Saturday, April 19, 2008

Last week, after a very weird night out, Shannon and I sort of became the POH-lice. I'll get to that later, but it was just an ending to a night that was just all out weird. Last Saturday, we went out on a whim and ended up looking for places that had the right "vibe" where we could have a few drinks and enjoy the nightlife. It was the first warm night in months, and by warm I mean actually warm, where long-legged girls wearing slinky dresses weren't shivering in their stilettos as they waited for the doorman to unhook the velvet rope and let them in.

We weren't really dressed for that kind of night out because we weren't looking for it. We looked "expensive hip" but I wouldn't say either of us were pimping glamorous that night. For one, I had on pants. Not my shimmery designer pants, just black cigarette leg pants. Nice, but not glamorous. Shannon had on expensive jeans and a cool shirt with a neat stitched design in it. Great for 95% percent of the bars and clubs in LA. There's a point to me describing this, by the way.

We stopped at Bar Marmont, then decided to nix it after we found parking was $18. We had started our evening out late and just weren't into paying that much for parking for so little time. Plus, we didn't have reservations and like I said we weren't into nor dressed for doing the full bar thing. Bar Marmont is a bar right next to Chateau Marmont and has experienced a resurgence after reopening with a new owner and chef. We used to go there all the time during its first big wave and then noticed it wasn't "the place it was" for a while. Now, it's back. I remember it because it was the place where I experienced the consequences of mixing my drinks. Luckily, Shannon drove me home and I was able to hold it until then, but it was the sickest I ever remember being. Just miserable. Lesson learned. I haven't been back since then and at some point we'll return so that I can "slay that demon."

Honestly, I've never seen Sunset that busy, and there was just a lot of weirdness in the people going on. You could see the frenetic mood in their eyes. Crowds thronged outside every place and the tow trucks were out in force, towing those who parked at the metered parking on the street. We passed one car with Minnesota plates being hooked up.

"Their night's going to suck," I said, feeling for them. In Minnesota, I'm sure you can park on the street in the club area. Not on Sunset on the weekends. It will be a lesson they'll never forget. By trying to avoid paying $15 to park, they'll now be paying a couple hundred to get their car back. At least. I think I saw the two women who owned the car walking toward some of the hotter bars. They hadn't a chance in hell of getting in, with big, outdated hair, mom jeans, flip flops and Gap shirts. They were in their early to mid-twenties.

Shannon told me of a new place by Urth Caffe that might be just what we were looking for. I was game, so we drove away from Sunset to Melrose by Urth, carefully reading the the parking signs before leaving the car on the street. I asked Shannon the name of the place, and he said he couldn't remember. As we approached, we saw a large group standing on the corner, complete with two dogs who were with one of the men. When we got closer, we realized the group was the paparazzi.

"Fuck," Shannon said. "Private party?"

"We could always ask," I said.

So, we asked the paparazzi, who told us it wasn't. And this is where the funny part came in, and why I explained the way we were dressed. We approached the nameless club that had two well-dressed men standing outside, guarding the entrance. They asked us if we had reservations, and we told them we didn't. They told us they were full, and I asked if they could fit two in who were escaping the madness on Sunset. They were very nice to us, and explained to us that we had to have reservations. I asked them why the paparazzi was out there and one of the men said they were the hottest club on the West Coast at the moment. We said we thought it was a private party but were going to give it a chance. Honestly, the two men couldn't have been nicer, so we thanked them and left. On our way back to the car, I asked Shannon if he ever saw the name of the place. He finally remembered, and when he told me the name I burst out laughing.

HIM: What?

ME: We had no chance in hell of getting in there.

HIM: Why?

ME: Without reservations, you'd have to be Brad Pitt and I'd have to be Angelina Jolie. And we so aren't dressed for it.

HIM: Really?

ME: Yes. If you'd told me the name first, I would have told you to keep driving. You freaking crack me up, you took us to Villa!

HIM: I had no idea. (starts laughing)

To those of you who don't know, Villa is currently the number one most exclusive club to get into. That doorman was correct. They are indeed the hottest place on the West Coast at the moment. To those two doormen, we must have appeared like a couple of tourists from well, Minnesota. Okay, we weren't dressed like a couple from Minnesota, but our genuine looks of being absolutely clueless were probably what saved us from being told to sod off. Plus, we were polite and not obnoxious to the doormen.

We drove to El Carmen, a cool little bar where loud salsa music pounded through the place. It's a small-ish bar with a great selection of drinks and fantastic Mexican wrestler decor. Over 100 kinds of tequila were stacked against the walls, looking like a decadent temptation challenge for a recovering alcoholic. I had a cosmo of course and we decided the place was a little too loud for us after the first drink. It was a great place, just not what we were in the mood for. Of course, every now and then I'd start laughing again and say to Shannon, "We were DENIED at Villa!" Then he'd start laughing. I don't know, it just cracked me up.

Our next stop was Jones, another old standby. It turned out to be the winner. Perfect vibe, we sat on the comfy couches and had our drinks and conversation. When I was ordering drinks, a tipsy girl plopped herself down on Shannon's lap. I wish I'd seen it because I would have laughed. Two guys were next to Shannon, one whose pants were buckled beneath his butt and looked absolutely ridiculous, especially since his t-shirt was tucked into them. Shannon had been talking to them a bit before so the ice was broken. However, I couldn't take looking at the guy's pants anymore. I stood, walked up behind him, grabbed his belt with two hands and yanked up his pants. His friend and Shannon cracked up as I said, "You need to pull up those pants." He had that belt on so tight it was hard, but I got them halfway up. The guy was surprised but went with it. Turns out they were from Canada, having a night out in LA. I have a feeling that having a girl pull his pants up wasn't exactly the night the guy had imagined. Most likely he was hoping a girl would pull them in the opposite direction. He was a good sport about it though.

They made a good cosmo at Jones, and gave me the mini-shaker with the rest of my drink in it. Loved that. I kept refilling the smaller martini glass with the delicious cool, pink liquid. I've had several men, and I mean manly men, write me and tell me that because of this blog they've tried a cosmo. First of all, you guys rock and you're not alone. Second, rest easy as it's a drink that I've dubbed, coined from the commercial, that is "strong enough for a man, but made for a woman." All of you manly manly men, your manhood is still intact. Even more so for being able to stand there with the pink drink.

And that brings us to our last adventure of the night, when we were driving home and saw the truck weaving all over the road. It was a pick-up truck, dark blue and the driver was obviously drunk. People were steering clear and when the guy ran into the curb twice, Shannon and I knew what we had to do.

Cue "Mission Impossible" music here.

I took out my phone and dialed 911 as Shannon followed the guy. Being Los Angeles, I got the, "We're sorry, all operators are currently busy..."

No, I'm not kidding.

LA 911, you gotta fix that. Either get more operators or start fining the jackasses who call 911 for things like the time and directions $500 per infraction. Glad I wasn't being stabbed, shot, chased, hiding in a closet during a home invasion or had just discovered a shirtless drunk David Hasselhoff eating a hamburger in my house.

As the guy driving the car weaved in and out of lanes and stopped at traffic lights halfway into the intersection, Shannon easily stayed on him in his RX8. A 911 operator got on the phone just as we followed him into a gas station. I told the operator the information as he exited his car and stumbled over to the window to buy cigarettes. Shannon got out of the car and followed the driver, an Asian kid who looked barely 21, his outfit borrowed from his favorite rap video replete with a large silver chain around his neck. The kid turned to Shannon, all glassy-eyed and with slurred words, asked him if he was buying cigarettes too. Little did he know that the man behind him was there because he was trying to get him busted and off the road. As they stood there, I told the 911 operator all the details, including a description of the driver, the car and license plate number. After getting his cigarettes, because certainly he needed the distraction of smoking while driving on top of being drunk while driving, he turned around and walked back to the car. I told her he was getting back in to drive. He pulled away, and Shannon got back into the car and we peeled off after him.

However, When we turned onto the road, the truck was gone.

There was an entrance to the freeway right by the gas station, so I told the operator that he may have turned onto it. I heard her relaying the information to the cops and a few seconds later she told me that an officer was behind the truck. Fantastic. After hanging up with 911, we got on the freeway and sure enough, about a mile down, three cop cars had pulled the guy over and already had him out on the curb. Shannon and I high-fived each other when we saw it. Somehow he'd gotten onto Forest Lawn Drive but they'd found him or, when they pulled him over he drove over there. Well done, Burbank Police Department and California Highway Patrol. How they got on him that fast, I have no idea. When we had been at the gas station the 911 operator told me that a car was on its way there, so either they had anticipated him getting on the freeway or there was another officer who had been in the area and listening to the dispatch. Either way, that kid was going to jail that night and going to get a hard knocks lesson on not endangering others or himself like that. Shannon told me he saw a girl in the car with him at the gas station.

Mission Accomplished. This post will self destruct in five seconds.

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