Rebekka

Went to Purnell's party on Saturday night. I dress for parties based on what level of celebrity I expect will be there. I dressed C-list, and looking back now that actually seems, like, pretty optimistic.

Ugh. It was like: "Margaritas? Really?" After that party in LA with the Killers I pretty much exclusively drink Mojitinis (They're simultanelously the new mojito and the new martini. They actually taste pretty bad but once you've licked ice-cold mojitini off the abs of a bassist in a skinny tie whose album just went platinum, there's like, no going back, y'know?)

I thought I saw somebody famous but it turns out it was just Justin. He had like a really nice watch, it must've been a birthday present or something. The watch reminded me of that party at Diddy' house in the Hamptons where we played drunken volleyball in his Rolex-shaped pool, me and the Black Eyed Peas versus Bootsy Collins, Adam Brody, my friend Kristy, and one of the white guys from No Doubt. Kristy cut her feet on the diamonds that line the bottom of the pool and Diddy gave her a pair of three-thousand dollar slippers to wear home. He is like such a gentleman. He's like a modern day Great Gatsby except black and there are no books about him, just magazine spreads. Such a better way to get famous anyway.

I saw Erin. She's so pretty and sweet, I don't understand why she has to dress like somebody who unironically enjoys frisbee. I told her about last week when I saw Damian Marley and Carmen Electra together at Scaffold and she was all, 'You may have seen Damian Marley and Carmen Electra but did you see THE TRUTH?'

And I was all "No, but Damian Marley bought me a drink," and she was all, "He may have bought you a drink, but still no one has paid the tab for SLAVERY."

And I was all like, "Okay, Erin, I'll see you later." I feel bad for lying 'cause I had no intention of seeing her later.

There were a lot of people taking pictures and at one point someone took a picture of me and, just in case the photographer was from LastNightsParty or Cobrasnake or one of those sites I gave her a half flash and flicked off the camera at the same time, but when it turned out she wasn't I tried to bribe the girl to delete it and she said she did, but then I heard her telling somebody else 'That drunk girl just showed me her boob! Look!' and showing him the picture I told her she'd better watch out because I know Annie Leibowitz. In retrospect that seems kinda catty and desperate but sometimes you just have to pull rank and show people who's boss, y'know? It reminds me of the time at Provenza when Drew Barrymore dressed down a busboy, and then the next week to prove she had a sense of humor she rented out the restaurant and threw a 'Dress Down, A Busboy' party and everybody had to dress as wait-staff. I'm telling you, there's nothing hotter than looking at somebody from far away and going 'eww, working-class,' and then getting up close and it's actually Jude Law.

Anyway, Justin's party was lame and if I want to look distinterested while text messaging, I can do that anywhere and I basically do.

I took a cab home. If I'm ever too poor to do that, throw me in the river.

My name is Rebekka. And I Keep It Fun.