If on your sleeve isn't obvious enough

On Tuesday BF and I went to the Member Fling at the SCLA. It was pretty funny. It really was a nice event, with great music and free, fabulous watermelon-flavored mohitos. We were out on the terrace watching the sun set, and the weather was beautiful.

But for some reason they were short on food. I think most people had come with the same idea that we had: "If we're smart about it we can make this dinner". The problem was, although it was advertised to make you think that'd be possible, it totally wasn't. Each time a server would come outside with a new tray of appetizers, the rich folk would swoop. Not being dog-eat-dog enough, we went hungry, licking the wounds other people's elbows had inflicted on us as they pushed us aside. Of all the people there, we probably need free food the most, but there was no charity.

Although I was there with BF, I got a taste of life at the SCLA, and it was just how I imagined it. The two times that BF left me alone to get more drinks, the men honed in. And what was interesting was their standard first two sentences. They went something like this: "You must be new here because I'm sure I haven't seen you around before. I'm an investment banker/I own my own business/I'm the CEO of prospering company." So what I learned about them is that they scope out women's asses in their gym shorts and they're loaded. The second one I already knew, the first I'd rather not know. Over IM today, I told my friend S about the my-job-could-finance-your-shopping-habit premature disclosures.

"They should just print it on their shirts, that way everyone would know right away." She suggested.

"Yeah, and the women could tattoo their bra size on their forehead and then all pertinent information would be on the table."

"Exactly."

I might start asking for tax records right up front if I'm ever on the dating market again.