her that. The hostess obviously thought so too. She comes up and asks if K's okay. I tell her no, she's fine, just fooling around. This was a fancy kind of club. It didn't invite the crazy in me.

Anyway, she has two more beers and then wants to go hear her friend's band. I had the impression that she had a mild crush on this drummer and that we'd go, listen to some tunes, and then hang and talk a little. But how was I to know what was to come? How could anyone know?

DUH! DUH! DUUUUUUUUHHHH!

To be continued (cause I'm tired).