The party was somewhere on the far West Side, a part of town known for clubs and velvet ropes. When we got there, it became clear that the allegedly "exclusive" event was, in fact, apparently open to everyone in the city plus tourists from a few dozen countries, all milling around and shouting about being on various lists while officious PAs and menacing bouncers screamed conflicting directions. Someone told us there were "fire code issues" and no one else could get in. Someone else said there was only one line and to get into it. Someone who was also "with the band" told us to stand on the sidewalk where a PA screamed at me to move. We ran into the bassist's girlfriend, who was carrying a pair of pants and looking befuddled. Someone took the pants from her and promised to deliver them backstage, but she couldn't come in. Some manager from the band tried to get us behind some other, apparently better rope but someone cut me off before they closed the rope and I was left standing on the sidewalk, where a very large bouncer shoved me very hard and I flew several feer and crashed into a group of blondes teetering in high heels. Someone talked to someone and I was let behind the rope with a few hundred people, including some bloggers, an elaborately-dressed group of Japanese fashionistas and a minor character from Gossip Girl. We stood behind the rope in our pen for an hour. Intermittently the bouncer let models or rich people in and laughed and flirted with them, then told us behind the rope that they were at capacity and they didn't care if we were on the band's list.

When they finally decided to let people in, the band's set was over. So we left and got Thai food. A bag lady complimented my glasses chain.

It's noon Sunday at an early St. Patrick's Day Parade and roving packs of college kids on spring break are already drunk. Williams approaches a woman swigging from a beer-filled squirt bottle and tells her he's supporting Sen. Barack Obama. "What if I decide John McCain is the hottest guy ever?" says the woman, wearing strands of green Mardi Gras beads.

Mr. Williams fires back: "First of all, I'd think that's really gross." After a minute of flirtatious back-and-forth, the woman tucks her bottle under one arm and registers as a Democrat.

Of course I expected more than my fair share when I decided to put myself out there and write a blog on the campaign; however, I've been surprised by critical comments regarding my weight and body shape. It recently reached a ridiculous level when someone handed me a business card for a plastic surgeon and suggested I needed liposuction. I am proud of my curves and have always loved my fuller figure, as should every woman who is not a size "0". I want to be a positive role model for my little sister and all of the other young women who read my blog and help perpetuate a more positive image for women, regardless of their body size.

Party Animals [WSJ]