Beverly Hills Bar Mitzvah, or how to have free fun in LA

So a few weeks ago some friends and I had gotten on the list for a new lounge opening at The Beverly Hilton. I was excited because I was going to wear my new dress (courtesy of a fab boutique across from Fred Segal) and my good friend from up the coast was going to be joining in the festivities. Note to the masses - ano bimbos who hold the list at the door are not to be be-littled in front of their peers.

Translation: even though we were on the list, the twiggy bitch wouldn't let us in, regardless of the unabashed name dropping I partook in. I was more furious than embarrassed as we made our way back to the hotel lobby in search of the all elusive LA taxi, hoping to find a dive bar in which to drown our not-cool-enough for the club sorrows. Then the night took a glorious turn.

We passed the grand ballroom and standing post at the door was an all too familiar sight: the blown up bar mitzvah poster. Little Daniel was becoming a man, and his adorably framed face with a golden retriever proved too good to be true. We made our way closer and picked up a few leftover Monopoly themed name placards (it was already 10:30, no way the Goldenberg's were making that late an late entrance).

Once inside it became very apparent that this was a Persian Bar Mitzvah and we were a crew of 4 white 20-somethings (both my friend and I being very white and very blonde ) and then it hit me. Unlike weddings, which have a serious and emotional core - bar mitzvah's have one goal in mind: get sloshed. No parents give a shit once the party planner has been paid, the open bar's bartender becomes Mom and Dad's surrogate child for the evening and by the time they announce the hour to light the candles, everyone holds their breath in hopes mom doesn't trip in her Blahnik's over her questionably seductive Off Fifth gown.

Even though we were clearly out of place, in no time the boys were macking on milfs and I was workin the desert buffet. We danced the hora, took pictures with the family, played video games with the kids and even sushed Bubby who was too loud during the challah blessing.

At the end of the night we were wasted, we were full, our feet hurt from hours of dancing and it was entirely free. I even see the potential of these becoming perfect venues for networking/meeting nice Jewish guys. Because when asked how I know the child my simple reply will be: I don't, I'm crashing. Odds are no one will believe it or they just won't care enough to kick us out. Nothing is uglier than a drunk angry parent making a scene in front of friends, family and business associates. Everyone is better off just allowing the crashers to add to the festivities - which we most definitely did.

I've begun calling local hotels and clubs pretending to be a florist set to deliver flowers for 'the bar mitzvah this weekend', and I can't wait for little Julie's big night at The Key Club next Saturday!

Debit Credit

So a friend recently asked me whilst debating which of her three credit cards to charge a new designer wallet on - what's the dif between debit and credit. Ivy Princess has the answer...sorta.

This is something I myself was curious about, I mean I know that debit takes the money directly out of my checking account, whereas credit I just get a bill I have to write a check for at the end of the month. It seems like debit is just a simpler way to buy things because it's easier to keep track of spending - but I did a little more research and figured out why I should give my platinum amex a bit more attention.

My metaphor is as such: Credit cards are a lot like department stores and Debit are like boutiques.

When you buy a lot of things at a department store you get rewards, and it's easy to get a bunch of necessities there like make-up, shoes and clothes. Spend enough money, maybe you'll get a discount or free goody bag etc. When using a credit card often, you rack up points that can be used for flights and such - and my platy amex gets me into first class lounges, which is a huge plus. The problem with department stores is that when bombarded with so much stuff, I end up buying things I don't need and feel like it's ok because I'm rakin in points. The same sorta goes for Credit cards, it's so easy to just swipe and forget, or convince yourself you are getting more out of it for using the card - and that's where the scary bill at the end of the month comes in. Also, they charge you a fee for having it, so look at it as an extra tax everytime you swipe.

With debit, it's simple. You walk into a boutique, see a hot piece, know there are no bonuses for buying that amazing $500 dress by an unknown french designer other than owning it, but there is an added level of confidence in the purchase. You know that it's not at every department store and every other Japtastic isn't pairing it with a heinous pair of Tory Birch flats - it's special and yours. With debit, it's basically like paying cash and it's harder to impulse shop because as soon as you hit an ATM that $500 is gonezo.

I know this doesn't make total sense, but it seems to resonate fairly well with the few slowly nodding Fekkai haircuts I've conveyed it to. Basically, use the credit card for points and such on big purchases and the stuff you need, but for those rando lunches that wind up being $50 because one Mary turned into 4 - debit it, you'll thank me.

On a similar note, I went into Bloomys in BevCen last week to talk a friend into a hot dress for that night. Wound up talking myself into one fab Nicole Miller, but it was $400 and I had gone ape shit on gilt that week (legit - scary even for me). I have a Nordy's card, and stole my mom's Saks and Nieman's but no Bloomys. The girl told me if I signed up for one I get 20% off, and if I use it now I get another 15% - done and done. It ended up costing less than $300 - and every girl needs a full house of cards.

I am sad about the shoe sitch on gilt - some bimbo got to those amazing snake Calvin Klien booties before me, again! But I did find a beyond fab dress for my annual oscar party this weekend - so bonus!