Boys Are Lame For The Most Part

Last night I went to Jack Kukoda's fantastic benefit at the Slipper Room. Per usual, I was looking pretty hot. I mean really hot like "Wow, you're stunning! Do you model?" hot, and that gets awkward because then I have to explain that "Oh, thank you. Uh, no, I don't" and all that jazz and then they're like "You might want to look into waxing your mustache" and I'm like "Oh."

Anyway, Peeps Brandy and Sara were lookin' hot too, of course. They were runnin' around in prom-like gowns selling raffle tickets for the good cause. (I didn't win shit, and I left my rain parasol there, but that's beside the point)

So, the show's over, and we're having a few cocktails in a booth by the front of the joint, laughin' it up because--duh--we're hilarious. There were still a lot of dudes there, none really good lookin' --but good enough I suppose, I'm willing to settle at this point--and this one particular group of boys were at the bar, checking us out. Of course. Because you know, like I said, we're hot. And hilarious.

Do you think one boy came up to us 3 single, funny, hot broads all night? (Comedians don't count). I'm talkin' a real live single, civilian boys? The answer is NO. Not one. Why? Too hot. Too hilarious. H&H. An intimidating combination.

A combination that will render me barren and alone.

Did I say that out loud?

Ok, yes, granted-- I did have raffle tickets stuck up my nose, but still. A real man would have seen beyond that.

Sigh.

I tried to shoot the tickets out of my nose out like the Chinese delivery guys shoot out snot rockets, but the technique isn't the same.

Boys can bite me.

Bye.