Bash Compactor: Sour Cherries

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Sour Cherries

No big names bothered to attend Carrie Borzillo-Vrenna’s rock-and-roll-cliché-laden bash for Cherry Bomb last Tuesday night, despite attracting fearsome foxes like Joan Jett to the book’s Los Angeles soiree. The new self-help book turns women hot through the transformative power of rock, Carrie told me, as she sucked on a long piece of glittery blue rock candy and squirmed around in a short, tight, silvery dress. “It’s on loan, but hopefully my husband will buy it for me,” she gushed red-carpet style, adding that she was wearing a skort because she didn’t want to show her “box.” She twirled around to show off the goods again, as her parents, in from Connecticut, looked on from across the small VIP booth.

On the hunt for the legendary punk rock publicist and former Ramones manager Danny Fields, who had allegedly RSVP’d but was nowhere to be found, I chatted up a statuesque blonde with a perfectly teased, late-’80s-style bouffant. She called herself Vixen Neil. I asked her, “What rock chick do you admire the most?” “That’s a tough one,” she answered focusing intently. “Well, what rocker do you most want to bang?” That was an even more difficult question for her. I told her to get back to me and handed her some paper.

Girls that had no trouble answering a few questions on the night’s theme were 23-year-old pals Maggie and Rhianna, both preps in finance. “I would still fuck Mick Jagger,” said Maggie. Her friend averred that Mick was old and gross. “Well you did hook up with Jeremy Piven,” Maggie shot back with mock disdain. They agreed that Carrie Borzillo-Vrenna had a “really nice ass.”

As I was leaving, Vixen Neil came running after me waving what seemed like a manuscript. “Here are my answers, they’re good ones!”

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