Scenes from a bar in downtown Los Angeles.
The last time I had been in this bar, I had convinced the bartender to give my roommate and me some free alcohol in celebration of our soon-to-be USC alumni status (my roommate and I had declared the evening No Inhibitions Night--meaning no worrying what others thought--and we were to indulge our own personal whims for the evening). It was very uncharacteristic of me to be so blatantly charming for my own selfish reasons that I was too embarrassed to ever step foot in that bar again for fear that I would encounter the victim of my charades: the oh-so dashing bartender named Steve. Unfortunately, it became my parents' go-to bar whenever they visited L.A. and I soon realized that I would be forced to face up to my humiliating acts of the past. Luckily, Steve was nowhere to be found on this particular night.
...Until he walked through the door not twenty minutes into finishing our first round of cocktails.
I was so caught of guard, my mouth dropped and with glass held halfheartedly up, I looked Steve square in the face and exclaimed (yes, exclaimed, rather brazenly, in fact)
"Oh my God...
It's Steve..."
At which Steve smiled amusingly. Jess and I then burst into a hysterical fit of laughter. And I spent the next few minutes recalling what had just happened.
You can really learn a lot about yourself when placed in terribly uncomfortable situations.
Photographs of my outfit that evening taken in less severe (i.e. not red) lighting are below:
Pre-Steve Encounter
Post-Steven Encounter
[Wearing a navy blue and evergreen plaid blazer, a polka dot blouse, navy blue, high-waisted capris, camel colored oxfords, and my beloved Dooney & Burke purse]
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