I LOOK THE PART

October 1, 2003 | 1:25pm

Not including trips to Six Flags: Magic Mountain, Las Vegas get-aways, or that whole Kentucky trip I had this year, this weekend was the best weekend I’ve had all year long.

Superstar friend Joseph put me on the guest list for BOOM! nightclub. I’m a cheap date, I’ve known this for years. But, pardon a $10 cover charge to a club I think is snobby and elitist and I’ll be there WAY before last call. Hell, I’ll even tip the bartender more than I’d pay for a burrito at Filibertos. AND I’d be willing to overlook the fact that I had soccer practice the next morning at 9am.

BOOM! really wasn’t that bad. In fact, it rocked. Not, rocked as in cool, but rocked as in it’s ‘80s night! Rocked as in "this isn’t cheesy ‘80s night" but a serious "get out your five foot long faux-pearl necklace and wrap it around your neck in three different lengths but wear it with pride" kinda rocked. I managed to fit in pretty well, even if the girl (I think it was a girl) next to me had a cut-off cotton t-shirt, a matching mini skirt, pumps, and a shaved head with waves etched into the sides and back. Eighties night means accessory night so naturally I wore a black sweat-band. This helped me blend into the habitat of those who wore gloves just like Madonna from Material girl, lace and all. Ha! I fooled them.

I got to meet a band that played named XOXO and even impressed them with my knowledge of their former name and magazine appearances. The only reason I knew that was because the guy who played the synthesizer was totally hot. Unfortunately, he was bi and dating the female singer. Damn!
I knew I fit in a little too well when the big man (read: manager) came up to me and said, "Here take this flyer. You look pretty popular, I bet you have a lot of friends. In fact, here, take a few more. I’m their manager!"

I have no idea I "looked" popular. Sure, I love talking to my visage in the mirror just as much as the next narcissist, pretending to be popular and drop dead gorgeous, but who knew?

Now you’d think this was the first time some scary man approached me because he thought I looked the part, but it’s not. In Louivelle, earlier this year, as I talked to Matt in the oversized club the size of my ego when I look into said mirror, a big scary man stepped in-between us and handed me another card. Only this time, it said,

"Hot boys wanted for modeling."

I knew I had made it in life when I got hit up to model for internet porn. Gotta love the decade of the web cam.