Rhonda, gurl. It’s been a long time. Last time me and you hung out was–I don’t know–in June 2010? I think that’s right. It was some party you had at El Cid and your boy Juan Maclean was putting on a show. It was sweaty and there were Jell-O shots and I think I fit in but I don’t think I did but I had fun despite not having the strength to stay up to 4AM partying. You know how to party, gurl.
Friday was a reunion for us, Rhonda. Some of my girls and I decided we were going to see what you were up to as you brought one of my favorite bands to Los Angeles, Still Going. We had no idea what to expect since it had been such a long time but, as you are, you are anything but disappointing. We had a ball: you are the baddest bitch in town. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, gurl.
We pulled up to Los Globos in our black 2001 Volkswagen New Beetle, it’s deep dings reflecting the building’s red lights as we five exited the four person vehicle sans clown apparel. We sized up the line of all of your fans, some of whom we knew and others we very much wanted to know. We went up a steep staircase and were greeted with red lights against black dancing silhouettes. There was a girl in all white with a dunce cap on, there was a guy toting around a Marc Jacobs shopping bag, there was a guy in a black feather boa, there were many men in high heels, and many cocktail waitresses with neon testtubes weaving in and out of the dance floor. Your long legs watched over the crowd as many danced and grabbed for drinks in the upper room. We opted to run to the empty back bar to grab a drink, which didn’t have anything but Air advertisements (and Air slap bracelets and Air neon straws) hanging around asking for cocktails.
With our drinks in hand, we made our way to the center of the dance floor to pay our respects. Some boys vogued while other boys kissed (both of which you may or may not see in the photos we took) while one wore a transparent white tank top mini-dress that barely covered his Calvin Klein underwear. At height of a dance battle, he dropped himself to the ground and put his legs in the air as he bounced his bottom around the ground. He was the gyrating heart of the dance floor. You must have possessed him, Rhonda. We knew that was you.
With plenty of people watching and unnamed song after unnamed song passing us, we heard a disco rumor that you opened up your nether regions, AKA the downstairs dance floor. We snuck through the crowd and made our way down a neon green pulsating staircase as Dustin Lance Black snuck in front of us. Did you know he was there, gurl? He looked real fly in that white t-shirt, too. My girls and I took over a little quadrant of your back area–you know, that woody elevated area with the armless Louis Ghost chairs. Did you see us? We were the ones under them signs our boy Trevor made. Yes, we were the guys who used the flash on our camera a few times to take photos of the crowd (and to catch such new fashion superstars as Older Man In Women’s Lingerie and Young Guy In The “I <3 Dicks" Shirt). I apologize for being the disco fouler who kept taking all the flash photos. I was trying to make you look good!!
You really are perfect, Rhonda. We had no idea what DJs were spinning or what time it was but that did not stop our feet from moving. When I saw you last, you were a bit of a hot mess. Literally: that Juan Maclean event had many dehydrated, you drew an unruly line down the street, and people definitely got a little too crazy with things other than alcohol. You were young and you had fun and you were crazy. You still have that party streak in you, gurl. And you appear to have figured out exactly what makes a good party. That’s why we all love you–and exactly why we had a hoot and a half hanging with you.
You know we can’t stay up until 4AM like you can and we’re sorry. You love us for that, though: we’re those silly people who come early and leave early because we get too tired after a day of work followed by a night of dancing. As it happens every time you throw a party, we heard people talking about you all weekend. You’re just that good, gurl. Now that we know you’ve matured so finely, we’ll be stopping by more often since your lines aren’t long (but your legs are), your drinks are pretty cheap (just like you), and you know how to keep a party going (because you are nonstop). We’re even going to tell our friends they should give you a visit, too.
Anyway, we’ll see you around, Rhonda. Let us buy you a drink next time, too.