Temperature wise, the extreme heat wave here in L.A seems to be over. However, I will not lie, between you, me, and the garden path, I am going through a bit of a dry spell myself. It has been a few days, ha. Some heat. Which has been made all the worse by the carry on the last few days.

On Wednesday, after contemplating going to My House (US Weekly were having a big event though and my buddy on the door was off for the night, so nay go there), then perhaps Disco Dodgeball (exactly what you think it might be, however in the end my knee ruled me out), I ended up going for a random third option and went to a house club in Hollywood. Which was cool enough, and seemed like a normal club. No celebs in there, girls weren’t asking you who you were, they were more interested in where the accent was from, back to basics!

So I am outside in the smoking room with a guy I play soccer with. We are speaking at the top of our voices, throwing our accents around like a girl with tassive mits might do, seeing what we could reel in. And it worked a treat, “Where are you from, really, I R Land, oh my God, no way, you’re a priest, that’s so cool!” The night was going well, two girls could not get enough of me telling them they were horrific looking, they were far from it being honest, and when I told one she needed to shave her shoulders, it tipped her over the edge. “Oh my Gawd, you’re so funny, you have to come back to our place after this, the three of us have to party together!” Who, just the two of ye, and me? “Yeah, are you not allowed being a priest?!!” Oh sweet Lord, play it cool, was I jumping the gun presuming this, no, surely not, surely, finally, was this going to be the Holy Grail of a threesome, the two girls were offering me to come back to their place, and the night was still young, let me check my watch, not yet one o’clock. 

Balls. I remembered at this point that I was due to do a radio interview for a Cork station at 1.10 my time here, 9.10 back in Cork. I was outside in the smoking room, but it was still loud, music pumping, it was going to be tough to hear the call or for them to hear me. So, I told the girls I would be back in two minutes, I just have to go outside to take a call. Oh, and I can’t wait to come party with both of ye later, sounds savage. Back in two minutes, hang on here, I’ll be right back, down move. I scuttle back into the club, force my way all the way through, tell the bouncer I’ll be just outside for two minutes, and I’ll be back in. All of this was a bit of effort seeing as the club was full to the brim. Anyways, I am outside by 1.10, waiting for the call. Waiting. No call. Wait some more. No call. It is about 1.20, and I am standing outside a club on Hollywood Boulevard with my phone in my hand, no one ringing me, feeling like a complete ape.

I get proactive, and like a fool, I ring them, freaking to myself about my credit. Oh sorry Mark, big news here, Roy Keane has just been appointed manager of Ipswich, I was just about to call you, we’re having Eamonn Dunphy on first, then you, sound good? I was being bumped an hour. The job. I hang up, back to the bouncer, I was just inside, you didn’t give me a stamp, I was, seriously, you just saw me leaving, cool, am I good, finally. Back through the crowd of people on the dance floor, back outside to the smoking room, back out to my buddy and the gir… where did those two girls go? “Where did you go mate, you just f**ked off after they asked you back to their place later, the girls left, not sure where they are gone to now, they thought they scared you off being a priest!” No funking way. No way. Seriously? No way. You’re lying. Seriously? For funk’s sake, I’m some ape. How did the radio thing go? It didn’t!!! Did they just leave… nooo, Keanoooo, nooooo!!!

Back inside to the club, do one (two) quick laps of the club to see if I can find the girls, no joy, straight to the bar, line up the shots, never good when highly annoyed. The night has dipped unexpectedly but they weren’t the only two girls in the club, it can still be saved. If I wasn’t an ape. Trying to do a bit of dancing (good old shots) with an Aussie girl, getting into a rhythm, bodies swaying, legs interlinked, knees twisting, oh sweet Jesus my knee. A combination of her and the crowd off the dance floor hit off my knee, it buckles, she steps back away from me, I fall down on one knee, kneeling in pain for what seems like an age but probably only about a minute on the dance floor, good God what a horrendous night. Few more drinks with the soccer buddy, one final lap of the club for the girls with the lights on to make sure, no joy, obviously, cab home, just as I get out the phone rings, all I can think of while doing it is about the missed opportunities, done and dusted, and I am home, alone, reeking, horrendous night.

The next night, I had another acting class to audit, for free, I think that may have been the last one at that school. I have actually been to this class before, it is the nutter class where everyone cries, a lot (In The Shower. Singing. In French. Crying. Go!) As with all classes, the teacher introduces himself (re-introduces, he half recognizes me but I played dumb, not too hard for me) and tells me to enjoy the class, observe, and if you see something you like or want to try out the exercises, join in with it, its all up to you.

Sounds good, I’ll just observe to start with. Again, everyone is scattered all over the room, doing different warming up techniques and exercises. All of which seem to involve crying and punching your arms out saying “Huuuuhhhhh”. Freaks me out, but not as much as the first time. Until one girl, facing me but a few feet away, suddenly opens her eyes and punches the air with a “Huuuuhhh” while staring at me, then bursts into tears. Oh Jesus, did I do something, no, I forgot, thats just their thing to do, nutters.

There I am, in a room full of people crying, huhhing away, when I hear a familiar cry and wail, it’s the girl who sang the last time. She is wailing for dear life, sobbing like mad, freaking out, it is like she is possessed. She calms down a bit, and starts panting, and moaning, as if she is having an orgasm. Then the crying starts again, the teacher is telling her to calm down, be happy (more tears), be excited (even more tears), be sad (orgasm time). She is not the best looking girl in the class, or even outside the class, but she is sitting behind me, so all I hear is her moaning, and panting, slowly, deeply, and the heat kicks in again, ha! Eventually she tails off into a song, which sounds like a French version of Baa Baa Black Sheep.

I decide to observe other people. Bad idea. An Asian girl is after rolling around the room and ended up on the floor in front of me, doing the “exploration exercise” with “extreme heat” on top. So she starts to feel the imaginary heat beat down on her, rolling around the floor in front of me, and starts to whip off her top. Slowly pulling it over her head, eyes closed the whole time, wriggling on the floor, doing the splits, oh sweet Lord for your own sake stop, off comes the top, she’s now in her bikini top and jeans, wriggling on the floor, slightly tugging at her jeans as if they are too warm for her to wear. I was told to observe, so felt it would’ve been rude not to look.

Next minute I hear the panting from behind me again, Baa Baa Black Sheep must’ve ended. So as I am observing a hot girl wriggle around the floor in front of me, stripping down, doing the splits and all sorts of maneuvers, all I can hear from behind me is a girl panting, moaning, building up a head of steam in French. Oh sweet Jesus, this is to much, teacher, TEACHER, what did you mean by “Join in if I see something I’d like to try”?!!!!

Just as I am taking off my shoes and socks about to join in, the teacher rudely stops the warm up, and tells us it it time for this week’s scenes. Give me just 5 more minutes to warm up! No? My mind has drifted for the rest of the class, but I must admit, this acting malarky is growing on me more and more.

The nights here can get quite chilly, so they can, do the walk home cools me off. At least I got a 10 minute reprieve. Just as I reach my entrance, I notice a lot of commotion at the top of my street. There are four television trucks getting ready outside the club that had been shut since I moved in, I did notice that there were a few hot girls making their way towards the place earlier. Might as well go check it out, I’ll ask a bouncer for the inside scoop. What’s going on here, grand re-opening? There was a big fire, I did not know that. What actually is the name of the place? The Body Shop? What kind of club is it? Pardon? A strip club? Right next to my house? Good work.

Always good to have a place like that next door, purely because the security guys now outside will make this safe neighborhood, even safer, obviously. Actually, before I forget, I think I must go up there right now, for good reason too. I was told it used to be an Irish bar, so must see if that is true or false. And I must ask them if they might perhaps need a DJ, I am willing to work there for free as well. I’ll come straight home once I find those two things out. Straight home.

Two songs, one in honour of the girl in the acting class, could well actually be her “singing” at the end (if you’re too impatient fast forward to the last minute if you don’t know it)… French Kiss by Lil Louis

And one with a great title…My Night With The Prostitute From Marseille by Beirut