Friday and Saturday night were full of hits and misses. Friday started off with me being in a “funk the recession, I’m on a session” mood. I had devised a plan for myself… blog -> book -> sitcom -> movie, ha, every man needs a plan! Plus, I was back in my embracing L.A, going with the flow, don’t turn down random invites anymore, frame of mind. Not as clever as I thought it might be.
First club I went to, once again, was full of girls with a thirst for Coca-Cola, Pepsi must be freaked. My new response is to tell them no, but I have some Diet if they want it? This is met by puzzlement and being asked if it is good? Yes, you ape, its lovely. It’s funny as well to watch girls flock over to your table if there are bottles of vodka or the likes on it, not that that they were mine or anything, obviously. The minute the last drop of the last bottle is finished, the girls disperse like gay magicians, poof, disappear. I waited for the girl I was talking to to come back, to give me her number, but she obviously got lost, or found a can of Coke in the toilet to keep her occupied.
The next bar on the list was the first bar in Hollywood I have seen hit by the recession, it was not on a session, it was funking dead. Cool bar too, but just dead. And there was an absolute ape on the door, an Irish ape as it happens. As I’m stopped at the door, I notice the bouncer, about my age, has a hybrid American/Irish accent, like the gimp I met on the plane. I don’t mean either that he was American with Irish parents. He was fully Irish, putting on an American accent. When he hears my accent, for some reason, he thinks I’m taking the p**s out of him. “Where are you from?” Ireland, you? “Who sent you up to me? You’re not Irish, where are you from?” Cork, you? “Belfast, but you’re not Irish, who sent you up to me to talk like that?” I am Irish, what are you on about? “Say something Irish so…” You’re a muppet, can I go in now? This actually gets me in, but not before he has given me a high five, and told the other bouncers of how we belong to the same clan, he’s Gaelic too, and out comes the Belfast accent. Sure we are, because Irish people often call each other Gaelic, you muppet.
The next day, I decided to give up booze. At least until I start to be productive. So, until I got a definite yes for a job, no more boozing, these are recession times we live in after all. At least when people in L.A hear you’re off the booze, they do not look at you like a freak they don’t want to get stuck talking to for the night, as they might, say, in Ireland on a night out. In L.A, they save those looks for when you tell them you actually don’t drink Coke, so to speak.
So, anyways, I decide to head out on Saturday for a while sober Joe, to a going away party in a bar close to my house. About half one, I get a text asking if I want to go to a house party, which is on in an apartment close by. The text is from a random girl I met before, a European like myself. She lures me to the party by telling me there are lots of “hot European girls here who would love to say hi” How could I resist?!
I get to the apartment, she opens the door looking all bohemian like, tells me to come in, have a seat. The minute I cross the threshold, I get a weird vibe. No music at the party, but that is the least of my worries. There is also a fire on, for some odd reason, so the place was roasting. Again, not a major worry I would find out. The apartment is a sitting room and kitchen in one, plus bathroom and bedroom. I have been fooled with false promises. There is only one other girl here, and four guys. The guys are sitting on the L-shaped couch, the girl is sitting on the floor. The hostess tells me take a seat, there is only room on the floor, so I sit next to the girl, who is French it seems, and quite hot. Just as I sit down, on the floor, and notice I am sitting right with my back to the fire, the job, a guy comes out of the bathroom, the girl next to me stands up, goes over to the guy, they hold hands, and both leave, all in one foul swoop. Ciao, ciao, nice to meet you, eh, where are the other hot European girls?
The hostess comes in, sits between the guys on the couch, and starts smiling at me. I notice the dudes are kind of doing the same. I am on the ground, giving them all a dopey, uncomfortable, what-the-funk-is-this, smile back, feeling like I am being interviewed with the set-up going on, and feeling the heat rip into me from the fire. Then the random questions are thrown at me by the dudes, who I now see are probably, max, bicentennial, max. “Want a beer?” No, thanks. “Are you on anything?” No. “Want to be on something?” No. “Are you single?” No, I’m married to God. “You’re funny. You should relax, this is a good place to be, we’re going to have fun”. Oook, this is not the party I was promised, where are those hot European girls again?
Trying to change the subject, and getting sick of the stares from some German dude, Klaus, I ask the girl where the funk are all the hot European girls she was on about to me. “Hey, chill out Mark, you need to relax on that, it’s not always all about the women you know” What the funk are you on about. What the funk is this. “Yeah, you need to relax, want to be on something?” Klaus, funk off. It is now when I realize I am no longer sweating because of the fire. I think this is lined up to be an orgy. With one girl, four dudes, and, if their plan goes well, me.
This is the first time I have been in this situation, so I did not really register what exactly was going on at first, it was not something I expected, as a normal person wouldn’t I presume. So, I asked again, are there any women coming, and got the same reply. Why is there no music either? Oh, there’s music in the bedroom, want to come in and help me pick a song? I wasn’t asking you, Klaus, funk off. In reality, I didn’t tell him to funk off at all, I was planning my escape route and trying to play it cool. So, after having sat down only a few long, long minutes earlier, I jumped back up, time for me to leave. “Oh you can’t leave, you just got here, we’re going to have a fun night, you’re not leaving” Of course I’m not, I’m just going outside to make a quick call, I’ll be right back, chill out Klaus.
For some reason I didn’t want to risk the elevator, so I hurtled down the three flights of stairs and briskly walked (half ran) home. To top it all off, I actually got a text on the way home from the girl asking why I just disappeared like that, some of the guys thought it was very rude, I should be more open, maybe next time? Hopefully, hopefully, she understood my text calling her a muppet. I’ll have to start screening the random invites from now on!
Song of the weekend is Gifted (featuring Kanye West, Santogold and Lykke Li) by N.A.S.A