Too Cool To Club

Published May 17, 2015 by WELCOME TO HEIDI

“Walk up the stairs and knock on the doors one at a time” said my friend Peter. We had just been let in to a club in Hollywood. It was 10pm. The guy at the door who let us past the velvet rope at the front door was wearing an outfit he clearly cobbled together from his moms closet and the pirate section at the Halloween store. I could tell he thought he looked effortless and cool. He looked like my Mom in a pirate costume. “You’re the first ones here.” Oh great, not that again I thought. Now if you know me you know that I tend to show up at a party when the invite says to – which I have since learned is super uncool. If the invite says – the party starts at ten – that’s the time you’re supposed to get in the shower. Got it. But this was a surprise party and so when the invite said – be there at ten because the guest will arrive SHORTLY thereafter – I suggested we get there at ten. But once again – here we were at the supposed doorway to cool – and we were the first to arrive and we were being quietly shamed for it by some sort of tranny Jack Sparrow. Once inside, my friend directed me and a small group of patrons – they let you in in groups – up the stairs. Knock on the door he said. So I did. Nothing. Next door. Nothing. At the third door we heard something inside. A moan? A yell? A sigh? A cry for help? We opened the door and walked in to a small room where a youngish woman in lingerie sat in a chair reading a book. She looked like the worlds most bored hooker. She said nothing. I was high as fuck so I didn’t know what to say. Peter started poking me in the side. He thought this was the coolest thing ever. I am not one for this kind of theatrics if I’m not at a theater. And I didn’t buy tickets to a show – I was just trying to get a Near Beer. Just open the fucking doors and let me in. After a few minutes of the world’s most inane chit chat – she hit a button and the floor opened up leading to a stairway down into the bar. “I am the mistress of the night. You may go in.” She said in her best non plussed hooker speak. “What am I in the magic fucking castle?” I asked? “Yes!” Peter yelped. Isn’t it the best?” Uhm. No. Thank. You. I didn’t ask for the weird side show. Can’t we just get a fake beer? It’s not enough that they make you wait behind a rope – now they make you be a part of some retarded side show before you go in. Now I love cheese and theatrics but this was the kind of cheese I’m not into. This was like a bad individually wrapped slice of American cheese. This is not my idea of COOL. In fact , this is the opposite of cool. Cool is when you walk into a bar and Mick Jagger’s on the dance floor with a pet monkey playing a tambourine while doing shots of Jagermeister and he asks you to be his back up singer for a rollicking round of Sweet Caroline or American Pie. But in we went, and once inside, the space was really fun, like a big house with lots of places to party. Okay, maybe this won’t be so bad I thought. We went up to the private room where the party was being held and were denied entrance. It was 10:15. We were still the first ones there. The space was not ready. So once again, everyone in Los Angeles was too cool to arrive on time for a surprise party. Then I realized – the guest probably wasn’t going to arrive on time either. At 11 pm we decided to go downstairs to the main room to see “the show.” Suddenly a band kicked in and everyone turned to face the stage. Then a dancer with feather fans and pasties came out and did a burlesque strip tease while everyone watched and cheered. I’m sorry – didn’t this burlesque shit end ten years ago? Is this still a thing? Everyone in the crowd looked like they had been brought in on a bus from central casting and were told to act like – this is cool as shit. It wasn’t. It was cheesy as fuck. At 11:45 when the guest of honor had still not arrived – I convinced Peter we needed to go eat pie. We did. The end. We also ate cheese fries with gravy. So once again I’m here to say – I’m baffled by LA’s nightlife and it’s patrons. Everyone is so busy being late to the party that they are missing the actual party – which is the idea of being out and having fun with friends. Thankfully I was with Peter and another friend Jeffrey because if I had showed up to this shit show alone to sit for two hours while waiting for a party to start – I would have murdered the mistress of the night and taken a dump on the band and the burlesque dancer. I feel badly that I missed my friends birthday party but if you’re that late – shits gonna get real with me. I think I’m done with you LA Club life. If anyone’s looking for me I’ll be in a regular old bar with Mick and his monkey. His name is Horatio. And he likes cheese fries.

2 comments on “Too Cool To Club

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