I got invited to go to a really fancy party here and wanted to bring a friend of mine. We knew it was going to be bumpin’, and we knew that with free liquor we were going to get drunk and stupid, but we thought we’d at least look nice. So I was wearing a $2,000 Prada suit and my bud was wearing electro chic. We decided to stop by a warehouse party first to test our looks. Everybody there was in club gear–we looked like princes of the city by comparison. When they saw us coming they immediately assumed we were in the know; they threw down the velvet ropes and walked us in. We had a great time there but eventually figured we were ready for the posh event and headed over here. When we walked up, the woman at the door asked to see our invitation, and it turned out that we’d lost it. “You’re not on the list and you don’t have an invitation? Sorry,” she said. So there we were, stuck on the curb, enjoying the music, enjoying the ladies, but unable to get in. Finally I went back to the door. I BSed a good story, and the attendant finally relented. “But next time I’d recommend you dress up,” she said.