You were Born for VIP!

“I don’t do lines.”

My then-boyfriend looked at me astonished. We were at this swanky club in Santa Barbara and there was a line outside the door of schoolies.

My then man - possibly the reason why he was a then and not a now - was prepared to head to the back of the line like cattle and wait his turn, for permission, for whatever...

I was not.

I walked straight up to the security guard told him I was there to see a client of mine - all true. Flashed him a smile, maybe even a wink, and he pulled back that velvet rope and let us in. 

I saw a couple of the mouths of the schoolies stare perplexed, in awe, aghast that this woman could be so bold. 

My then man looked at me under the hum of the neon lights stunned.

I TURNED, “I DON’T DO LINES.”

Un-freaking-apologetic. Cool 😎  as cucumber water on a hot summer day. And confident AF. Queenly, some might say. 

It was at that moment I claimed a piece of me.

I WASN’T ABOUT TO LIE JUST BACK AND ACCEPT THE POLE-LINED PURGATORY OF STANDING IN LINE, JUST BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT “EVERYONE ELSE” WAS DOING. 

F*$k no. 

I strutted right up and claimed it, dammit. Like I freaking owned the place. 

And that night it certainly felt like it. 

WHERE DID THAT WOMAN GO? 

Well for a while she got lost in the haze of other people’s bullshit because they were wealthier, older, “wiser” (ahem...hardly), because of the amount of time they’d spent rolling around the sun, blinded by their own bullshit.