This weekend we celebrated FLY's one-year anniversary (or, as I called it ... baby's first birthday). Congrats to all of my favorite co-pilots, flight attendants, skydivers, air traffic controllers and passengers. Cheers!
Napoleon set the scene for the "America's Next Top Model" launch party last night. Thrown by The CW Washington and VM Public Relations, this event rocked Adams Morgan to sleep.
Speaking of sleep, "Miss Grace" popped downstairs to check out Napoleon's Parisian champagne bar with "Mr. J" and overheard some partygoers talking about me ... "All she does is party and sleep." (Note: Napoleon woulda said it like this - "Elle ne fait que faire la fete et dormir.")
What a Girl Wants? Booze. What a girl needs? To be locked up like a genie in a bottle, baby.
You know I really hate to dish out all the "Dirrty" details about people, but come on! If you are too trashed to walk, don't show up at my playground -- even if you are Christina Aguilera.
Saturday night, after enjoying some fantabulously delicious P.I.N.K. -- a new, snazzy caffeine and guarana-infused vodka -- at the Dodge Mansion in Georgetown, "Ms. Couture" and I headed to Dupont to see our friends at Dragonfly.
A few text messages and a bottle of champagne later, I found myself at Play Lounge ... next to Christina Aguilera.
Now, I know I didn't see her earlier that night at the P.I.N.K. party. And she probably wasn't there since she'd been performing in Baltimore at the 1st Mariner Arena all evening. But she sure was seesawing around like she'd been there, chugged that. That being a bottle of P.I.N.K. vodka ...
Miss Thang couldn't talk clearly enough to say "take me drunk, I'm home." And she couldn't walk any better than a kid who'd just been hit in the head with a kickball. In fact, she was stumbling around like she'd just hopped off a wild merry-go-round. Luckily, she brought along her crutch, er, I mean, husband, Jordan Bratman.
The duo didn't stay very long ... and it was probably a good thing. I mean, not even I can get that hopscotched up in an hour.
Join me (and my friends!) for a happy hour to benefit the Race for Hope this Friday at Dragonfly this Friday (the lucky 13th!)! No RSVP is required. But if you want me to put you on the evite, please email me (kellyann@gmail.com). Otherwise, Washington Life has the scoop! More party info (including Fashion for Paws) on my other blog @ DC STYLE!
Found this pic in one of my old albums (someone else uploaded it) and am not sure how I missed it. I think this is definitely one of the silliest pics - ever. (I wonder if "Mr. K," on the left, knew we were back there? lol!) Too goofy! :-D
"We are back. This is DC's best 80s party. There is no other. Many of you have been and we are coming back for one more time to kick off the new ownership and management of Zucchabar, now called The Attic. We have not had our killer 80s party in quite a while, so expect this one to be packed. Glow bracelets and other giveaways will, of course, be here."
$4 16oz Buds $4 Bacardi Cocktails
For ADMISSION, location and more details visit Strange Love DC!
One of my favorite partners in party crime, Mr. Van Wylder, thought I needed to be grounded.
"KAC! It's time to stop FLYing and come back to Earth, where the real people live," he said just a few hours after stepping off the jet.
"Real people? You mean beer drinkers? Ergh!" That did sound like punishment.
I really didn't wanna leave the mile-high protection of Plastic Land, but I got my camo on, pulled on some boots (pedi protection!) and took off on the D.C. Dive Bar Tour: Destination - Chief Ike's Mambo Room.
As I cleaned off the old, crusty bar stool with one of my emergency Wet-Nap towelettes and ordered a drink, I really did feel as if I'd jumped outta 1st class sans parachute and landed right, smack-dab in a urine-soaked puke pit run by the devil.
Thank God for Napoleon -- within screaming distance of Chief Ikes. The bartenders there nursed us back to our reality (OK, well, me).
They people are really nice at Napoleon. They clean their basement - and stock it with champagne!
So unless you're big and strong like a Gold Cup Navy Seal parajumper (they drink beer, I've seen them do it), you might wanna skip that Ike-y icky Adams Morgan hub.
Apparently, it's where the anti-posh have landed.
Chief Ike's Mambo Room: Not for germophobes outta Purell, docs lacking latex, pilots sans O2 masks or plastic girls in Prada. And nothing like a pow pow!
Arenas Express: Don't leave home without it - especially if you're going to Gilbert Arenas' 25th birthday party ... because somebody's gotta pay when we all "get drunk and make bad decisions."
Folks, be careful what you post online. It might just end up on Yahoo!.
I was surfing along and totally wiped out when I saw myself, all champagned-up, acting like fool in the Yahoo! New Year's Eve section.
Then I choked on my Odwalla pumpkin protein drink when I found even more pics of my glitteratied rear, promoting other holiday events (at restaurants and hotels where I've had, or attended, parties).
"Seriously, KAC (yes, lots of people do call me 'KAC' IRL), what were you thinking?" my friend Dano* asked.
"Geesh, I guess I was thinking that IndeBleu's Tantra Lounge is a fun place to party?" I said in a not-so-smooth answer to his interrogation. But coming from a guy who used to go by Dano Diamond*, and wear blingin' ice around his neck, I didn't feel like I owed a real explanation.
"Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind ? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and auld lang syne ?"
Well, one thing I was definitely not thinking about was the possibility that Yahoo! would pimp my ass out one year later in the name of holiday ad revenue via page views.
Pfft.
While we are on the big '007 topic ... what's your resolution?
Mine is ... never drink ... ever again. And if I do, I'll try to gracefully duck when I sense a camera flash coming.
OK, so I had this MySpace account that I didn't touch for a very long time.
But it has been updated and I am going through and approving friend requests now. (Sorry if you submitted one a year ago and didn't get approved til now ... 2006 was whack.)
The page is kind in-your-face, but is quickly becoming a fun little place. I plan to feature events and music from different DJs ... because now I support the arts through creative energy -- instead of dating musicians (that just doesn't seem to work out).
So, check it out ... right now, and see who's spinnin'!
People say celebrities don't play in D.C., but that's a bunch of Oscar Mayer baloney.
You don't have to go to Hollywood to cross paths with Rambo, G.I. Jane ... or Alexis Carrington. All you have to do is follow your glam-sniffin' nose (or get a few strategically placed publicists drunk at Cafe Milano).
OK. I remember being at FLY. But I don't remember this guy.
And I sure don't remember kissing anyone on the cheek while James took pix. I mean, if someone had asked me to identify the man in this picture before I'd seen this snapshot I woulda said, "I've never seen this man before in my life."
That, my friends, is the definition of what I like to call flash memory. Easily erased, hard to trace. Yep, the only difference between me and Fujifilm's blogger-friendly Z5fd is that you can permanently erase incriminating pix from the Z5fd by pressing a little button ... however, for me, it takes a couple of digicam flashes and a stiff Red Bull-Grey Goose to zap my memory card, but the pics remain ... and sometimes they pop up in the strangest cybergalactic spots.
You know, I always thought it was kinda odd, but maybe that's why so many club culture clubbers go MIB and wear their sunglasses at night.
I'm an online (yet totally offline) gal that doesn't deny being a deeply shallow extroverted introvert who is addicted to sleep, champagne, iced soy caramel macchiatos, high heels ... and the euphoric feeling that only a true adrenal rush can elicit.