First Stop, Boredom

We start at a typically swanky hotel no matter where you are on the planet. It can only be better on THIS weekend, in this city. We are not disappointed. We arrive, are greeted as though we might be Kate Middleton, Pippa and a slutty friend in a great dress. We are offered signature cocktails and expertly decorated White House cookies and escorted to a gorgeous mahogany bar to join the party.

Party? What party? Join the "bunch of suits drinking mundane cocktails and talking politics and filling all the available air with so much boring that we practically all suffer acute asphyxia upon crossing the threshold." Yawn. No one remotely interesting. No one even notices we've walked in, and let me tell you, we were noticeable.

Eyes rolling, we politely excuse ourselves, making an excuse to the overly cheerful (God love her) sensibly dressed hostess who can't understand why we'd ever leave such an obvious powerfully packed room full of navy suits. And that's just the women.

Priscilla says we'd love to stay however we've just now realized we'd be late for another engagement. But we'd love to return for the after party. Hint, hint.

Upon hearing the words "after party," Hans, one of the hotel people whose job is just nebulous enough for us to realize that he is the key to everything fun going on in the hotel, approaches us and asks us how he can help us this evening. We need a cab, Hans, and maybe CPR, the damn party was so effing boring in the bar. He points to the Invitation Only party in a private ground floor room with iced glass windows that only allow you to notice that there are black tuxedos and beaded dresses beyond. "That's where the beautiful people are. You should be there."

We couldn't agree more.

Kate, ever the optimist, asks if she can get us in. He says he can't without losing his job, but he can get us a cab to the hottest bar in town if we follow him.

Through the tunnel and into the catacombs we walk with Hans. We are just squinting out of the dark and into the late day sun when a black car pulls up in front of us and we see Hans leaning in to give the driver directions. He turns and hands Priscilla his card. Tells her the After Party starts at midnight. Please come back as his guests.

We pile into the car, thank Hans, assure him we'll see him later and zoom off the beaten Secret Service path on our way to the roof top bar of the W.