I am gutted to be writing this post at this hour of the night. Once again, it would be brilliant, if only it had happened to a friend. It is a recurring theme at this stage. Today was a great day, funny as funk, very unfruitful, didn’t achieve much, but had to laugh at it. I’ll write about that tomorrow. Tonight was the main story. I was done. But, I understand why at least.
I decided to lift my no boozing ban at the 11th hour. Seeing as I got a call from a few guys I play soccer with to head out, along with the fact I had to celebrate my first paid article being published today (wuu huu! I am now officially a struggling writer, ha), I decided it would be rude not to.
As it was Wednesday, My House was the port of call, the scene where I made such good buddies with Ricky Bobby and Shwayze. I can have no qualms with the DJ dude about the website not materializing, seeing as he managed to skip me past a queue of about a hundred to get in. Once again, if only the girls in the queue knew how unimportant I actually was as I skipped on by. It would later work to my advantage.
So, I get in, the place is rocking, it actually is a savage venue, good music too, clientele are posing to the max everywhere you look but seeing as I wore a scarf there, who was I to complain. I stroll around, in my scarf, looking for the soccer heads. Find them, small talk, rar diddy rar, I notice a hot enough girl sitting on the edge of the couch next to me on her own. Me being so nice and all, go over to her to engage in a bit of conversation. She immediately loves the accent. Well, not really, I think she loves the fact that I am apparently speaking English but all it sounds like to her is “Hubbula hubbula, hubbula?” All I said was “Howdy”. To and fro we go, me talking, her not understanding a word, oh my God, you are too funny. I had not attempted one joke at that stage so I presume she is laughing at me. At least she hadn’t Googled my name and left yet.
My hubbula’s have her in bits, she has to introduce me to her friend and the guy she’s talking to. How’s it going, hubbula, yeah, I am speaking English too, hubbula, I know that dude from somewhere. So I make some horrific joke about the other girl’s name, which none of them laugh at. However, they do laugh when I say “Oh Jesus” that they haven’t laughed. It is going well. Except the fact that there is a familiar smell lingering from the girls, sniff sniff, they smell Irish, sniff sniff, thats the one, fake tan. Anyways, the dude is the guy from the Fabulous 4 (I am later informed its the Fantastic 4). He suggests that we get the girls some drinks, sure bud, your round. Up to the bar we go, some small talk which he obviously cant understand. It is then that I notice that the smell of fake tan is worse now that Im standing next to him at the bar helping him with the drinks. Sniff sniff. The smell is off him. Oh Jesus.
We go back to the girls with the drinks, more banter, the girl gives me her number (means nothing here by the way, same as me giving a girl my 088 number) and we finish the drinks. The guy gives me a knowing nod, “Get the same round in again, this is going well”, one of those nods. I give him a nod back, same again girls, be right back. As I walk to the bar I cop on that the last round of 4 vodka Red Bulls he bought us cost about $50, including tip. Hmmm, $50, on my budget. I have $30 in my pocket. Hmmm. That girl has already given me her number and was starting to look bored at not understanding a word I said. Hmmm. What to do… Excuse me, just the one bottle of Bud Light please. I forgot to go back to them, ha.
Instead I go for a stroll around the club, noticing that the staff working there are ridiculously hot, they seem just to be wearing long shirts as their uniform. I stop one girl and ask her why she’s wearing no pants, and we’re off on the hubbula road again. The girl comments on how she saw me skip the queue, what do I do? One of those I know, but she was hot so I left her off. I told her the truth, I was out celebrating my first article being printed in the Echo, had she ever heard of it, it was a pretty big deal, ha. She laughed, either because she didn’t understand, or else, even worse, she did understand, which made her laugh even harder, at me. Either way she was sucked in, nice shirt, where are your pants, I’ll swap you mine if you like, hardy har. Any parties after the club, I’m finished work at two? Oh sweet Jesus, I do, up on Mulholland, my buddy’s buddy’s house, he has a few pools, we should do a bit of midnight swimming.
It was at this point when the lights came on, the club was over. She said she had to go finish up, let me know the address, she’ll follow in 5 minutes. I ask for her number, she starts to slowly (why not fast!), s-l-o-w-l-y give me her digits. She is 5 numbers in when this guy dressed as a hobo next to us interrupts, taps her on the shoulder. She turns, we both look at him, the hobo is Tom Green. Balls. He says don’t bother with that party, he is having one at his friend’s place, it’ll be far better. Ok Tom, I was planning something else but I suppose a party with you will be okay still. Oh, it’s just her that’s invited. Oh. You pr**k.
I’m not too worried though, I have faith in the girl still, she’s 5 digits in, too late to pull out now, obviously. She turns back around, and the face says it all. Eh, sorry, but that is Tom Green, it could be good for my career. Noooo, I was going to put you in my sitcom, noooo!!! Sorry, great meeting you though, you’re so funny. Noooo, I’m not funny, I can dress like a hobo too if you like, nooooo!!!! Did I tell you who owned the house?!! He won’t be there or anything, but still… Tom, you pr**k!!!!!
The night ends on a sour note. My buddy says he’ll drop me home if I like, cheers man, at least I don’t have to pay for a cab. As we walk to his car, we stroll past another car with the paparazzi swarming it. Look in, its good old Tom posing for a few pictures. No sign of the girl. Must have been following him in 5 minutes.
At least this is a savage song to pick up anyone’s spirits and give you back some soul, pump it up, some song to drive through L.A to… Everyday People by Sly and The Family Stone