PERMANENT LIPSTICK by Ginger Knoxx
Summer is in full swing even if the random cool weather is misleading. Know how you tell? All the outdoor festivals and deck and patio parties - that's how.

THURSDAY, July 6
Farrelli's at Sixth and Union is sweet. The cocktails are strong, the service decent, not to mention good pizza, pool table, and the outdoor patio equipped with tables and umbrellas. That pretty much sums up my needs, so I stopped in to check it out for happy hour and spied artist James Hume in what looked to be a meeting with his strawberry blonde agent. I wonder what snappy art event they're planning next. Next door at Firehouse Coffee, I watched stressed out young women cramming over medical books while I sipped a luscious iced vanilla latte. I was never so glad to be done with school.

FRIDAY, July 7
A pleasant walk around the neighborhood culminated at Fort Bender for a dinner of Kate's wild mushroom lasagna before joining the party in progress at Magoo's, which was so freakin' packed the door guy made a group of fresh-faced darlings form a line. Bluecifer, 'Tasha and I had a serious bitch fest about layoffs and lowlifes with intermittent loud singing bursting from our table depending on the jukebox selection. This, of course, prompted a hasty departure for Taqueria El Guadalajara down by Stadium High School. I always forget that place's there. Shocking since the bartender pours so generously and it's a quick stumble to The Palace. Half a glass of vodka with a splash of 7? Yes, please. Roller Derby hottie Sassy Pants and the Broken Oars boys, who leave soon for their first West Coast tour, were just heading out as we arrived. Neil Diamond would be so proud of Bluecifer's Vegas lounge rendition of "Love On The Rocks." How fitting to sing it for me (ain't no surprise). Has anyone ever looked at the cover of Diamond's album Hot August Night? The ol' Neilster looks like he's totally grabbing his package. Ewwww. Riding high on liquor and laughs, we bounced to Doyle's for whiskey. We ran into the Real McCoy with Connor, singer from The Heat and Light, my sweet neighbor Megan and Kirstin (lucky girl's leaving to live in New York soon). I admit to healthy jealousy of her fab East Coast opportunity. Go wish her bon voyage at the Parkway or Rosewood Caf�©. After hours at The Palace seemed like such a good idea, especially when Mr. Gorgeous showed up at 3 a.m. with a full bottle of Skyy vodka. Loud-as-hell sing-along of "Tiny Dancer" in my backyard was not appreciated by my neighbors no matter how much we all enjoyed it.

SATURDAY, JULY 8
Poolside afternoons make me wish for wealth. W3 and I soaked up the heat at Oakbrook Country Club. A lot of sunscreen later, Brad Allen picked me up for dinner at Bella Nina's. They should call it Butter Nina. Our pasta was literally swimming in it. We quickly felt sick and took our bottle of wine to go. Cocktails on the patio at Tempest Lounge soothed us, and soon the DJ was mixing '80s favs with newer beats and the impromptu dance floor was packed with stylish black-clad figures writhing all over each other. Getting through that mess to get inside is an adventure every time. Natasha strolled in, turning heads in her "come freak me" black boots, denim mini and red wrap. Hot! Tan Tony stopped by after The Fights and when Rosati joined us - the Sandy Blond Squad was born.

SUNDAY, July 9
I adore Art on the Ave.  I look forward to it every year. Megan and I began the day around noon, admiring art and baubles and paintings, oh my. Pappi Swarner stayed cool inside O'Malley's, catching the end of the World Soccer Cup. Italy won. Yeah!  IDEFY got cancelled at the last minute and did not perform on the All Star Stage. Boo! (Lucy, you got some 'splainin' to do.) It was ultra lame. Lurid was pretty good though, so was Butterbean. Top Heavy Crush was full of energy for their time slot on the All Star Stage. The day whirled by in beer and great eats from Asado till it wound down and Pappi Swarner, Tasha and I joined Soul Patch and gang for grub at Engine House 9.

MONDAY, July 10
After a grueling Monday back at the office, Monsoon Room offered a desirable distraction with a photo installation by Joseph Taylor. "A portrait of myself as someone else" was pleasing and disturbing in its imagery and mask reference and visual usage. He intimidated me, and that's no easy feat. Rampart artists were out in force.

Give me a wink and a kiss here. Knoxx knows.