The L.A. Survival Guide

A truly La La Land incident occurred this weekend.

Saturday night I meet my friend, KiKi, at Mom’s, a trendy “dive” bar.  How fitting for Mother’s Day!  I get there before she and a group of friend do and I quickly snag a seat at the crowded bar.  Happy over my small victory of getting a seat, I ignore MCA’s (RIP) retarded cousin next to me trying to flip his hat onto his head as he sloshes whiskey.  I sip my beer,  mind my own business, and try to avoid eye contact with the slew of salami suckers around me.

Too late.  The guy next to me asks what I’m drinking, but I am pleasantly surprised when I turn to see a tall, blond haired, blue-eyed, teddy bear sitting next to me.  Bingo, bango, bongo, now we’re getting somewhere.

Teddy Bear, his Canadian football playing friend (true story, he had just tried out for the Canadian football league that day), and I engage in somewhat witty banter for the next half hour.  Then I find out they have recently moved from New Jersey and then I understand why the banter isn’t so witty and why there is a three second delayed reaction when I say something clever.

From what “Jersey Shore” and the “Real Housewives of New Jersey” has taught me, I know that:

A. People from New Jersey are not to be trusted.

B. They have accents that rival a congested donkey.

C. They should not procreate.

D. They are only to be tolerated when they are making delicious meatballs.

Kiki shows up and seems to like the Canadian football player, so we keep chatting and Teddy Bear rests his hand on my knee.  He keeps talking about sports and trying to get my to guess why he left New Jersey.  I make a joke about him and the Canadian football player escaping to LA so they can be openly gay together and he laughs.

Things are going well, but we do have to say hello to Kiki’s drunk and hilarious friends on the dance floor, so we excuse ourselves, but ask the guys to save our seats as we will soon need another drink.  They didn’t offer to buy us a drink and that should have been a clue, but unfortunately, my Sherlock hat was nowhere to be found.

Ten minutes later we come back, they still don’t offer to buy us a drink, but continue to talk to us.  Kiki is slamming Captain and Diet, which I didn’t think bartenders were even allowed to make, but I am sipping my vodka soda.  Teddy Bear is on the phone, but asks me to “wait right here.  Just give me thirty seconds.”

Okay.  Are you calling in reinforcements?

It was really loud in the bar and at first I thought I heard him wrong, in fact I knew he did not just say what I think he said.

He did.  He said exactly what I thought he said, because ten minutes later, in walks Santa Ana’s great, great, great grandSON in a hipster t-shirt and hoodie.

I’m still convinced I heard wrong and go about making conversation with Santa Ana as if I don’t see Teddy Bear rest his chin on Santa Ana’s shoulder.  WHAT!  Is this happening?  YES.

“So how do you know these two again?”  I ask Santa Ana.

“Well, I’m dating Teddy and Canada just moved out here.”

Bingo, bango, bongo.  I got picked up by a gay guy.

I’m not crazy.  I was blatantly hit on by a gay guy.  I was so taken aback as they brushed past me to leave that I just remember thinking, “I wonder who is the top?”

Only in LA.

Meanwhile, Kiki is all about Canadian football salami head.  He seems dopey enough to actually be straight.  I give her the thumbs up and wait out my time as wing woman standing at the bar sipping my drink.  It’s last call anyway, and after my gaydar sunk my own battleship, I’m ready to call it a night.

Wrong.  I have to deal with Sir Halitosis coming up to me asking me what’s wrong and that I’m so beautiful.  I’m in no mood for this acne-ridden, skinny, drunk buffoon wearing a suit at a bar.  I don’t like being a capital B, but I said thank you and goodnight and this salami sucker just wouldn’t stop pressing into me and telling me he would “make it all better.”  So I go into Capital B mode, tell him I’m a lesbian, and please get the F out of my face.

I’m surly and tired enough to come off as a lesbian at this point, but the Buffoon Squad Leader doesn’t get the hit and starts in on the “I could do things to you that no woman can.”  Yeah, like not understand that no means no.

I tell Kiki to wrap it up because I am vamoosing.  Canadian football player doesn’t have a car and is going to walk to Sunset and Barrington easily 5 miles away.  Wrong.  I tell her she is not walking at 2 a.m. with some meat head who is probably too drunk to get it up.

VETO.

I actually had a good time that night, minus the whole gay romeo and being verbally assaulted thing.

Just another chapter in the life of a single LAer.