Posts Tagged ‘Hollywood

26
Feb
08

Sheep thievery? Yes this is what we’ve come to.

Friday night I had a random walkabout w/some folks in my neighborhood, played piano duets and made out with a random guy. Saturday I met up with dear friends and tried–unsuccessfully–to steal a sheep. The sheep-thieving was way more entertaining.

Probably because the sheep was not alive, per se, nor had it ever been. It was, in fact, a miniature reproduction possessed of surprising authenticity and charm. Its wool was woolly, its legs were stocky, its eyelids were heavy in a way that suggested it was thinking deep thoughts and was perhaps a little world-weary.

 It was one of a family (a herd? a pod?) of many fake sheep that hung out in the lobby bar of the new Custom Hotel in Westchester, which may be the most surreal property I’ve ever seen. Think Berlin decor, random West LA clientele (not Venice, nor yet Santa Monica, and certainly not Hollywood) mixed with business dudes on layover and the occasional suspected “working girl.” Then add in a pretty bomb-ass DJ and a few live puppies, wandering amidst the sheep. There. Now you’re getting me. This place was weird. But you know, I like weird places much more than normal ones, so I had a good time.

The entirety of our time in the bar was spent in huddle mode, trying to figure out how we could sneak out one of the fake sheep. We had become strangely enamored of it, and even took turns throwing our coats over it, tucking it underarmed like a large football (with legs), and doing dry runs around the bar. We even tried to stuff it inside Jenna’s oversize handbag. Sadly, it was not oversized enough. And there were security guards and cameras EVERYwhere. So we left the sheep behind, with promises to return.

“That sheep will haunt your dreams,” I told Alex, a scrappy young Jewish man who had even, for a moment, been ready to to use his wife’s bosom as a diversion while he sprinted out the door. (His wife, mind you, was at the bar at the time… the idea died on the vine once she returned.)

 Anyway. Fake sheep = fun. Random neighbors = not. Two of ’em saw me eating alone in a sushi bar…which is not too unusual on weeks when I’ve worked 80+ hours and gone out almost every night. They immediately took misguided pity on me and insisted that I come out drinking. So I did, to the lamest bar, where I met the lamest guy, proceeded to go back to the lamest house party, made out with him at some point just because I was bored, and then took a taxi back home vowing never to hang out with strangers again.

“I don’t like smart women. Actually, I don’t believe they exist,” he told me, mid-snog.

“Hmmm…” I said. “That’s…repulsive.”

“I was just kidding,” he said, looking wounded. “Don’t you know it’s a joke?”

Don’t you know I will never speak to you again? I wondered as we wandered back inside.

Apparently he didn’t know, for he texted me and asked me for a date the very next day.

Silly Neanderthal. When a woolly, football-shaped piece of wood with legs has more charm than you…well, that’s when you know you have a problem. Sadly, there is nothing I can see that you will ever be able to do about it.

Stay tuned for pics from the Custom Hotel.

28
Dec
07

Boys: Girls = 5:1

There is a myth out there that dating in the city (any city: NYC, Toronto, Vegas, probably even Pittsburgh for all I know) is tough. Honestly, that myth needs to go away and never come back, because it’s disheartening and inaccurate and patently untrue.  Meeting your Other Half may prove difficult–especially if you believe, as I do, that humans are created whole, not broken down the middle like those little “Best Friends” necklaces that sixth-graders wear. But dating–or, to further simplify, meeting people–is ubiquitous. The universe throws opportunities at your head all the time. It’s just a matter of A) noticing them and B) taking them.

Though I write about dating/mating/relating and all things encompassed therein, I am surprisingly bad at both A and B. If a guy in a bar is talking to me, I’ll instantly assume he’s gay. If a friend says, “Lena would you like to meet my next-door neighbor, who is a cute single 30-something surgeon?” I’ll say, “No thanks, I’m busy.”

This last quirk is particularly odd because my friends invariably attempt to hook me up with cool people.  All in all, their judgement can be trusted. I am just… difficult about these things.

Case in point: the email thread below, between me and Susan, a publicist friend who I’ve known for five years but almost never see.

Are you in town? if you are come to our little get together, the guy girl ratio is like 5/1, come, meet nice boys!
xo sm

Today at 5:51pm
when is it? I am in town but car probs + work = I am quite the party-pooper. Plus I hate boys. Is this for your engagement?  lk

Today at 6:01pm
where do you live? we are just off X  bet Y and Z so if you are nearish it’s easy to train or bus it.

do you hate boys as a regular thing or just recently?
xo sm

Today at 6:03pm
oh, also yes this is for our engagement, but we do these parties weekly so we always celebrate something!
:)sm

Today at 7:22pm
First of all, congrats on your engagement. Second, yes, I always hate boys; however, I often date and/or have sexual congress with them nonetheless. Third, I will come w/an amiga. Her name is Nadia, she’s a good friend, and I’ve been trying to get her to become a publicist for years, so I’d like her to meet you. — lk

PS I write dating columns, remember? Obviously I love/hate boys!  –lk

 This thread, though short, has many things to teach the Dater in Search of More Play:

  1. Make friends with publicists…they know tons of people, and they throw parties weekly.
  2. Be hard-to-get, or even downright cranky. For some odd reason, it works.
  3. Always study the odds. For me, 5:1 male-to-female is not good, it’s downright scary. That’s why I’m bringing girlfriend reinforcements.
  4. Don’t say you hate boys in random conversation, or people may begin to wonder if you’re a lesbian. Even if you’re clearly, historically, as a matter of public record, NOT.

If there are any lonely young women out there who feel like flirting/drinking/making out with, oh, FOUR fine upstanding Southern California men this Friday evening, please let me know. Nadia drives an SUV, and there is always room for one more.




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