Saturday, November 26, 2011

Pizza Rustica Should Happen Before the Alcohol

Published 11/26/2011

There are certain things one should be prepared for when going out in West Hollywood on a Friday night. Apparently, drag queens  named Dibujonay and men actively involved in girl fights are some of those things. I should have known that my first  experience on Santa Monica Boulevard would be ridiculous when my friend who regularly frequents that neck of the woods said “There’s no such thing as unacceptable behavior out here.”  Uh oh.
So the first place we went was Fiesta and within four seconds of walking in I’d been told how cute I was, that I look like one of the Real Housewives of Atlanta, and was propositioned by two girls. Interested though I was not,  I think this is a positive step as I have now reaffirmed that in addition to hipsters, gays also take a liking to me. This is good info to have. Fiesta  might have seen more of us had it not been uber crowded, and in an attempt to avoid getting sloppy and floppy in under an hour, we decided to  polish off our rather strong  margarita’s and stop at Pizza Rustica. Actually Pizza Rustica sort of just happened on its’ own, which leads me to lesson 2: If you have a friend whose nickname involves “crazy,” be prepared to do any and everything, not barring activities which may get you arrested.  Luckily we avoided jail time and ate awesome  six-dollar-a-slice pizza, which did me absolutely no good , as I am a hopeless lightweight.  All I could do was tell my cohorts to keep an eye on me at that point in the evening.
And what  pray tell do four straight girls and their token gay friend do after getting sufficiently sloshed? Dance of course, so to Mickey’s we went. This is the part of the night I started counting things. 15: Times awesome early 2000s songs such as Where My Girls At were played.  3: Time Mickey’s closed, making it the “happening after hours” spot Christian from Clueless would have loved.  7: Times I turned to someone and asked if they were really playing vintage Soul Train on all of the screens.   16: Times I declined to dance with the few straight guys who skeevily (yes, I just turned skeevy into a nonexistent adverb) tried to dance behind me- there is a reason I’m at Mickey’s, asshole!  4.5: Times a rather boisterous fellow told my friends and I that his name was Big Bird and followed that by literally saying “tweet tweet!”  76: Times I glanced at an ab-tastic young man with perfect hair and thought Damn,  I wish he was straight, to no avail. 1: number of fights we saw upon leaving involving three guys and a girl who appeared to be in some sort of awkward love square. As our evening came to a close my profound friend offered this advice: “It’s  like everyone just leaves all their fucks at home, hence they really couldn’t give a fuck.” And that is weekend Weho in a nutshell my friends.
EVENING SCORECARD:
Venue(s): 4
Alcohol Situation: 4
Actual Beneficial Networking Achieved:0
Personal Victory/Dignity Retained: 4 ( I did not fall in my heels- score!)
Atmosphere: #winning

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