I couldn’t wait to go.
My sister and her friend *Karen joined me. Now, Karen likes her men a bit older, I will not lie, she’s a beautiful blonde in her um, let’s say late forties, and works as a massage therapist. My sister “the best damn real estate agent ever” was on a rebound, and me, well…I’m always looking for a man.
Palm Springs has its own sense of style. It’s not all khakis and top siders from the Hamptons, nor is it bohemian of say Malibu, or bling-ed out tight t-shirts and designer everything of the OC. Palm Springs residents wear golf clothing and flip flops…year round (unless you are gay…then everything is bright and extra fabulous.) Please note: they also have the best Chicos, Ann Taylor, Talbots, Izod, Coldwater Creek shops one will ever visit.
We were doomed from the outset as we all wore low cut, tight fitting dresses/pants, and heels.
The three of us walked into The Nest as if we were starting a new girl group (I’m channeling Beyonce here folks). And then it happened. The stare down.
Now, let me describe The Nest. It was last decorated circa 1973; smells of stale beer and sweet and sour mix; and has the same bar stools my parents purchased (in 1973). The walls were covered with dark paneling (of course) with low hung lighting fixtures covered in soot from the days when Californians could smoke inside. The tunes were a mix of Tom Jones to Def Leopard (which I’ll admit sort of threw me). The staff were aptly named Bob and Ethel…and the patrons. Oh let’s see…
First, when we walked in, the men all turned their um, wheel chairs, and set their eyes on us. No one was under the age of seventy. And we were the new girls in town. Vroom vroom. Those walkers started heading right for us and I’m sure would have pinch my ass had given the chance. (Yeah Grandpa…that worked in the 60’s…today its called harassment.) The women…well there was Three Week Old Beehive; Making New Lips from Lip Liner; and Walking Stick Shoved Up Her Ass in one corner. In the other was One Step Away from Tracheotomy; Leatherface; and I Go Bunco for Bunco. At the bar sat: Bad Face Lift Circa 1985; Muffin Top in Pajama Jeans.
All eyes beaming on us and not in a good way. Oh crap.
Now, I’m not the type to boast and say I was hot shit at a bar or anything, but with this crowd, we were frickin hot, and this was going to be a riot, “You need help with your oxygen tank honey” – yeah, game on bitches.
We (I’m now calling us Destiny’s Child) get a table and Karen gives a low bend showing her strong toned legs, and ability to dab droll from many angles. Then we wait and wait and wait and wouldn’t you know…we don’t get any service. Apparently Ethel and Bob have a “no tart” policy and want to keep the regular gals in the sticky stools.
From across the bar we get a couple questions tossed at as, “Where you girls from?” and the like from the male geezer crowd. With a couple of batted eyelashes we let them know we “just moved here” – a lie…but so much more fun. My sis finally has to get up and head over to the bar to order up vodka-tonics with orange twists because Bob and Ethel aren’t about to budge to serve us. Beehive instantly sizes sis up and makes a few remarks to her other bridge partners. Unfortunately, I don’t think Leatherface or Facelift could hear her try and make fun of us. Honey our clothes are from boutique shops off Melrose…not in an air conditioned mall.
We were only at The Nest for our one drink and had a lovely chat with some of the gentlemen. But it was the look on the women’s faces as we entered on their turf that was priceless.
Oh and while I’d like to say Karen ran off with 2nd Pacemaker and lived happily ever after…that didn’t happen. We had our drinks, got the evil stares and laughed our asses off while dipping in the pool. So if you are ever in Palm Springs, and you want to give the local ladies a run for their money, dress up and head to The Nest…tell them Heidi sent you.
I love a good turf war, don’t you?
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