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Daddy Cool (Chris Moody & DJ Riz Remix) – Boney M


Big day. Main goal. Buy sheets for my bed. Using my hand towel as a pillow and bath towel for a blanket was getting a bit unrealistic. A damp bed is never fun. The two girls invited me along to Santa Monica to go shopping with them. Seemed they wanted to buy me a pair of proper jeans anyways. Not that they don’t like my style, I’m told. More that they just absolutely hate my jeans: Loose, not too baggy, not too skinny. Hate them with a passion. Skinny is the new look. According to them. Honestly can’t stand skinny jeans. Can’t stand comfortably in them. However. When in LA. Sell your soul. Santa Monica shopping all the way!

Simple enough shopping agenda: Buy me sheets. Buy me jeans. Perhaps stroll around Santa Monica. Should be fun. Painless shopping trip. Girls just have to call into one shop first. Forever 21. Just grab one thing. Which seems to take forever. Four hours and countless shops later, I’m deliriously wondering when I might see sheets. Don’t care about jeans. At all. Need sheets though. Finally we get to the shop where I can buy… A proper pair of jeans. Girls laden me with a mountain of denim. Shoo me off to the changing room. Shoes off. Jeans on. Realise that they are funking ridiculous. Some are so skinny I literally can’t pull them up past my knees. Added to this struggle, gay shop assistants keep popping their heads in the changing room curtains to see if I’m ok. One guy in particular does it a bit too often. Seems to be a fan. Lingering leering looks. In fairness to the really hot female shop assistant in there, she stayed professional. Did not bother me once. Not one look. Not one! Nice of her. Tut.

Eventually manage to zip up one pair of jeans. Girls love them. They start chanting, I start dancing “Buy them. Buy them. Buy them now!” To keep the girls happy and speed up the process of culling this shopping trip, I nod in agreement. Maybe I might wear them if I ever have to paint the house. Something like that. Plus, and far more importantly, they’re only $10. As I make my way to the counter, Layla spots another pair. Oh my God. They’re almost as nice as the ones I have! In fact, yes, she thinks they may be even nicer! Yeah, mayb… spot the price tag. $180. Ha, no, no, I think the ones I have already are my favourite. Bullet. Dodge.

Final port of call: Buy sheets. Jess knows the perfect shop. Boutique place she goes visits. (Sheet boutique?) Within ten minutes I’m carrying sheets, pillows, candles, duvets, rugs, comforters, throws, fancy hand towels, fancy wash cloths, matching towels for guests, robes, slippers and a “Book of Thoughts”. Perfect book for people to read, if ever I get guests in my bathroom. Girls go off and look for another elusive type of pillow I might need. As I’m chilling out, I notice the prices of all the items in my basket. Cheapest towel is $50. At least $1,000 worth of goods. I have my own towel. I don’t need any of this crap. Even the sheets are ridiculously expensive. $250 for sheets? Or is that just for a pillow case? I ask an assistant. Counting threads? Pardon me?

Funk that. Across the road to Target. Say nothing to the girls. Slip over. Grab sheets, couple of pillows, $50, and away I go. By the time I get back, Jess is at the counter with all my goods. Ready to buy? Anything else I wanted? Seems to be let down when she sees my Target bag. Did I not like the sheet boutique? No, not that. Just a bit sheet. Decides to just buy all the stuff for herself so instead. Which gave me the impression she was going to buy the stuff for me all along. Her treat. Good work by me. Book of thoughts would’ve been a nice touch. Still though, sheets are sheets. Can’t go too wrong with them!

Bonded with the girls today as well. Most of the time. Mentioned to Jess that she looked a bit like Kate Moss. Did not go down as well as I thought. Seeing as they were both unwittingly dating the same guy at the same time before. In my defence, what are the odds? Saved the day by complimenting her dress sense. Funky as funk, with a rock ‘n’ roll twist. Blue boots. White dress. Leather jacket. Russian style fur hat. Somehow, all worked well. Really well. Really cool chick. Layla knows Jess from modeling back in New York. Both appear to know a lot of well-known folk. Stories to come I’m sure. Neither girl actually told me their age now I think about it. Early/mid 20’s? Must be a model thing.

Shopping. Finally. Done. Home. Shower. Time to booze on. Suss out the bars nearby. Rebound around the place. Bounce on! Girls? Too tired? Tut. Spoof. Ok. Which way should I go? Down the street. Down I go! First bar. Order up. Sip. Sip. Two free drinks sent over to me. Compliments of those two guys. Which what? Bar man points to the other side of the bar. Everyone must love the Irish! Although how did they know I’m Irish? Funk it, booze on. Cheers lads! Nice of them. Nice fellows. Both have good posture. Interesting. Looked around. Lots of guys in this bar with good posture. Peacock style. Tested the water…  Cheers everyone! All gave me a ‘Heeeeeey’ back. That’s what I thought. Good work by me. Rebounding is going well. First bar: Gay bar. Joys of living in Boys Town. Drinking on my own. Wide eyed. Bushy head. WeHo should I go?!

Bar man see me comprehending all of this. Points me in the right direction. Chug. On my way. Second bar. Barneys Beanery. College/sports bar. Not exactly what I was looking for either. But. At least a few women here. Pretend to look for my friends at the bar. Fun solo drinking. Find a bar stool. Booze on. Two girls next to me spark up a conversation. Friendly girls. Jolly looking. Remind me of Roseanne Barr. Ellen. Funny women. Realise they seem to be together. Buy me a shot. Buy me another one. Invite me to a party with them. Back at their place. Just the three of us. Kind of odd. Just the three of us? That’s no party! Oh. Right. Innuendos thrown at me. Few more shots thrown down me too. Very friendly girls. Jolly. Too jolly looking. Politely throw their innuendos away and mingle on.

Drinks. Flowing. Mingling boots on. Meet a few girls. Ladies. Top o’ the morn. All fans of the Irish accent. All buying me whiskey. All because ‘It’s an Irish drink!’ Six chunky shots later I’m teaching them all made-up Irish dancing. Three more shots and… Unfortunately Irish dancing was my last definitive memory of the night. Whiskey cloud. Hollywood haze. I do know this. Next morning. Woke up. In my room. Half naked. Half drunk. Half wearing inside out women’s clothes. Highly confused. Girls burst in my door. Laughing at me. Why the funk am I wearing women’s pants?! Which? What? Oh right. Skinny jeans I bought yesterday… Women’s jeans. Oh. So that’s how they’re so skinny. All the guys wear them, I’m told. Presumed I knew. I did not. I also didn’t know why I would try them on at whatever hour I got home either though. Hmmm. Probably as I am an ape.

Seems the the girls weren’t actually laughing at me because of the jeans either. Nay nay. Laughing at me because of where I slept. Next to my bed. On the floor. Using my unopened sheets as a pillow. Why not sleep in the bed? Good question. I’ll go with being a drunken ape this time. Turns out I am a sheet head as well. You actually can go wrong with sheets. My bed: Fit for a king. My sheets: Only fit a queen! WeHoooooo!

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