By On the occasion of our 20th anniversary
By Gustavo Arellano
By R. Scott Moxley
By Alfonso Delgado
By Courtney Hamilton
By Joel Beers
By Peter Maguire
By Charles Lam
My trip to the Pierce Street Annex on Nov. 17 was all a girl could hope for and then some, at least if you're the kind of girl who hopes for supremely drunk and smelly men to grab her arm—and not let go—when she's trying to traverse the room. This is the most egregious form of bad manners in evidence at the country's finer meat markets. Here's a tip: do not stand against the wall and stop women who are trying to pass you, demand their names, and never offer your own. Such a move is pregnant with the implication that a woman's job is to come to you and satisfy your needs while you just sit still and wait. It's terribly sexist, or at least it would be if any of the girls had enough brains and awareness of the world outside their own hairdos to notice. It's even worse manners to keep holding on when the girl tries to walk away, which, let's face it, is what girls like to do just to give you a little pain. You're trying to get laid, and she's trying to get seen. She will promenade, and you will stand there. How about actually approaching a woman, instead of just manhandling her? That's good manners! There's even a sign in the bar that says so ("Talk, don't touch" and the "Rules for Beginners"), though I think just about everybody ignored it.
Despite the terrible, terrible drunks and the smelly guys, there was serious eye candy in the house—many of whom turned out to be terrible, terrible drunks and smelly guys. For instance, the handsome, handsome (but not clever—shhhh! Let's not talk!) man who insisted on dancing with OC Democratic Foundation executive director/brunette hotty Sandra Ramos even though she was wearing penny loafers (with pennies), wasn't skanked out in the slightest, and, in fact, had sobbed off all her makeup during an early screening of the dreadful, dreadful Ben Affleck/Gwyneth Paltrow bore-a-thon Bounce? (Yes, it was dreadful, but Ramos is a big softie. Luckily, she's a softie with classic bone structure.) Yes, he was handsome. But then, in the middle of their dance, he bolted upright. "I think I have to go to the bathroom," he mumbled before leaving, presumably to go hurl.
Manners have become even worse at the heretofore charming and friendly Little Knight down the street, in addition to its shortage of handsome men. At least the morons at the Annex looked good—even the trashed, seedy old man whose first words to me were, "I'm buying a boat this weekend, gonna drive it around. I'll be over there. It's up to you." Sadly, I can no longer recommend the Knight until it whips things into shape; it's become The Knucklehead Depot, and you just don't need to subject yourself to that. You do not! Happily, at least for our egos, a group of cute li'l 23-year-olds invited us to "come back and party" with them. Isn't that sweet? Mmmmm-bop!
CommieGirl99@hotmail.com. I want to be alone.