Paris Hilton is Not a Rolemodel

We're in a mexican bar/restaurant, enjoying margaritas on Cinco de Mayo. The bar, usually a pretty laid back hipster kind-of place, has a special promotion going on, wherein a bathing suit company is doing a promotion involving two dozen very young girls walking around in bikinis. Not inherently a terrible thing, mind you, just a little offsetting for a restaurant. More disturbingly, the average weight of each girl is about 75 pounds.

One, who looks identical to Paris Hilton(blonde hair, big sunglasses, runny nose), approaches Melissa and I to chat us up and hand out bikini propaganda. Melissa is suppressing laughter and the urge to offer to split her tacos with the emaciated tweener.

Somehow during this stimulating conversation we mention we're from LA, and her eyes light up like dull christmas lights. She looks at us like we're the key to her future movie, modeling, nightclubbing, tabloid career. I look at her and get depressed, envisioning her returning to St. Louis in 5 years with a drug habit, after being spit out the bottom of the porn industry.

She likes Melissa's shirt, a festive Mexican number. Paris-lite asks her where she got such a cool Mexican shirt, wherein Melissa sarcastically replies, "Spain."

"Like UHMYGOD," she says, "My family is like...TOTALLY FROM HUNGARIA!"

Funny on so many levels.