Monthly Archives: October 2009

Celeb Sightings: These blasts from the past are sure to tickle your fancy.

There is a foofy poofy golf event that went on at the hotel over the weekend, called The ADT Skills Challenge.  Doesn’t that just send shivers of excitement down your spine? Blah.  For some that may seem like an amazing weekend of fine dining and golf playing bliss.  For me all I can think about is how one time while parking in a designated and required employee parking space, a golf ball came whirling through the air and dented my Toyota, only to have the golf ball hitter yell at me for picking up his ball, off the hood of my car.

Golfer “Thats my ball!”

Me  “This is my car.”

 Really?

That dent still lives there proud and strong.  The hotel pretends like they will pay for it, sending out a security guard to take notes and pics.  Lies.  Golf ball lies.

So besides my bitterness over white plastic round objects, the golf tournament is good for one thing.

CELEBRITY SIGHTINGS!!

OK all you Perez Hilton fans, add my name to your blogroll because I am about to blow you away with the amazing celeb sightings encountered only mere hours ago.

Was it the infamous Brangelina duo? with their 87 kids tucked in Angelina’s oversized Hermès Birkin bag?

No.

Better.

Remember the show…Fresh Prince of Bell Air?  Who could forget that crab.  Art, true art.

OMG did you I Will Smith?

No.

Better.

Remeber the Fresh Prince’s annoying short and chubby cousin?

BINGO!  We have a Carlton sighting on our hands.

SO AMAZING.

And who could forget this little diddy!

And yes ladies, he did whip that dance out on the dance floor, and yes I did faint in lust.

IT GETS BETTER AND THE CELEBS GET BIGGER.

Sighting number 2.

So….remember Seinfield?

Did I see Jerry himself?

No. Better.

Remember Mr. Peterman, Elaine’s extremely awkward boss? 

Yes, there he was in all his white-haired glory.

I don’t even know his name… but I do know his fame. Whoot!

Can you say sexy?

And yes ladies, this IS the current host of Family Feud,  a show I know ALL of you readers out there ti-vo on a daily basis.

 

Alright so how is that for A-list celeb sightings on the grand island of Palm Beach?

Don’t you all be jealous now of these amazing encounters.

Loves it and Loves you.

Palm Beach Waitress Halloween Special: Only on the island do things like this happen.

 It was Halloween time, the autumn air was crisp and cool, and colored leaves scattered across the ground. Ok who am I kidding we live in a tropical sauna. The palm trees were bursting with coconuts that have the potential to fall and smash a Lamborghini, the air was still 85 degrees and just humid enough to make my chi-straightened hair curl again, and there were no colored leaves … anywhere.

My friend Coco was asked if she would be a waitress at a private party separate from the hotel. Another server used to work for a woman living on the island, so she recruited a few co-workers to be the woman’s slave for the night.

So Coco gets in her beat up old Plymouth, swings by City Place to pick up Tony, a guy who was also a server recruit for the night, and they putt their butts to the island.

Tony is tall and lanky, with a big adams apple and an addiction to UV rays.. His sun burned nose is always freckled and a pealing just a bit. He has a southern surfer way of talking, and loves kegs of beer. He is not in college but basically fits the stereotype mold of college boy, except has more time to party without class getting in the way.

They turn east on Clark Ave and a couple houses down there it sat, a massive mansion that our dorm room could fit into 50 times. The stare in amazement for a moment, and then step out to begin their nightly endeavor.

See for all us mainlanders, we just gawk at these beautiful houses when we go to the beach, or drive past and show them to our mom when she comes and visits. They are like a mysterious wilderness for us. Big, foreign, and never been entered. Coco and Tony got a glimpse into the forbidden world of the Palm Beach rich. Jealous.

You may remember me telling you about Coco from a previous story, where she somehow managed to get more free makeup than if she modeled for Cover Girl. Coco is that friend that we all have where luck literally sometimes falls onto their lap. As she went to this party on the island, we all sat back in West Palm eating reduced fat Cheez-it’s and laughing at Youtube videos, all the while fantasizing about her Palm Beach endeavors and how we wish we too were on the island in a mansion, even if it’s only to pick up dirty napkins after wealthy people.

They walk inside and are greeted by the hostess. Remember, this is a Halloween party, so naturally you must where a slutty outfit. Cough. The lady hands Coco a tiny little sexy bumble bee costume, you know the one that every girl on Clematis wears Halloween night, thinking it’s original when really it is just degrading. Cough. The lady, who clearly already had been drinking the magic juice, says “Put this on it’s cute! Oh and you can keep it.” Coco looks at her, looks around, then throws the thing over her t-shirt and jeans.

This is why she is my friend, because she rocked the bumble bee over her jeans. That bee costume resurfaced again of course, jeans included, as we all made our way to Fright Night at the South Florida Fair Grounds. Appropriate, a bumble bee being chased by Freddy Krugers with a fake chain-saw. Appropriate.

So Coco and Tony start making the rounds, passing out brie cheese and grapes, or glasses of champagne. Everyone was in their dressed in their costume finest, some of them looking like they walked out of Rachel’s Steakhouse. (A topless little steak joint in West Palm. I swear honey, I go there for the fine dining, they have the best steak around. Just like Hooters across the street has the best wings.) LIES.

Anyways, the night wraps up, and it is about time to go. Coco and her bee butt walk up to the hostess and begin the awkward “Hey there, heading out… where is my money?” run around. The lady by this time has more alcohol in her system than when David Hasselhoff tried to eat a hamburger.

She gives them two white envelopes, kisses Coco on the cheek and Tony a little too close to his mouth. The pair walk out, Coco’s glittery wings blowing in the ocean breeze. They pile back into the junker car and tear open their envelopes. They worked about five hours, so they were expecting around one hundred bucks. They reach in and pull out five crisp $100 bills.

Oh. My. Gosh. That is more money then we make in two weeks work! This is our car payment two times over. This is ridiculous, this is Palm Beach. So they both do a little happy scream, then a happy little car restricted dance. They couldn’t believe their luck (although I can, Coco has magical luck farts coming out of her all the time.)

 So after their screams and celebrations, Tony suddenly gets really quiet, and really serious. He looks slowly over at Coco, and stammers,

“Want to make out.”

 Coco blinks, her $500 still fresh in her hand. She looks at it, she looks at the mansion, then she looks at sunburned Tony. She blinks again, and says

 “No.”

With that she puts the crap car into reverse, drives back over the bridge to the mainland, drops of Tony and drives back to her dirty apartment.

Singlehandedly the most awkward yet perfect ending to the most awkward and perfect night, on Palm Beach.

Another ridiculous poodle that roams the earth.

This picture needs no words.  Simply amazing. 

At this point I don’t know what this poodle has to do with being a Palm Beach waitress, but just appreciate it for all it’s glory.

metro.co.uk.

Another hot blog. Check it.

Check out this blog and it’s funky stank.  It is written by another astounding aspiring West Palm Beach journalist.

Click here to check out “Hey I like Your Afro” by Mitzi.

Kiss.

Palm Beach socialite goes ghetto…

It was an evening event and all the Palm Beach ladies were dressed in their finest.

The silk was flowing; the intricate beading was sparkling in the light. Hair was elegantly wrapped in French twists, or freshly blown out from the Edward Beauty Salon. 

The men’s suits were new and wrinkle free, the ties and pocket squares loud with color, patterns and Palm Beach style.

It was cocktail hour, and the Frank Sinatra wanna-be was crooning the crowd with all the classics. I went back into the kitchen to bring out a plate of California rolls and fresh tuna. Always a crowd pleaser.

As I re-entered the ballroom, I could sense that something was different… somthing was going down.

Ladies eyes were darting to one part of the room, hidden under their thick eyelash extensions. The tone of the party was more hushed, people slipping out comments half under their breath. Then I saw what everyone in the room apparently had as well.

A Palm Beach gent had entered the room, grabbed some champagne and began his mingle session like all the rest.

But his date, a caucasian woman, her lips plumped and her hair big, clearly accustomed to the ways of the island, had on a very peculiar outfit. Let’s just say this Palm Beach socialite looks like she just walked out of a house party in the Bronx. 

The woman….was dressed ghetto. While the rest of the Palm Beach ladies were in floor length gowns and vintage, she chose to wear booty shots and a belly chain. She had in big hoops that had the word ‘phresh’ across them. Her lipstick was bright red, her shorts screamed Apple Bottom and her shirt read Baby Phat. She had boots that went up past her knees with stiletto heels that could hurt someone in a brawl. Her blond hair had corn rows. Corn rows. Yes, corn rows. On Palm Beach. This was a first in the history of the island.

Everyone was staring at this urban elephant in the room, but she and her man were rocking it and not thinking twice about it. If this woman had enough confidence to walk into the hotel wearing booty shorts and corn rows, who knows what else she could do. She was fierce and a hot tranny mess.

More poodle bliss.

 

This is a little something for you dozens of people who come to my sight via googling poodle, ugly poodle, or weird poodle.  Who knew I would get such traffic from you poodle lovers and haters!  Here is my update to the Palm Beach poodle madness.

I was in Publix the other day on the Island, fresh from the beach, covered in sand and smeared mascara and looking way sub par to the Palm Beach ladies who put on their finest for a trip to the grocery store.

Side note to this side note about poodles …. the Palm Beach Publix has valet parking.  The parking lot literally is 20 feet long.  Why would you valet?

Anyways, I was in there purchasing hot dogs for an upcoming camping adventure to St. Augustine (balla!).  Then, as I veered out of aisle 5 I came face to face with a massive. white. gigantic. poodle.

Visual aid:

 

 Yikes.

 Oh my goodness I just about dropped my mystery meat sticks encased in synthetic cellulose casings.  These giant poodles freak me out, and who let this big fluff puff into Publix?

Then I saw.  The precious old man who had this cotton candy dog on a leash had also taken the time to put on a “Service Dog” vest on it.

Service dog?  Really? Really?

Service dogs are labs or German shepherds … but not fluffy afro puff poodles!  What service exactly could this poodle provide?  Could he sing you Tina Turner songs when you feel like you needed a big hair tune to dance to?

 Please note this resemblance.

Anyways, the old Palm Beach man and his massive poodle were so adorable and precious, but so ridiculous at the same time.    Although I highly doubt that his poodle companion was a trained service dog, I don’t doubt that the little old man loved that fluff enough to take it into the grocery store.  I should have fed it a hot dog.  Onward soldiers!