For such a classy weekend, I have never seen so many classless people in Scottsdale.
For some reason, people in Scottsdale, both male and female, believe its okay to call women C***’s.
It didn’t only just happen to me making it an isolated incident, but it happened to a couple of my friends walking to the bathroom.
I have pretty thick skin and don’t ever take things too personally,
but I will say this: I was not giggling.
Far from it actually.
I know from my San Fran entry people might think that I provoked this attack, but I did not.
For girls that haven’t been called that word, let me tell you… It might be the most degrading thing you could call someone.
So before all this happened, life was great.
I stopped at Olive and Ivy for some appetizers and vino, then roamed Scottsdale Fashion Square, and peeked into Sprinkles. We stopped at AJ’s for dinner then got ready for a great night.
We went to El Hefe’s which might be a nicer version of The pink Kitty in Cabo.
With the free vodka shots being poured down everyone’s throat and the energetic atmosphere, I was happy as a clam.
And then we went to Patty’s.
That’s where the “incident” occurred. I ended up looking like a member of the twilight cast, and was not in the mood for anyVT’s.
Fortunately I have some pretty great guy friends who were literally about to go gangland on this fool.
Unfortunately, I was not able to locate the prick because he and every other guy at the bar were in flannels.
I woke up the next morning in shambles. I was puffy eyed and just not in the mood.
I was able to turn my frown upside down and have A FABULOUS time at FBR.
My friend Cammie gave me one of her passes that her dad Brad West gave her and we got access to some pretty, pretty fabulous tents. Besides my Tory Burch shoe breaking mid-day, I had a great time.
We managed to end up on a TV show, have about 3 glasses of Chardonnay too many, and nibble on some brie.