Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Bring Your Heaters to Hollywood.

Saturday night a friend and her friend flaked out on me and my friend, my friend being the friend I invited because my friend (the girl) had a best friend (an alleged girl) visiting town. Such is the way out here. One assumes people are more reliable elsewhere but then again the grass is always greener.

So I end up going to a chic bar for a friend-of-a-friend's birthday. I have a confession to make - I am not good at dressing myself. Not the function of putting clothes on, but of choosing what to wear.

Hollywood usually has four or five "in" styles going, yet it seems the patrons of any one establishment decide on a particular style, like as if an email blast went out the day before, saying something like, "tomorrow night no trucker hats folks, we're going with the Mao hat and retro sport coat."

Whenever I choose slick producer wanna-be (Ken Cole shirt, clean-shaven, with Diesels), everybody else has gone dirty white trash ($50 T-shirt, scruff, and jeans with holes). I go scruff, they go classy, and I feel like the scumbag who didn't shave.

I created a rule within the first few months of living out here: When going out to Hollywood always bring a pack of cigarettes (even though I don't smoke.)

A. Because it seemed like girls were always asking me for a cigarette and/or light.
B. Requires further explanation.

For me, going out in Hollywood requires a long drive. The long drives demands a prohibition of alcohol. It is just too long of a drive to have more than a drink or two. Therefore, unlike the neighborhood bar, in Hollywood one finds themselves in long stints with nothing to do.

For one can only do so much at a bar. There are a finite number of moves. One can try talking to friends/group, and nod politely, even though no one can hear a word over the music. There's attempts at talking to strangers with the same result, only without the politeness. One can also go to the bathroom, go to the bar (two trip limit), check their cell phone, make a call, or have a smoke.

The last two are key since it gets you out of the bar, although making a call is soo Hollywood you really have to be beyond self-absorbed to pull it off without looking self-absorbed.

So Saturday night I ignored The Rule and paid for it. For why make rules if you don't follow them?

After returning from the bathroom, I found I used my two drink passes and my friend was nodding to acquaintances politely while I had nothing to do except walk outside, up the street, into a cockroach-infested liquor shop to buy a pack of heaters. By the time I got back to the bar my buddy was outside and the night was over. At least it was something to do.

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