The Hottest Party In L.A. Is Named After Some Bitch “Rhonda”

In L.A. now for 12 consecutive days and I’m so ready to come home to New York.   Thought I’d hate L.A. because everybody was a shallow, vapid, fame whore (I love vapidity). Actually hate it because I’ve never felt so lonely and impatient all at once. Lonely because nobody’s ever outside, ever walks, impatient because I’m tired of waiting on the bus, not being able to go multiple places at once. Really want to find out where all the cool kids are, where they play and make art and pop Xanax.

So then I’m like, Okay, I gotta check out the Silver Lake/Echo Park area because that’s where Karen O. lives so it must be really hip. Roll into a neat boutique, Echo Park Independent Co-Op, am told to go to “Rhonda” a “polysexual” anything goes fashion party. Sounds amazing. Dude says it’s the hottest party in L.A., very Studio 54, and he’s carefully hip (complete with all black and an asymmetrical haircut) so I believe him, decide to check it out.

Dude. Rhonda totally blows my mind. It’s a monthly party held at the El Cid, a random Mexican restaurant in Silverlake. How hipster is that! I knew it was hot when I rolled up and the line to get in was out the door and down the block. Madison Moore doesn’t wait, but I do today because I don’t really know anybody here so I chill and wait and people watch.

Get inside. A drag queen or maybe a full tranny stamps my hand. Pause. Now this is what I’m talking about! When I get inside the place is jam-packed. Julian Casablancas is there. Models are there. Lesbians are there. Straight bros are there. See a dude in a full silver lame suit. See another bro in a white, floor length fur coat. See another in high heels, tight blue jeans and an off-the-shoulder t-shirt. And another in a floor-length kilt and the biggest, roundest black thick-framed hipster glasses I’ve ever seen. And another in a wedding dress with a basketball jersey on top. People stop to look at me in my gold sequin bolero and I allow it.

I’m sitting on the stairs with my non-alcoholic Cranberry juice in hand, just bobbing my head to the dance beats, people watching, smiling, looking like I’m having a good time (I am). Make eyes with a model hot dude (seems straight) who I would love to go down on. As he stares back at me my heart goes faster and faster and I freak out and don’t know what to do so I divert my eyes and that’s the end of it.

An Asian chick pulls up next with an Asian posse of two or three dudes and she’s like, LOVE your look! Zooms in to make out with me but, like, I’m a germophobe so I slyly tilt my head and her lips end up on my face instead and she’s cool with it, sits down next to me and we chat. Catch her when she almost falls off the stairs.

Still sitting on the stairs. A dude in a basketball hat comes up and he’s like, Hi. Do you wanna be in a music video? Think to myself how stereotypical this L.A. moment is. Tell him, Yeah sure. Then he goes, It’s filming Tuesday in Downtown. It’s for The Gossip. So then I’m like, Oh I love The Gossip! He takes my name and number and before I know it it’s Tuesday and there I am, hanging out with Beth Ditto in my underwear.

That night, Rhonda saved my life. It’s not like the party was earth shattering or anything. Every party/opening I go to in New York is like just like Rhonda. But after being so bored and so over L.A., Rhonda really hit the spot.

What made the party so amazing was that it was the right atmosphere with the right mix of the right people. Bros and hipsters and lesbians and chicks and ridiculously dressed people. With that kind of flow, you basically guarantee that the party stays fresh because there’s always something to look at. That’s why I don’t like all-straight clubs or even all-gay clubs. I hate the straight bro uniform of “striped white/blue button down, pulled out, over blue jeans with random brown shoes.” I also hate the gay uniform of “A+F t-shirt with blue jeans, basketball cap with flip flops.”

That’s why I would never be caught dead in a gay club. I’m like fuckin post-gay. The labels “gay, hetero, lesbian” are so limiting. Why limit yourself? Plus, what if you slip once or twenty-five times and hook up with a person of your gender, out of curiosity, out of alcohol, out of your level of hornyness, etc. Does that make you a gay? Lighten up, it’s just sex! And to me that’s the atmosphere of the most exciting parties, because everybody’s open to hooking up with everybody and you never know what’ll happen next. Polysexuality for all!

Now that I’m out of L.A. and on my way back to New York, I realized that I hated L.A., the place. But I actually did a lot of fun stuff and had a really great time.

Author of How To Be A Pop Star.

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