Just Say Yes to Guerrilla Love

No, this is not a post on beastiality, you dirty bird. This is about a little experience known as Guerrilla Cuisine. You may have heard about Guerrilla Cuisine through the City Paper or someone in the know, but we’re going to tell you all the juicy, succulent little details about this “underground” traveling foodie event, so grab a napkin.

Guerrilla Cuisine is (insert explicative)ing awesome. We attended last night, among 50 others who made up an interesting mix – hippies, artists, musicians, heroin-chic, and the F&B crowd. It’s a bit odd to first walk in… you’re in this very intimate setting (it was in an artist’s home last night) with eclectic (read: weird) strangers and you don’t quite know what to do. But, go in with an open mind and at least four bottles of wine, and you’ll loosen up right away. The host is a man named Jimihatt who we love because he looks exactly like the truck driver with the hook for a hand in “Adventures in Babysitting.” He’s also a fantastic host with loads of energy and individualism. The McCrays chefs were cooking and their staff was serving us… they are all very cute and absolute pros. The theme was soul food and it was one of the best meals of our lives. We started elbow deep in addicting boiled peanuts, then went outside for a mini oyster roast. Then the real fun began. We started with the creamiest, most panty shrimp and grits ever. Then moved onto a sweet and spicy corn bread with pickled veggies and green tomato chow-chow… seemed very odd to us but we quickly became believers! Then came a mini break and a hugely entertaining part of the evening. The sentimental singer guy. We’re all for live entertainment, but it’s a bit too intimate sitting just feet away from a guy strumming a guitar and singing at the top of his lungs. Don’t get us wrong – he had a beautiful voice – but it was difficult not to giggle over the awkwardness of the literal face-to-face musical performance. Like I said, a hugely entertaining part of the evening. Then came the magic… the entrée. Slow cooked pulled pork with mac & cheese, broccoli with cheese foam, collard greens and black-eyed peas. It was one of the best things we’ve ever tasted. Lastly, for dessert, it was candied Yams with marshmallows and fresh apple ice cream. Pure heaven.

We love the concept of the whole thing. It’s an intimate dinner party but with top chefs and complete strangers. You have no idea the location, menu, chef or anything when you purchase a ticket. You’re scared that Jimihatt is going to be a crazy and you’re going to get chopped up in an abandoned warehouse that you drove to on your own accord. Instead, you get a very cool, different, yummy, not-your-same-ole Charleston night. The best thing Guerrilla Cuisine can do for itself is to stay underground and just let the word of mouth spread. Seeing it in Weekend! 10 Ways to Play ruins it and makes it lose its cool factor. But we’re here to tell you that it is cool. You should go before it’s overexposed, meaning immediately if not sooner. Next one is in January… www.guerrillacuisine.com

On the Third Day of Christmas My True Love Gave to Me… A Model Dressed in Ralph Lauren

Well, it’s finally happened. I’m officially a modelizer. Although a “modelizer” is defined by the urban dictionary to mean “A guy who only dates models (ie. ‘He dumped his girlfriend when she lost her modeling contract- what a modelizer’),” I am expanding it to also mean a WOMAN who only dates models. Unfortunately, I can’t give any more specifics than that, but know that it’s fabulous and I highly recommend it.

On the second day of Christmas my True Love Gave To Me…Two Gay Men Dancing

Why don’t straight men dance? They’re so worried about their manliness and fear of looking stupid that they think it’s better to look debonair and “too cool” sitting on the sidelines. I’ll tell you what it looks like: no fun. Gay men are already secure, so they are the most fun dance partners a girl can ask for. Plus, they can inappropriately touch you on the dance floor and it’s not offensive. Twas the case at the fabulously lavish party thrown by a fabulously lavish gay couple a few evenings ago. Oodles of themed bars (Hot toddies? To the right. Christmas martinis? Scoot to the left, darling.), professional dancers, glittery décor, spotlights on the dance floor and the most fabulous DJ we’ve ever experienced! Fabulous. Fabulous. There, I’ve hit my “fabulous” quota for the gay party recap. Fabulous. One more for good measure. It’s Christmas, after all, and if you can’t say “fabulous” at Christmas, when can you, eh?

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me... a Walk-Off in a Hot Sea

How much do we love December? Let us count the ways. Full of parties, hot creamy cocktails and sparkly dresses, it's one of our favorite times of year. Expect to see a lot from us this month as we report on all of our fabulous doings.

The first one of note was the Biton fashion show at the Hibernian Thursday night. The line was as ridiculously long as Biton is pretentious, but luckily, the GoDiva Sisters don't wait in line so we waltzed right in. The crowd was decked out in the kind of forward fashions you'd expect to see at a premier party in L.A., and you couldn't tell the models from the regular people in this sea of hottness. Some of the regular people, in fact, were wearing local designer originals on loan! As in, the designers DRESSED them, like they were freaking Reese Witherspoon going to the Oscars. (NOTE: THE GODIVA SISTERS ARE AVAILABLE TO BE FASHION MUSES AT ANY OLE TIME!). The champagne flowed at our table and when the spotlights tuned on and the show started, it was Dance Party 2007 with the great tunes leading the models down the runway. The highlight was the tall, black male model with a preppy dreads faux-hawk. YUM. Everyone was over-served which no doubt led to the party-wide walk-off at the end of the show. You read me right... fifty or so people hopped up on stage after the show ended and started a full force walk-off competition circa "Zoolander." Everyone - no matter what size, shape, age - should walk down a runway before they die. It's perhaps the most liberating thing one can do. Well, top five, let's say.

So, although we don't heart Biton as much as some of the other local boutiques, they sure know how to throw a party. All they need to do is sell one third-floor outfit there and that would pay for the party, so they should have one every week. Let's just hope there's neck biting, coked out people who think they're at a rave, and near infidelity at the next one as well. Biton fashion show = 3 panties (on a 4 panty scale).

You Sexy Ole Bag

I was talking to my Go'Diva sister about how great my skin is going to look when I'm 80, and it got me thinking that us ladies need to plan ahead. Girls should start planning on moving into the same senior community center as our friends immediately if not sooner. Women live longer than men on average, so our hubbys will be with Jesus (or, you know who) so we should get on it so us girls can be all together. We can read US Weekly's all day or have them read to us by young sexy male nurses and then we can organize all sorts of parties and events. Who will be on the cover of US Weekly when we're 80? That will be 50 years from now...I bet it will be Maddox and Violet Garner, divorcing over Apple Paltrow. I can't wait. We can also wear our wedding dresses and nobody will tell us we can't.

So, if you want to ensure a fabulous old-timer's life full of Hop-Skip-and-Go-Naked parties and prank calls to dirty old men, march over to the Franke Center now and put your name on the wait list. It's a very extensive wait list you know. Only the best for us ladies.

Ass Pirates

Go’Diva Sister #2: Let’s talk about how much we hate Heidi and Spencer.

Go’Diva Sister #1: I hate Spencer because:
-He has no job
-He's blood sucking any publicity he can from his brain-dead girlfriend/fiancé Heidi
-He has demon eyes
-He has zero friends; his only friend Brody ditched him for being such a tool
-He plays arcade games like a 7 year old boy who touches himself out of curiosity
-He's a controlling piss ant

#2: Spencer clearly has no testicles. He is an ass pirate, plain and simple. I hope with every fiber of my being that he gets beat up at least once a week and that you just never see it in the show because of clever makeup tricks. He is a tool. He is a tool box complete with hundreds of different tool attachments. Look at his face in the picture – are you really that scared of a rollercoaster, ass pirate? There is probably no one on the planet I hate more. With the exception of perhaps Heidi.

#1: I hate Heidi because:
-She puts up with Spencer just because he tells her it's best for her career
-She let Spencer "direct" her music video with a handheld camcorder
-She's so freaking thin
-She has no friends except for Spencer
-She is spineless and does a horrific job representing women as a whole.

#2: I almost want to cancel my US Weekly subscription because they put her on the cover and compared her body to Giselle’s. Almost.

Mean Girls vs. Heidi and Spencer. Winner: Clearly Mean Girls (a.k.a The Go’Diva Sisters)

Cuba Libre Blows the Mind

Cuba Libre & The Mind Garden, Friday night's art show featuring the works of Brianna Stello and Patrick Pelletier, was all that we'd expect. Gorgeous and interesting people, hot music, sexy art, spicy food and lots and lots of gossiping. Let's state the important points for the record: Quentin Baxter is smokin hot. Brianna Stello is as sexy as it gets (is it weird to have a crush on a girl? She's got a sexy, raspy voice and pixie cut, so I think that's "boy" enough to have a crush on her). Robert Lange is too cute for words. Ditto for Karate Kid who shall remain nameless, in large part because we don't remember his name. Go'Diva advice: If you are invited to a party, and Brianna Stello has anything to do with it, go. And wear something backless.

Saffire Not a Gem

We heard good things about Saffire in the Marriott. After a rave review in the P&C and hearing someone describe it as “Charleston’s version of L.A.’s Sky Bar,” we decided to go check it out.

First, the good: If I were an out-of-towner and found myself at the Marriott on business, I’d be pleased with the hotel restaurant/bar. The sconces that resemble giant flames are a nice touch. Certainly the best part was the food. I had a nice salad, stacked with goat cheese and crisp fruit, and vegetable and goat cheese ravioli… all very yummy.

Now, the bad: The service was a little irritating and un-prepped. The restrooms, which are always a clear indicator of the overall place, aren’t lovely. One was even clogged. Now that gets an appetite going.

Lastly, the ugly: The clientele, plain and simple. Definitely not a local hang out. Everyone there must have been on a layover from Ohio.

I will say that we went on a random Tuesday and the outdoor bar, which gets the most buzz, wasn’t open. Hopefully that will have a cooler vibe... or else we may stick with hotel spots like Charleston Grill and the rooftop at Market Pavilion.

Eyes Wide Open

Naked bodies gliding in anticipation. Nervous, but ready, eyes glimmering beneath masquerade masks wondering what will happen next. Wondering if anyone recognizes them. A sophisticated and raw vibe. The smell of glistening skin unleashes a carnal urge. Maybe someone starts kissing your neck, or runs a hand across the back of your knee. Maybe another one joins in. Maybe not. Either way, you leave, either satisfied or pulsating, but on a high, feeling scandalous and naughty and free. This is how a naked party should be. I knew sweet little Charleston wasn’t ready for it.

The so-called “naked” party that sent James Island in an uproar and warranted attention from the local press was a far cry from the “Eyes Wide Shut” scenario I imagined. It was a Halloween party, nothing more. No nakedness. Not even so much as a couch where an impromptu orgy could break out. Mind you, the Go’Diva sisters are no voyeurs, but we love something juicy every once in a while. Overall, though, the most shocking part of the night was when I discovered that my Go’Diva sister had never seen “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.” In other words, not a wild ride.

I love sweet, proper, legs-crossed-at-the-ankle Charleston. But sometimes it’s necessary to shake things up and let a little scandal seep in. I know those naked parties are out there. Those orgy parties. In Charleston. Teach us, oh naked ones, how to unleash and discover another kind of pearl necklace.

Citadel Boys

Citadel boys get a bad wrap. I’m not quite sure why, but one of the first things I was ever taught in Charleston was not to date one. I never really knew where this came from… maybe it’s the fear that they get beaten and have aggression issues. Or maybe it’s that they’re kept away from women so long that it’s uncertain what they’ll do when they’re unleashed. But I must say, I just had a lovely experience with a group of Citadel boys who were nothing short of heroic. It was a typical evening and I was driving down King Street bopping along to some J.T. When all of the sudden – BAM – a spider walks across my window visor! I immediately slam on my breaks and veer to the side of the road. I jump out of the car and see a group of Citadel boys. I scream “Citadel boys! Help!” and sure enough, they come running. When I explained the presence of the unwelcome intruder, I half expected the eye-roll that most boys give you, but they all dove into the car headfirst with such fervor. They searched like they were doing it for our country, until one yelled, “I got it ma’am!” They disposed of the eight-legged freak and held the car door open for me, closed it behind me, tipped their caps and wished me a “goodnight, ma’am.” So, people can say all they want about Citadel boys, but they will always be perfect gentlemen and heroes to me!

PARIS IN CHARLESTON

I got to see Paris last night. It was beautiful and sophisticated and all I thought it would be. And it was much closer than I thought… right in Saks. The Paris I’m referring to of course is the name of a beautiful long Grecian gown in Badgley Mischka’s new line which debuted last night. To celebrate its entry in our local Saks and to benefit Darkness to Light, Badgley Mischka strutted its Resort 2008 collections down the runway at the Riviera. These events put Charleston on par with any other swanky city… we could have just as easily been in New York or Miami, or even Paris. The crowd was a who’s who of the beautiful, important, and/or society upper echelon of Charleston. Everyone was dressed to the nines and took some fashion risks that paid off: sequined pants, feathered top hats, mini-mini dresses, white lace-up slouchy boots, and politically incorrect fur. It ranged from the young and perky, like little miss South Carolina (is it weird to obsess over a 16-year old’s figure?), to the intellectually stimulating and sophisticated, like Pam Harrington who always looks sharp in a tailored suit and blunt haircut, to the outlandish, like the woman we’ll just call Magda. I was on the front row, the perfect place to spot all the models’ flaws. There was one awful model who could not walk to save her life and must have been a charity case of some sort, but the others were great – little miss South Carolina was a natural on the runway (maybe she should do that and not speak), there was an Elizabeth Hurley look-alike, and my favorite was the sophisticated brunette, Erin, who looked like she was having so much fun that I wanted to jump up there with her! And the clothes… ah the clothes. Classic, romantic, bold colors, soft lines. Tres bien! The after party at Saks was humorous as all of us “regular” people tried to squeeze into sample sizes and rub elbows with Mark Badgley and James Mischka. Thank goodness the champagne was practically being sprayed directly into our mouths. Then came the moment of truth: to purchase or not to purchase. I could spend $5,000+ dollars to wear Paris, or I could spend it to go to Paris. I decided to hold out for the trip, although one more glass of champagne and it could have been quelle buyer’s remorse. J’adore Badley Mishka! J’adore a good fashion show! J’adore Charleston!

Badgley Mischka Fashion Show: 3 ½ panties.

Stay-At-Home-Wife-To-Be

This may sound ridiculous, but it is true. As many of you can remember, I am the engaged Go'Diva. So my fiancé had requested that I become a stay-at-home wife and just care for the home, him and the at some point children. Well, I've always valued my independence as a woman and I feel like because so many women before me fought for my place in society, I would always continue my economic contribution to that very society. Well I'm planning a wedding, so I thought this would be a good time to practice not working and staying at home. I've been at it now five weeks and it's miserable. I feel like my PA (personal assistant), who I've temporarily let go since I should now have the time to take care of personal matters. All I've done since taking my 12 week leave of absence from work is run errands, for me and my fiancé, screen calls from my extended family that know I'm no longer working and take my car to be serviced. How do women manage that stay at home? It's like you're always on call and you're always expected to be able to go to the grocery store to pick up a bag of Caesar salad mix. I mean, come on. Have you ever been to the grocery store when all those hideous stay at home mothers are pushing the carts around with several children, some with dirty fingers and faces and you're supposed to smile at their precious fur-less pets because I must be a mother too. Oh no, I'm at week five and my PA is back on duty and I am doing things that make me happy for the remainder of my test period. Traveling, oh how I love traveling. Sailing, even though the weather has not been cooperating lately. Of course I even managed to fill two entire days with hair and body appointments...the greatest of all, I’ve been able to get back to the blog which I’ve neglected these last five weeks.

Needless to say, I am going back to work and have no intentions of satisfying my fiancé by being his stay-at-home pet.

Pack Your Tiny Diamond Duck Purse - We're Going to a Garden Party!

How wonderful are Charleston garden parties? I mean true, honest-to-goodness, old fashioned, South of Broad Charleston garden parties. I went to one on Tradd Street. Dressed the part of course – sweet white lace sundress and pearls – and entered into a sea of bow ties, seersucker and more pearls. Mint juleps and champagne toasts. Chocolate covered grits (which were not tasty, but certainly inventive). Even the dogs were sophisticated – Cavalier King Charles. And of course it couldn’t be a true Charleston garden party without a sprinkling of a few people bathed in arrogance. When asked where he was from, a good-looking Southern man with flowy blond hair couldn’t answer “Virginia,” like a normal person, but had to give the pompous and seldom used answer, “The Commonwealth of Virginia.” As hard as it was to keep my eyes from rolling, I had to keep talking to him to study exactly how he said “South.” It was more like “Sauuuuth.” Beautiful really, almost rich South meets Britain. I’ve tried to slip it into my daily speak, but people just mainly look at me strangely. How did Madonna do it?

Charleston garden parties = 3 upscale, legs crossed at the ankles, pinky out, Lily Pulitzer panties (on a four panty scale).

Antisocial

I went to Social Wine Bar for its opening and during a Fashion Show after-party. I'm not sure which is a truer vibe of the place – those nights, or this random Tuesday when my GDS and I popped in. Let’s hope it’s the former. First, the hot “Wine Stud” bartenders were replaced with manorexic substitutes. We received no attention, despite the fact that there were only five people at the bar. Manorexic #1 spent all his time with the old-as-dirt man and his trophy girlfriend at the end of the bar, assuming that’s where the money was, although they should have known GDS was the wiser choice (“Do you work on commission? BIG mistake. Huge.” – Julia Roberts, Pretty Woman). The only sweetness about the whole place was the man in the high-water work pants pulled up to his chest bone sipping the salted margarita. Presh. I assume people continuing going back to Social for the only reason I now will – the wine flights. It’s the only spot in town and they’re fabulously fun. Maybe they deliver.

Jail Bird

BREAKING NEWS (well, 'breaking' on Friday, but we were at happy hour): Pasquale Pellicoro has been indicted on federal drug charges in the case involving Ravenel and the white stuff. You may know Pasquale from his fine knowledge of wine, popping up at places like La Fourchette and O'Hara and Flynns. We know him from his parties and always entertaining stories that make you feel like you're at least 50% glamourously Italian yourself. We hope Pasquale comes out of this okay, but we are a little excited to possibly have a jail bird acquaintance. It's so "Breakfast at Tiffany's" - put on the dress, hat and pearls, bake some muffins, and deliver the weather report. We're there for you, Pasquale. Fortuna buona!

“Baby, you make my software turn to hardware!”

I was driving in my convertible this morning when some guy just shouts at the top of his lungs at me, “HEY! HOW’RE YOU, GOOD LOOKIN??!,” almost causing me to get into an accident. And it’s not just this morning… I’ll be on long roadtrips and I’ll get honks from about 10 truckers. Guys – is this seriously all you can come up with? Shouting at us as we drive by? HONKING at us as we drive by? What do you expect? That we’re going to pull over and (insert Penthouse letter here)? Of course I’d almost prefer this manly aggression over the wuss-way-out alternative known as texting. Of course I love the one-line flirty text as much as the next gal (and it better be sexy talk if it’s in a text), but not as the sole source of communication. Grow some balls. But not too many… another guy actually showed me his… ummm, let’s say, ‘manhood’… in public. They just love to show it off. Like a monkey. Now, I’ll probably perpetuate this behavior because I am still extremely attracted to this guy and can’t wait for him to call again, but come on. I know I don’t live in Victorian times, but is it too much to ask that a man doesn’t drop trou on the first date (even if it IS impressive)? Guys - just pick up the phone and call us. If you see us walking by, just say hello. We learned from ‘Big Daddy’ that “initiating the conversation is half the battle.” Oh, and learn to dance. We like that.

McDreamy, McSteamy, Mc-I-Got-To-Get-Me-One-Of-Those

I may start going to MUSC instead of happy hour. What is it about doctors? Is it that they save lives? Is it that they're far too busy for you? Is it the thought that they may throw you up against an X-ray machine (in a good way)? The problem is - I don't know how to meet them. Like chefs, they're an elusive group - but even more so. My Go'Diva sister thinks you have to be a nurse to date them, but I think that's an awfully limited viewpoint. I can't help but wonder, is it ethical to fake an injury to get some one-on-one time? If any of you have suggestions, please help a sister out. In the meantime, check my box 'yes' for Dr. Fill-In-The-Blank.

Crushed Green Velvet

Those three words...

Crushed Green Velvet...I can add to that...Tight Mini Dress.

The Go'Divas are all about West of the Ashley...of course we want the area to prosper, we own investment property on that side of the river. We're the first to promote...but, when Go'Diva #1 gets dragged by her right, python covered stiletto, it's never a good thing. I decided to venture to J Paulz. I enter...all around me I see denim, stone blast jean shorts, dirty Reebok (is that how you spell it) hi-tops, too tight dresses, frizzy hair...where do these people come from? J Paulz is a nice place, the decor is great, the bathrooms something to write home about, but the people who frequent the venue are like something out of the movie Deliverance...(queue freaky song)...everyone had bad skin, like maybe they smoked, drank and ate too much and didn't bother with keeping up to date with their skincare regime. When I had had just about too much, someone told me, "this is James Island"...is that true? Is there a class of people that live within a stones throw of my bubble that could be related to those people they show on the news after a bad hurricane and their trailer just blew away? Yes.

Take the gentleman at the bar, slugging back his brew with his fellow comrade. He had on his finest black silk shirt…unbuttoned down to the hollow of his ribcage. He had been freshly waxed and then sun burnt...by the tanning bed. What a sight. He looked just like the bad guy from Grease, I can't think of his name.

Just when I didn't think I could handle anymore, I'm walking out to safety...I see a woman, prancing like a 4 year old in her mother’s heels for the first time, walking towards the door. A crushed velvet mini dress, in lime green, pink lipstick, orange blush, fake fingernail, the works.

That is when I realized, J Paulz is the hang out for the upper crust red necks.

PS – Sushi was good, service was the worst…ie non-existent and they had fun bathrooms.

A Simple Ode to Oak

Every girl wants to ride an Aston...

Best Seat In the House (Caution: Slippery When Wet)

The best seat in Charleston is hands down the Chef’s table at Oak. Word to the wise: don’t take your sweet ole Granny unless she’s ready to get wild – the Chef’s table is not for the faint of heart… it’s far from tame, oozing sensuality with the steam rising from the kitchen and the hot, sweaty men screaming “why is this f*@king plate still sitting here” within it. You’re surrounded by gorgeous men: there’s Brett McKee who is just a rock star, plain and simple. Then there’s the bad boy sous chef – a.k.a. Joaquin Phoenix circa “Walk the Line;” there’s Scott Caan/Astin who looks like secret service; there’s Braveheart/Gladiator who’s got a sweet face but tattoos up and down his sides; and then there’s Grecian, who’s probably the dullest tool in the shed, but he sure is perrrrty. If you’re lucky enough, like the Go’Diva sisters were this weekend, you’ll have their full attention, braised with very purposeful and not at all pure intentions. The food is fantastic, but let’s be honest – they could serve franks and beans and, with a staff like that, we’d still keep coming again and again.

Trust MY Palate - Give this place a second chance

Yes, first impressions are huge - but a little make up can go a long way. Take the Grand Opening for The Trusted Palate, (www.thetrustedpalate.com), last night. We immediately approved of the ambiance...the antique mirrors adjourning one entire wall (for sale), the dark lighting and the easy-on-the-eyes employees. We sat down and were greeted by a young waitress. Cute, sweet, bubbly, but had no idea about any of the wines or the cheeses. We asked three questions, very general, all answered with, "Let me ask the owner or chef". We of course love one-on-one time with the owner and chef, but come on - the servers should be a LITTLE knowledge. Not her fault, we fault the owner & chef for not providing the proper training before opening night.

Somewhat miffed by the lack of attention we were getting and I'm sure showing it on our face, Ian, the owner makes his way over. He was marvelous, gracious and sexy - he immediately made us forget we were annoyed. He did just what an owner should do on opening night: introduce himself, tell us a little about him, his plans for the future, credentials, wine recommendations, etc. Ian is a class act and has great plans for wine in Charleston; definitely check him out on the website above.

When it came time for ordering a few cheeses off of their extensive a la carte style cheese menu, we beckoned the chef, Dillon. He was as sweet as could be, didn't look a day over 27, flushed cheeks and all. He described and pointed out each cheese, well done, although we could have used a bit more enthusiasm and knowledge (didn't immediately know if the cheese was sheeps or cows milk).

Overall, things could have been done better. We were expecting a Grand Opening party, and aside from the band that started at 8:00, it was more of a relaxed, quiet evening at a wine & cheese (and meat) lounge - granted we did leave at 8:30. Nothing was on the house - completely ludicrous for a grand opening party. The bathrooms, because they are brand new and probably have some form of disinfectant all over them, smelled a little like the vet where I take my cat. And the no tap water/only bottled water offering is pretentious - even for us.

This said, we'll still come back because the cheese and meat selection was phenomenal, each wine we tried was excellent, and of course there's Ian.

Split Decision

While I commend my Go'Diva counterpart for her synopsis below, I will have an equally enthralling post after the Republican debate. This is after all, South Carolina.

POLITICO DIVA

This will be a long entry and hopefully spur quite a bit of comment from the peanut gallery (that’s you). I scored the hottest ticket in town last night – the Democratic Presidential Primary Debate. Here’s my scoop:

The You Tube format was one of the smartest things I’ve seen. To have real people asking straight questions with emotion is something rarely seen in politics. Even though the people making the videos were quite strange (if that’s “average America,” the phrase “anti-American” is not looking as bad as it used to), it was real. In so many cases, politics ignore the emotional element in an equation. Iraq – let’s look at budget, number of troops, benefit vs. risk of pulling out, costs associated, etc. – but when you have a man showing the flags that laid on the coffins of three of his family members, including his eldest son, it’s hard to ignore the emotional element, which is what all of us “average Americans” really care about. That was one of the more powerful videos (http://youtube.com/user/gwberryY). The two most entertaining were a snowman asking how the candidates were going to protect his snowboy from melting from global warming (http://youtube.com/user/kotasHQ), and a man playing his guitar singing about taxes (http://youtube.com/watch?v=3LH6SuSTvX4). The most disturbing was clearly when a man asked about the candidates’ stance on gun control, asking how he will know his baby is safe. He then says, “this is my baby,” and pulls out a huge machine gun looking thing. It’s too sick for me to even discuss.

Now the candidates:

Hillary Clinton is just phenomenal. She is the smartest one up there and has invaluable experience in the White House. She embraces the human element… she referenced all of the people in the videos by name. Some may say that’s “political” but I say it’s personal. As her campaign video humorously suggested, “Sometimes the best man for the job is a woman.” Agreed.

I love Barack Obama. Who cares about experience when you have all that passion? He’s poised, he’s charismatic and he’s truly passionate for change. And he seems to have a bi-partisan viewpoint which is a great thing for unity. I heard people grumbling that they thought he was guarded and scripted at the debate. Well you should have seen him at the after party. I saw more charisma and passion in his speech there than I did all night at the debate… he preached in a way reminiscent of MLK until the room exploded in applause.

John Edwards… swoon. He is awfully cute. Kennedy cute. He seems like such a nice man, but he also seems like such a “politician” to me. With every question, he’d turn it around with, “But I think the real question is….” The real question is the one that was asked, John. I wonder how sincere everything is – but maybe that’s just the twinkle in his sparkly eyes. I also HATED his comment on Hillary’s jacket – that was classless.

I like Joe Biden and I think he’s in the race. I particularly liked how he called the gunman in the video a complete loon. Joe has movie star white teeth and a wife who is just itching to wear her “First Lady” sash.

Dennis Kucinich – A funny, quirky, likable little ball of energy who gave a great debate. And I’m sure he’s related to Ross Perot.

William Richardson – sweet as cherry pie, but probably not the next President.

Chris Dodd – Was he the one who did the white hair bunny video? If not, I can’t quite remember him.

Mike Gravel – What a nut.

Anderson Cooper – wait, he’s not a candidate. Maybe he should be. He’s awfully cute as well.

Of course I will watch the Republican debate before penning in my vote, or else my republican Go’Diva Sister may divorce me, BUT…

My ticket: President – Hillary Rodham Clinton; Vice President – Barack Obama

Quickly on the social aspect… Three celeb sightings at the debate – The crazy director from Entourage!, Ernie Hudson from “Ghostbusters” and some guy from “The West Wing.” I think I was at the wrong after party. I thought it would be crawling with gorgeous politico men who were just dying to tell me their views on how to bridge the race gap in the South. Sadly, this was not the case. I even wore my very best Jackie O outfit. Oh well, at least John Edwards touched my hand.

Sonnet - To Poes

When I think about Go’Diva Sisters, I think about exclusive panty parade parties, the finest restaurants, the “hidden” spots around town and good old fashion juicy gossip… but sometimes, we just need to state the obvious. Poes. It doesn’t get much better than rolling off the beach or boat around 4pm on a Sunday and strolling into Poes for margaritas, queso dip and fish tacos. Will I ever fail to donk around at Poes come 4? Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

A Couple of Things...

Last Saturday night I dined at La Fourchette on King Street. It was my third occasion and for the third time in a row, I absolutely loved it. From the moment you walk in and get greeted and kissed by the French owner Perig, you feel like you're back in Paris at your favorite restaurant. After you look around, and you notice your surrounded by chic, local couples, you all of a sudden feel lucky to have gotten a table with only 24 hour notice.

Now onto next week...I’ve heard positive buzz about The Trusted Palette, located at 563 King. I love that it’s on upper King, walking distance to Rue de Jean and I have a feeling the Go’Divas will be present for their opening night 7/24.

WHY? and HOW?

"In the demi-monde of footwear, the term croc was once synonymous with elegance—the reptile skin covering a pair of stiletto sling-backs. Today, it's synonymous with an entirely different—and altogether vegetarian—phenomenon. In just a few years, the exquisitely ugly shoes known as "Crocs" have spread around the world like a Paris Hilton sex tape, giving rise to an epidemic of croc babies and their more egregious counterparts, croc parents." - Meghan O'Rourke
WE DO NOT SUPPORT CROCS. The mere fact that a sweet little city like Charleston has been defaced with these rubber NASA decontamination foot covers is beyond me, but please have some pride and dignity, do not wear them. Trust your instincts, they are heinous and it's not okay.

The Untouchables

What I've come to discover is that Chefs in Charleston are like rockstars or actors in L.A. They're not just hot and cocky, they're untouchable. How do you get with these guys? How do you get in the inner circle? Unfortunately, I don't have the answer. Do you have to be in the F&B industry? It's a whole different life you know - they're nocturnal, they have sophisticated palettes, and I'm sure they snort the white stuff. Do you meet them at events? At least then they're out in front of everybody. Do you send them notes back to the kitchen? (I tried that maneuver tonight so I'll let you know if it proves successful.) Take Chef Brett McKee. The bald head, the jeans, the cowboy hat, the neck and snake-up-the-arms tattoos... if I ran into him on the street, I'd run for my life. But because he's the executive Chef at Oak... hot. And don't even get me started on his sous chef. If you're single, and up to the challenge, reserve the chef's table at Oak (Brett, Adam), at Tristan (Aaron), at Cordavi (Dave)... and your dessert is sure to come with extra cream.

Speculation

Since blasting our blog to everyone in Charleston we have received some of the most endearing e-mails. We thank you! Some of them have provided hours of laughs. Our most common inquiry is about who we are, what is our identity?!?!?! People have been dropping names left and right. We're thinking of posting a running tally or poll for the most commonly suggested names, then the top name will be given the opportunity to post a blog on our site, because obviously they must be luxurious if people think she/they are us. While we have heard and met and are actually friends with some of the suggestions, there are a few people out there we'd love to meet! Keep those e-mails coming and don't be shy, post live comments on the blog!

Xoxo,
The Go'Divas

First In Line

There's this chick here in Charleston, who really rubs me the wrong way...while we did agree that we would refrain from using names when degrading others on our blog, as soon as I describe her you may know exactly who I am speaking of...
First of all, over a year ago when my fiancé was still a boyfriend, we were at a party where cocaine was the party favor of choice. I was annoyed and punished him for being there. So there he is talking to this woman and sees that I'm agitated and says, "Will you please excuse me, GoDiva #1 is angry with me so I'd like to go speak with her"...well this woman has the audacity to respond..."Oh please, don't run to her...make her come to you, show her who's boss"...are you kidding me? If I had known that she said that when I was still there I would have publicly reminded her that it's never a good thing to wear tight white Capri pants when you have dimpled saddlebags and thighs that rub together. So that was her first offense. Well several months later we attended her Christmas party. When we got there, it wasn't a house she was throwing the soiree in, it was the clubhouse of her rundown apartment complex. Not only did I ruin my brand new Italian leather stilettos tromping through the wet grass, but they were only serving beer and some cheap hangover inducing chardonnay. We left immediately. That was offense #2.
You will know who I am talking about when and if you meet this woman when your initial reaction to her face is, "WHOA, she was obviously first in line when God was handing out teeth".
If you think you know who I am speaking of, please leave a comment with your horror story and what you think her teeth say about her.

THIS JUST IN!!! BREAKING NEWS!!!

Eddie is leaving Rue. You heard it here first.

A moment of silence please...

Go'Diva Sisters For a Cause

The Go'Diva Sisters love a cause. We're happy to support "Dine for the Charleston Nine," an upcoming event hosted by Charleston Place Hotel to benefit the families of Charleston's heroic fallen firefighters. The event, being held the evening of July 8 at Charleston Place and ticketed at $150, will feature the best restaurants in town, music (hottie Quentin!) and fabulous auction items... all for a very real cause. Info is at www.DineForTheCharlestonNine.com. So, get off your boats early on the holiday weekend because this will be the place to be! Your soul will thank you.

Go'Diva (#2) Report Card

Charleston is fantastic. Here are my favorites of the moment (meaning they are 100% more fabulous than you and you must go immediately if not sooner):
Restaurant (dinner): Oak Steakhouse
Restaurant (breakfast/brunch): High Cotton - get the french toast
Restaurant (lunch): Fast & French
Bar: Rue - when Eddie is working
Music: Quentin Baxter at Charleston Grill (Thurs, Fri and Sat)
Clothing Store: Hamden Clothing
Wine Shop: OHara and Flynn's (by far better than the other handful of wine shops in town)

All = 4 panties.

Why I Hate "Poor"

I hate people who are Poor. I actually only hate one person in particular who is Poor. So Poor we named her Poor. Not Poor in an "aww, how cute, I feel sorry for her" but in an "eww, sick, I want to spit on her" kind of way. Stay away from Poor, you know you've met her if you find yourself buying her meals, plane tickets, clothing and event tickets. That is Poor.

HAPPY SPOLETO!

Number of shows attended: Six. Number of parties attended: Eight. Number of alcoholic beverages consumed: Enough to kill a medium-sized donkey. (My Go'Diva sister's report card: Number of shows attended: Zero. Number of parties attended: Zero. Points toward Go'diva status: Negative 82). Some highlights... The Spoleto Soiree was much better than last year. The breakdancers and abstract artist added to the underground Manhattan club feel. I particularly liked how the live statue kept winking at me and my friends as we walked by... I'm pretty sure I could have had black paint all over my sheets the next morning if I had wanted. The Philip Glass party was a completely fantastic schmooze fest. I spent a majority of the evening having deep talk with a bartender, pretending I could absolutely relate to how hard it is to recover from being a crack head. Spoleto SCENE's White Party was my favorite... there's something about a sea of white that makes you feel like you're swimming in hundred dollar bills. The roofies-in-a-glass cocktail upon arrival and the continuous flow of champagne landed me in front of the cheese cube tower... not a very Go'Diva site. Oops, with all this booze talk, I've forgotten about the shows! Major Bang and Aurelia's Ortario receive 3 panties. The finale receives 4 panties plus cream. Everyone in Charleston should attend the finale. The only things better than drinking all day on a plantation listening to the Symphony are drinking all day on a yacht, multiple orgasms and lindor chocolate. Actually, scratch the last two. Clearly, it was a fabulous Spoleto.

HOOFING 'ROUND TOWN

I'm completely disillusioned. Disheartened. Dis.... confused. Let me start from the beginning. Ralph Lauren is a god. His store feels like you've stepped into Jude Law's life in "The Talented Mr. Ripley" (before he gets wacked) and his parties are fantastic. Of course he has nothing to do with his Charleston store, but it makes me feel more fabulous to talk about it like he's hosting it in person. The store hosted a Spoleto party tonight - champagne, lemon juleps, goat cheese tarts, deviled quail eggs, fantastic clothes, and an equally fantastic crowd. I met a couple - a french man and his fashionable wife - one of those devestatingly handsome and fun older couples with horses, a sailboat and a classic car. I migrate to several people and, when the juleps run dry, we head to a local bar that is commonly known to turn into a gay bar when the sun goes down. There, I discover that my newly found best friend of the evening is a drag queen, that I can't WAIT for Charleston to turn smoke-free, and that there is no better drink than a champagne mini-bottle. Then comes the disheartening part of my story. I see my #1 Charleston crush sitting at the bar... at the GAY bar. Is he gay? Is he just sweet and hanging out with a gay friend? Only time will tell, and I intend to find out.

HOOFING 'ROUND TOWN

Us Go'Diva sisters think we're pretty cool. We think we're in the know, we think our opinion matters hugely, and let's face it - we think we're awfully sexy. But there are people cooler... well, let's say equally as cool. We found them at Robert Langdon Studio Saturday night. It was a fashion show and reminicent of something you'd see in Entourage. Paparazzi snapping hundreds of gorgeous people who's diets must consist of cocaine and sugar free diet red bull. I felt so wild and free that I almost reverted to lesbianism, but thank goodness my Go'Diva sister wouldn't let me have another glass of champagne - although the girl in question was way out of my league anyway! (Oh my -sidebar: The Bachelor just DIPPED Tessa. Ew. Cheese. If some guy dipped me after proposing, I'd definitely change my answer.) So, the moral of the story is this: If someone asks you to go to a fashion show in Charleston, go. I've never been dissapointed. Just stay away from the coke and the hot bisexuals.

Robert Langdon party = 3 Panties.
Based on the Go'Diva rating system: 1 Panty (ie. How long do I have to hold this smile?) to 4 Panties (ie. We HEART this and give our full stamp of approval)

DONKEY PUNCH

Boys in Charleston: The Good, The Bad, and the Oh-Sick-You're-So-Ugly:

Meet John Tucker. Ladies... chances are that you've met him. Chances are that you've slept with him. Here's the thing - he's the George Clooney of regular people. George is notorious for his special gift... when he talks to you, he makes you feel like you're the only woman in the world. The problem is that he makes every woman feel that way. John Tucker has the same gift, and he also takes after his teeny-bopper film counterpart. You see, his secret is that he doesn't commit. If he doesn't commit, he's never technically doing anything wrong. So, even though he treats you like a gf... pursues you, gives you the greatest sex, cuddles you after, takes you to breakfast the next morning, makes you mixed CDs, talks to you about his feelings, makes future plans with you... even when you see him on a date with someone else, you can't TECHNICALLY get mad at him. He never said he was only dating you. The thing is, I don't need to be EXCLUSIVE. Neither do most women. It just usually happens that way when you're hanging out with someone you like. But John Tucker... it's like it's his job to date as many women as possible at one time. I think it's his mission to try and see how many girls he can get to like him at once. A lot of my friends have been there, and now I've been there (and I HATE incest!). So ladies, beware... if he looks like an Affleck, and he acts like George... you may have John Tucker on your hands.

We're coming...

and it's going to be spectacular.