SoCal Sistahs

Tonight I made three new friends who will be delicious additions to my growing SoCal sisterhood. The first was Emmie, a talented illustrator who shares my fondness for grumpy cartoon characters and Mani's Bakery. She is the founder and head of her own greeting card company, which is home to a coked-out chef, barista-panda named Shapiro and an unemployed tiger who looks adorably silly wearing a telephone headpiece.

Over dinner of a fava bean salad with grilled tofu and red beet vinaigrette (me) and a veggie burger (her), Emmie critiqued a children's short story I wrote about a panda that didn't like to be hugged. Her first tip: Trim the story from 3,000 to 1,000 words. Yikes! I need Shapiro to make me a double soy chai latte pronto. After dinner with Emmie, I met my Romanian sistah and bandmate, Sorina, at The Bar on Sunset Boulevard. She introduced me to my second new friend of the evening, Susan, who was visiting from Colorado. Susan rocked a Michelle Mason skirt as if she had never left the City of Angels to live in three feet of snow. Over whiskey sours and vodka tonics, the three of us dished about traveling in Asia and dealing with men. We also waited for a performance by Candis Cayne.

Candis didn't channel Kylie or Gwen on her SoCal summer tour. But everyone's jaws dropped when she did a cartwheel in the middle of the street during one song. If you couldn't see the outline of her black thong undies under her black-and-white floral babydoll dress, you had no doubt that it was her lingerie of choice when she pulled her gymnastic feat in Hollywood. Cars slowed down to check out the blond glamazon. Candis summarized the difference between New York and Los Angeles based on cops' reaction and proclivity to giving her a ticket for singing and dancing outdoors:
New York: "Yeah, dancing in the street again. Damn trannie."
Los Angeles: "Don't dance in the street again. Damn trannie."

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