Who Would Have Guessed?
I say this all the time, but I don't think that it is something that can be said enough. It is the nights that you expect to take you absolutely nowhere that wind up taking you everywhere and back. Just to set the scene for you here...it is a random Monday in the month of January. Mondays are not exactly rip roaring parties to begin with. The work week has just started and people are probably still sort of recovering from the weekend. And could there be a month that is anymore blaise then January. If you have a birthday in January then you are lucky because it give you something to look forward to, but for the rest of us who are just coming off all of the holiday hoopla it is as if nothing is really going on. Your at the club, and the music has stopped and the lights go on, and the bartender tells you that you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here. Well if you can't stay here then where are you going to go?
Kristyn is here from NYC staying with me and working on some projects, and our other friend from NYC, Elle, lives out here as well(Elle and I have been horribly neglectful in seeing each other, but now that we have finally gotten our act together we have a future of many fun nights ahead of us!), and the three of us decided to go out for happy hour. We went through a lot of different options, but ultimately decided on going to Fiesta. I swear that I am cosmically linked to this bar, because I always wind up there. Yes, they have happy hour seven days a week twice night-two for one drinks that are very very strong, but it seems as if even when I am trying to go some place else the pull of Fiesta is intoxicating to all that are around me. For a brief moment it looked as if we were going to go to the Abbye, but that quickly fell apart and it was off to Fiesta, which of course meant that I didn't have to make myself look cute. I mean my hair was not done, and I was in the green American Apparell jacket that I wear all the time and my new balance sneakers. Hell I hadn't even shaved, and while I was by no means a disaster I would have pulled myself together a little bit more if we had gone to the Abbye. I have learned through many visits to Fiesta that there is no reason for me to do myself up for the trashy little bar that is Fiesta.
The night really did start out innocently enough. Elle, Kristyn, and I were having drinks and talking and having a good time. Kristyn was thinking about going to meet another friend. Kristyn and I got to meet Elle's boyfriend. It was a chill night in which we were catching up and hanging out. Apparently that was only the calm before the storm, because in almost the blink of an eye the entire course of the evening changed. We were on our second or third doubles of the evening, so we were all feeling pretty good, and that is when Elle went to the bathroom, and came back with Michael. Michael is a hairdresser who wanted to do Elle's hair, and then he saw Kristyn and wanted to do her hair as well. It was a flurry of him writing his phone number down, and telling them all the wonderful colors that he could put in their hair, and the next thing that we knew he was sort of with our party. We had gotten a new friend.
A new friend who had ADD. Michael wasn't really able to hold one conversation for longer then thirty seconds before either being distracted by something or someone or completely changing the topic without any warning whatsoever. He also seemed to have a vocabulary that consisted of the words dude or rad. Later on in the evening, I told him that he was very Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, because that was all that I could think of when he would use those words. I have never heard anyone say dude as much as this guy did. It was like he was being paid by the dude commission to re-introduce the term among the twenty-somethings of america. Memo to the Dude Commission: it is never coming back so recall your recruits.
To me Michael is the LA equivalent of a NY hipster, except NY hipsters do more then talk the talk. They also walk the walk. The LA hipsters, much like everyone else in LA, only talk the talk. The other thing people in LA love to do, and Michael was very much a member of this party: say that they have no friends yet run into eight people as you walk down the street and have their phone ring so much that it is burning and vibrate with text messages with such frequency that it could take flight. You have no friends, Michael, really? Then why do you know every person who has come in the bar, and why do you check your phone every ten seconds. When I am in NY, I run into people all the time, and my phone does tend to ring off the hook, but I don't pretend not to have any friends.
But that is a little tangent, back to the evening. Other then his ADD, Michael seemed like a cool kid so we were fine with him hanging out with us, but here is where the evening took a turn for the weird. I went to the bathroom, and as I was standing there Michael came out of the bathroom and started to tell me that his American Express Gift Card was not working, but the back of the card didn't have a phone number. Since I buy into the American Express slogan of never leaving home without it, was able to whip my Amex card out and give him the phone number on the back of it. Well he didn't want to actually do the talking, he wanted me to do it. Why does he want someone that he has known for twenty-five minutes to call American Express and deal with his faulty card? The better question is why did the fool who is sitting here telling you this story actually agree to do it. I'll tell you why....I was drunk and he was a cute boy, and when you mix cute boys....let me change that....this boy was hot....and when you mix a drunk Brian with a hot boy that is a recipe for disaster. As a matter of fact it is a recipe that they need to take out of the cookbook because nothing tasty ever comes out of it.
Of course I was soon faced with the obstacle of knowing nothing about this person, and had to hand over the phone to him. Shocking I knew nothing about someone that I had known for twenty-five minutes. He resolved his issue, and we rejoined Elle and Kristyn. Elle, being the party girl that she is, had called a friend and gotten the names of a few places that we could go, one of which Elijiah Wood apparently djed at on Monday night's. With Michael in tow, we headed out of Fiesta and towards this bar which was I have no idea where. Everyon decided that it would be a good idea if we took a cab, and I have to say that they were right because we were all trashed, but my question was where were we going to find a cab in LA and a cab that was going to fit five people to boot. Elle suggested that we find a van cab. To me this sounded ridiculous. I didn't even think that we were going to be able to find a cab, let alone a van cab. Unfortunately, this is LA not NYC. Guess what drove past us at that moment? A van cab. That's right. We didn't get it because he didn't stop when we waved him down, but it was there. It was a van cab. I was shocked. Then I was shocked again when we actually found a cab, and he let us seat four people in the back and one in the front. Apparently the cab drivers in LA are less of a stickler for the rules then the cab drivers in NYC, because for the most part that will not fly in New York. They will drive away with the door open before they let five people in the car.
What felt like five years later we arrived at the bar, that we could not get into. Yes, that is right my friends we were rejected entrance from this shitty little bar on a Monday night that had no one it. I think there might have been four very unhappy looking people milling about in there. Why could we not get in it you may be asking yourself? There was a list. This shit hole bar had a list. Apparently that waste of space bar had a list every Monday night. It was some kind of private party for a promoter. It was some kind of lame party is what it was.
Not one to be deterred, Elle led us onward till we reached a bar which name I don't remember. We went in to use the restroom, and Elle's boyfriend Robert got a beer, which was promptly placed in Elle's purse when Elle and Kristyn got out of the bathroom. But that beer was not enough because we were on our way to the Roosevelt Hotel, and in the meantime we needed to have some liquid refreshment from a liquor store. Elle took herself into the liquor store, bought a bottle of vodka and some mountain dew, dumped half of the mountain dew on the street, and proceeded to make a very very strong combination of mountain dew and vodka which was passed around to all. Yes, that is correct, we were all sharing a badly mixed moutain dew and vodka combination next to the Carl's Jr. on Sunset Boulevard with an LA hipster named Michael that we had known for all of an hour. Good times.
Kristyn is here from NYC staying with me and working on some projects, and our other friend from NYC, Elle, lives out here as well(Elle and I have been horribly neglectful in seeing each other, but now that we have finally gotten our act together we have a future of many fun nights ahead of us!), and the three of us decided to go out for happy hour. We went through a lot of different options, but ultimately decided on going to Fiesta. I swear that I am cosmically linked to this bar, because I always wind up there. Yes, they have happy hour seven days a week twice night-two for one drinks that are very very strong, but it seems as if even when I am trying to go some place else the pull of Fiesta is intoxicating to all that are around me. For a brief moment it looked as if we were going to go to the Abbye, but that quickly fell apart and it was off to Fiesta, which of course meant that I didn't have to make myself look cute. I mean my hair was not done, and I was in the green American Apparell jacket that I wear all the time and my new balance sneakers. Hell I hadn't even shaved, and while I was by no means a disaster I would have pulled myself together a little bit more if we had gone to the Abbye. I have learned through many visits to Fiesta that there is no reason for me to do myself up for the trashy little bar that is Fiesta.
The night really did start out innocently enough. Elle, Kristyn, and I were having drinks and talking and having a good time. Kristyn was thinking about going to meet another friend. Kristyn and I got to meet Elle's boyfriend. It was a chill night in which we were catching up and hanging out. Apparently that was only the calm before the storm, because in almost the blink of an eye the entire course of the evening changed. We were on our second or third doubles of the evening, so we were all feeling pretty good, and that is when Elle went to the bathroom, and came back with Michael. Michael is a hairdresser who wanted to do Elle's hair, and then he saw Kristyn and wanted to do her hair as well. It was a flurry of him writing his phone number down, and telling them all the wonderful colors that he could put in their hair, and the next thing that we knew he was sort of with our party. We had gotten a new friend.
A new friend who had ADD. Michael wasn't really able to hold one conversation for longer then thirty seconds before either being distracted by something or someone or completely changing the topic without any warning whatsoever. He also seemed to have a vocabulary that consisted of the words dude or rad. Later on in the evening, I told him that he was very Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, because that was all that I could think of when he would use those words. I have never heard anyone say dude as much as this guy did. It was like he was being paid by the dude commission to re-introduce the term among the twenty-somethings of america. Memo to the Dude Commission: it is never coming back so recall your recruits.
To me Michael is the LA equivalent of a NY hipster, except NY hipsters do more then talk the talk. They also walk the walk. The LA hipsters, much like everyone else in LA, only talk the talk. The other thing people in LA love to do, and Michael was very much a member of this party: say that they have no friends yet run into eight people as you walk down the street and have their phone ring so much that it is burning and vibrate with text messages with such frequency that it could take flight. You have no friends, Michael, really? Then why do you know every person who has come in the bar, and why do you check your phone every ten seconds. When I am in NY, I run into people all the time, and my phone does tend to ring off the hook, but I don't pretend not to have any friends.
But that is a little tangent, back to the evening. Other then his ADD, Michael seemed like a cool kid so we were fine with him hanging out with us, but here is where the evening took a turn for the weird. I went to the bathroom, and as I was standing there Michael came out of the bathroom and started to tell me that his American Express Gift Card was not working, but the back of the card didn't have a phone number. Since I buy into the American Express slogan of never leaving home without it, was able to whip my Amex card out and give him the phone number on the back of it. Well he didn't want to actually do the talking, he wanted me to do it. Why does he want someone that he has known for twenty-five minutes to call American Express and deal with his faulty card? The better question is why did the fool who is sitting here telling you this story actually agree to do it. I'll tell you why....I was drunk and he was a cute boy, and when you mix cute boys....let me change that....this boy was hot....and when you mix a drunk Brian with a hot boy that is a recipe for disaster. As a matter of fact it is a recipe that they need to take out of the cookbook because nothing tasty ever comes out of it.
Of course I was soon faced with the obstacle of knowing nothing about this person, and had to hand over the phone to him. Shocking I knew nothing about someone that I had known for twenty-five minutes. He resolved his issue, and we rejoined Elle and Kristyn. Elle, being the party girl that she is, had called a friend and gotten the names of a few places that we could go, one of which Elijiah Wood apparently djed at on Monday night's. With Michael in tow, we headed out of Fiesta and towards this bar which was I have no idea where. Everyon decided that it would be a good idea if we took a cab, and I have to say that they were right because we were all trashed, but my question was where were we going to find a cab in LA and a cab that was going to fit five people to boot. Elle suggested that we find a van cab. To me this sounded ridiculous. I didn't even think that we were going to be able to find a cab, let alone a van cab. Unfortunately, this is LA not NYC. Guess what drove past us at that moment? A van cab. That's right. We didn't get it because he didn't stop when we waved him down, but it was there. It was a van cab. I was shocked. Then I was shocked again when we actually found a cab, and he let us seat four people in the back and one in the front. Apparently the cab drivers in LA are less of a stickler for the rules then the cab drivers in NYC, because for the most part that will not fly in New York. They will drive away with the door open before they let five people in the car.
What felt like five years later we arrived at the bar, that we could not get into. Yes, that is right my friends we were rejected entrance from this shitty little bar on a Monday night that had no one it. I think there might have been four very unhappy looking people milling about in there. Why could we not get in it you may be asking yourself? There was a list. This shit hole bar had a list. Apparently that waste of space bar had a list every Monday night. It was some kind of private party for a promoter. It was some kind of lame party is what it was.
Not one to be deterred, Elle led us onward till we reached a bar which name I don't remember. We went in to use the restroom, and Elle's boyfriend Robert got a beer, which was promptly placed in Elle's purse when Elle and Kristyn got out of the bathroom. But that beer was not enough because we were on our way to the Roosevelt Hotel, and in the meantime we needed to have some liquid refreshment from a liquor store. Elle took herself into the liquor store, bought a bottle of vodka and some mountain dew, dumped half of the mountain dew on the street, and proceeded to make a very very strong combination of mountain dew and vodka which was passed around to all. Yes, that is correct, we were all sharing a badly mixed moutain dew and vodka combination next to the Carl's Jr. on Sunset Boulevard with an LA hipster named Michael that we had known for all of an hour. Good times.
posted by Unknown @ 6:02 PM
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