I was hanging out with my then-not-now friends Orlando and Stacy. Orlando was this funny, round, Madonna loving, dance club crazed boy who worked at Music Plus with my chain smoking, coca-cola for breakfast drinking, once very cool and witty, borderline anorexic best friend Stacy. So for some reason I let them drag me to all these gay dance clubs in Hollywood, and by the 4th one I was ready to call it a night, unfortunately Orlando was driving so I was pretty much being held hostage. Reaching the 4th hideously neon lit club with its moronic “thumpa – thumpa” vibrations reaching the parking lot I decided to stay in the car and perhaps catch a nap, I was buzzed, I was irritated, I was in the back of a jeep where every minor bump in the road sent my twins bouncing up to my chin! Hey, no one told me I had to wear a sports bra, give a girl fair warning! So as I did my best to ground myself Orlando comes running out of the club announcing “Boy George is in there!!” I said something like “Good, can we go now?” Orlando kept insisting I go and see Boy George (mind you I had already met Boy George a few years back, his hat blew off and I picked it up for him), so to make Orlando happy I followed him into the club and to the table where BG was sitting, I looked at the man clad in black, strange black hair and makeup and said maybe too loudly “That’s not Boy George, that’s the fat guy from Depeche Mode!” and without registering a response from anyone I stormed back outside and waited to be released. What a cranky wench, eh?Boy George kinda looks like Kelly Osborne in that picture!!
