On Friday, I attended a friend's birthday party at a club/restaurant on Sunset Blvd. The location is so exclusive there is no sign to indicate that it even exists, instead you must be in the know. This particular friend has notable Hollywood connections and carries a SAG card, so I imagine that’s far more in the know than me, for example. Because we were had the private room reserved, we were given VIP access, whisked through a back entrance past velvet ropes. Inside, people in their late twenties and early thirties, dressed sharply with gelled hair, dropped down $20 for a single drink and mingled, full of self-importance. I knew enough to have dressed up (khakis/white button shirt) for the event, but I still felt out of my element. Maybe I should have popped my collar. Nearby, a swanky DJ played techno tracks so loudly I could barely hear the person next to me. No wonder looking good is so crucial in this environment – when conversations cannot occur, you’re not exactly picking mates based on substance.
To clarify: I had fun. It was great celebrating my friend’s birthday and hanging out with other pals, and I even enjoy, on some awkward level, feeling like a fish out of water at these types of things to see firsthand how the socialites live. Having class the next morning, I opted out of heading with the others to the club that Lindsay Lohan frequents (well, when not in rehab.) It is probably for the best since even though the birthday friend and eir LA-native posse had no trouble getting into the bar, my non-LA friends were turned away multiple times for unspecified reasons. Oh, elitism.
On the way home, I quipped, “We should come to LA every night,” earning a laugh. What I hadn’t realized was that the very next night I would be coming back. Jocelyn had a housewarming event for her new apartment. As Andrew gave me directions to first reach Kat and RJ’s apartment, a place I have been to a few times before, the streets started becoming familiar. While it seems like most people have some sort of understanding or the street layout in LA, I never put it together until visiting it on consecutive nights. Kat’s apartment was just a few blocks away from where I was the night before, but I never would have realized that. As it turned out, Jocelyn’s place wasn’t that much further. As I walked to her door, I had the realization that I might be increasingly pulled into this elusive LA lifestyle now that more and more of my friends are moving to the area.
If I had to describe Jocelyn’s apartment in one word, I’d say “sexy,” which is strange, because I don’t think I’ve ever called an architectural structure “sexy” before – that’s a word reserved for people, or perhaps the occasional animal – don’t judge. The party was fairly low key, hence right up my alley. We watched Arrested Development, ate food off of plates that looked like cartoon animals, drank alcohol from a handle that cost the same amount as a single shot at an exclusive bar, and even played Boggle. I’m not sure if this night was also typical of the LA lifestyle, but I sure hope it is, because that is essentially what I want to do all the time.
I didn’t realize I was getting drunk until I was pretty intoxicated. I suppose that’s what happens when you can afford to drink. Unbeknownst to me, on a Boggle sheet, Andrew sketched me sitting in a chair, holding a drink.
I laughed a lot after he gave it to me, enjoying the Arrested Development “I’M A MONSTER!” reference. When I inquired about it, though, Andrew admitted that he was not familiar with that quote. “So it’s just a coincidence? Does that mean I actually look like a monster, then?” I inquire. “I guess so,” he said. Yup, definitely drunk. I'm a monster?
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