I have a college friend who frequently harasses me about why I rarely go to places that are known for being uber trendy, extremely popular or celebrity hangouts. What she fails to understand is that I could go to these ever-changing hotspots if I wanted to, but after the initial excitement of living and working in Hollywood subsides, one very quickly loses the desire to go to places that are “super Hollywood” if you yourself are not in fact “super Hollywood.” (Hint: If your IMDB page doesn’t say “More available on IMDBPro,” you are not “super Hollywood.”)
But alas, one of my dear Tinseltown compadres recently celebrated her birthday and everyone knows that when birthdays are involved, “super Hollywood” is le mode du jour. So it was with trepidation that I went to Katsuya, home of not-the-greatest sushi, and frequent fixture on TMZ segments of yore. Cut to finding myself in the midst of the very crowded, very dark, very overrated hive of beautiful people and sake bombs. Thankfully, Katsuya’s heyday has sort of passed so there weren’t swarms of paparazzi outside. The hostesses were lovely but our waiter was sort of a douche, and aside from almost wandering into the kitchen trying to find the bathroom- that door is literally hidden in the wall- we emerged unscathed.
As the night continued we found ourselves at the lounge of the W, mostly because a very amicable security guard told us in no uncertain terms that regardless of how cute we were, we would most certainly stand in the line for Drai’s for an exorbitant amount of time and be charged twenty dollars because it was after midnight and there was a guy with us. So to the lounge we went, and not five minutes passed before a ridiculous fellow approached my friend and offered to buy the five of us drinks.
This brings me to yet another question my college friend constantly bombards me with: “Why aren’t you dating anyone?” I’ve mentioned once or twice before that in LA, the nice guys are gay and the straight ones are dicks. This one was the latter which he proved when he said to my friend’s roommate and I, “I don’t know which one of you is prettier. I guess I’ll just have to sleep with both of you to make up my mind.” Who. The. Fuck. Says. That? I mean seriously, who? There are so many things wrong with that statement, but mostly the fact that he said it out loud, and after saying it, looked at us expectantly as if we were in an episode of Entourage and he was Vincent Chase and there was a chance that it would actually happen. You fail sir. YOU FAIL.
After escaping that sordid affair and witnessing the birthday girl have the most hilarious argument with a cab driver which resulted in him turning OFF the meter and giving us a free ride- miracles do happen- we ended up at Dillon’s. I don’t remember why exactly this happened as we were extremely overdressed and I’m pretty sure Beso was our intended destination. In any event, I felt that I had to at least attempt to redeem myself from the smarmy proposition thrust upon me, so I asked my friend about the cute guy she seemed to know at the bar. “Oh him,” she replied. “He’s a porn star.” That is the point of the night when I gave up on life. So to review: Ugly guys who buy you drinks will blatantly ask to sleep with you and hot guys who are not gay are getting paid to sleep with everybody.
Venue: 4 (The bathroom at the W is larger… and nicer than my apartment. #firstworldproblems)
Alcohol Situation: 4 (There was free alcohol, but my dignity paid the price.)
Actual Beneficial Networking Achieved: 0
Personal Victory/Dignity Retained: 3