Author Archive

Last Thursday, Aqua lounge was swimming with various people for the 100hookup trivia night. Guys and gals from various L.A. zips came from every which direction to join us for drinks and forget for maybe five minutes this swine-flu-is-the-new-SARS debacle everyone’s currently entangled in. I hope they sort this thing out soon because it’s cramping my style. That’s probably really selfish of me, but at trivia night, it seemed to be the conversation on everyone’s mind. It was like this little viral dominatrix whipping us into a frenzy, and leaving us ultimately trapped between the sheets- and not in a good way. My fellow teammates (carefully conjured up to win of course, because I have pros from different area codes,) were more than good sports, and even though we came in- not first, we had a great time. It was unanimously decided that happy hour is an institution that needs to be implemented more often, and hopefully next time we can leave the doctor’s mask and antibacterial at home- it simply doesn’t match the Prada heels. Even though a Nip/Tuck in the 90210 is on the hotlist, a pandemic will never be the new black. So, if you’re sick, think of it as a solo practice sesh for seven minutes in heaven, and join the rat race sans mask ten days later. It’s simply proper ill-ettiquette, plus, I promise to get your first drink. Come out and you’ll see like at Aqua, there were plenty of fish in the sea.

Lately, it seems that guys are taking dating to a whole other level, literally. Sky high hotel lounges and rooftop bars have been increasingly trendy among the L.A. crowd looking to rise above the insanity that is the Sunset Strip. Now that the traditional dinner and a movie date has not so regrettably been replaced by schmoozing over martinis, the hunt for that perfect place to sip is on, and the sweetest spot so far seems to be sky high. Downing Manhattans above the city is an ideal way to “go out,” and so far my favorite alternative to clubs like Area or My House, which are filled with 500 of your closest complete strangers. These little slices of heaven are the perfect way to log in a little one-on-one time with whoever you’re meeting on top of the world. While you two are enjoying the crystal clear view of cloud nine, you can take comfort in the fact that it’s only a five second elevator ride back down to earth. So, if the sweet serenade of chaos on Hollywood and Highland just isn’t your idea of nirvana, uplift yourself, your spirits, and your date with a view from the top. Here’s a teeny tiny tip: check out those boutique hotels scattered throughout the city; they have a great vibe and an endless supply of eye candy to go along with your cocktail.

In the grand tradition of Saturday nights across the country, and in all-American manner, guys and girls let loose and run rampant, hoping to wash the week off of them and stock up on stories for the next.  This past Saturday evening, in keeping with the pattern, we started out with dinner (a lady never drinks on an empty stomach) at a hole-in-the-wall place in the ever great eight-one-eight.  One of the perks of living in this oft-forgot area code is the various diamond in the rough establishments, where a girl can eat like it’s going out of style, simply because the food is that good.  While camping out during the 20 or so minute wait, we inadvertently arrived just in time for a pre-dinner show, aka the makeout sesh of the century.  My bff and I were able to treat ourselves to what looked like could have been late night cinemax status, and it was anything but appetizing.  I have nothing against a little PDA, but if it looks like two sets of lips were accidentally superglued together in some freak scrapbooking accident, you should be sent to the emergency room rather than the pre-dinner reception area. 

Ladies, let me remind you that unlike the socially acceptable NBA & MMA, making out is not a spectator sport!  In fact, it’ll have your unexpected opponents ready to tap out without a second thought.  If the DOA label doesn’t match your Max Azria, go ahead and eighty-six that urge to get it on right then and there.  Otherwise, you’ll be trading class for ass and that’s not a sacrifice I’d willingly make.  I understand being caught up in the moment, believe me, but when in doubt just remember, a moment on the lips can be a lifetime of bad reputation.  So, to keep off the radar and out of twitter updates based on your unforeseen almost four letter faux pas, use the five second maximum rule, and simply save room for an at-home dessert!

So with the rising temps in L.A., everyone is ready to come out and play at night- models, rockstars, and pests. Some guys simply excel in their ability to bug anyone in the vicinity, and inhabitants of the hills have learned strategic moves early on to avoid annoying gnats. First off, boys, let’s talk about opening one-liners. Asking a girl if her father is a thief or a gardener, or if there is a mirror in her pants is not going to help get you anywhere near her, let alone in her. No number of glasses of low cal white wine is going to make any of those oh-so-appealing lines seem any less appalling. The A for effort you were hoping to gain will be replaced with an F for something you undoubtedly won’t be doing that night. Moving right along, lets talk about sleek rather than street savoir fair. In case you haven’t noticed, girls take more than five minutes to get ready, so don’t think you can get away with a wife beater and flip flops. There is a reason grunge died along with Kurt Cobain in the 90s, and while there is always something to be said for low maintenance style, hygeine also offers some serious sex appeal. If girls are willing to flit across sunset in stillettos, the least you boys can offer is a sentence that uses at least one word with more than two syllables. Any less and we’ll be countering with a one-up au revoir. Any Hollywood chick knows the sacrificial statement 4-inch heels exhibit, so if the girl is willing to suffer, the least a guy can do is avoid telling me that though he’s not Fred Flinstone he’ll make my Bedrock. A one-liner like that and he’ll be socially extinct like the rest of the homo erectus men from days of yore. The right ettiquette can help a girl go from zero to lust in 3.5 seconds, so if you don’t plan on sleeping alone, avoid telling your target that her shirt would look better on your floor- or the only date you’ll be getting is with your tivo.

Los Angeles has been afflicted with a heat wave and it has the San Fernando Valley rivalling the surface of the sun. This pre-summer preview has inhabitants of the 818 wanting to head for the hills, literally, dressed in their birthday suits and accesorized in nothing but SPF. When temps reach above the cardigan requirement for nighttime outings, it means Hollyweird is fair game for all L.A. club-goers, and if this past week is any indication of things to come, then it’s no doubt that a hot-like-hell atmosphere is approaching. Last week’s Les Deux experience was literal. Apparently the ‘as scene on The Hills’ lounge, was having a two for one special on past affairs. It’s inevitable that in a city so small where everybody knows your name, you’ll end up in a face to face, with a close encounter of the ex-kind. Just when you think these ex-files have been closed for good, you turn around just in time to address the one thing you can’t avoid- your past. Thankfully for me, the close encounter was completely cordial (minus the fact that his newly discovered species was wearing absolutely coveted shoes) and so the urge to annhialte the ex was more than extinguished. In fact, it bordered on disconcertingly friendly territory! All in all, the potentially boiling confrontation was brought down to a simmer, regardless of the L.A. temps. The urge to retreat to the beach was quieted, and the following evenings out with my fave go-getter gals were successful in inducing excitement, rather than being a cause for hibernation. The sleepy season is over and the wild creatures from L.A. are out to play. So as the girls and I enjoy Haute nights in couture, we know our former flings will be stalking new prey as well. As for the inevitable meeting of the exes, if you don’t look like a deer in headlights, you’ll survive with flying colors. Lionesses hunt in packs, so I suggest you girls do the same. Just as faux fur was so yesterday, the same goes for former flings. So, go ahead and get yourself another hot date before your former boy toy does! The season for spring flings is in full swing, and the hunt is on.

This past Monday night, I ventured past the hills and into West Hollywood for what I thought would be just another night out of drinking and dancing. When I got to Apple lounge, I inadvertently found myself in the middle of matzo ball madness, and it seems I should have brought a passport in order to gain admittance to this direct import from the Holy land. It was insanity as soon as I walked through the door. Between the jewtastic mob of people and the various exclamations of Hebrew phrases, I was considering adding rosetta stone to my next birthday wishlist. I had several encounters with people from my past right there in my present and I instantaneously had flash backs to the Schmooz-A-Palooza, where a girl can’t walk 10 feet before running into some former friend, bringing the six degrees of hookup separation to life in a whole new way. Israeli music was mixed in to mingle with whatever has recently dropped on Power 106, and the dancefloor was like a mob scene that could rival Times Square on any given New Year’s Eve. All in all, the entire evening offered a much needed break for jaded young Hollywood enthusiasts and this alternative form of play was long overdue. In a city where a girl can eat cuisine from various continents with all the ease and grace of a seasoned celebrity posessing unlimited funds, she should be able to party like one. My late night IHOP (international house of partying) escapade was a success and had me lusting for another out of country experience. Yesterday Israeli Insanity, today California casual, tomorrow Cancun!

I can’t exactly pinpoint when playing games became somewhat of a requirement to keep both parties interested on the road to relationships, but I do know that it has many people feeling as lost as Kerouac. This strategic little game of phone tag and tactical texting is enough to ensure that both parties are so preoccupied with their next move, they forget about why they ordered the other off the menu in the first place! And, while guys are able to have their choice of chickenheads fried, baked, battered or broiled faster than Mickey D’s can have them admit that they’re loving it, we aren’t exactly able to have it our way with quite so much ease. Eventually, one of the formerly interested parties gets tired of frequenting the usual PHAT food joints. So while he’s scamming on some other white meat, he’s also charbroiling his chances with you. Your once lusted after McHottie is now a less than happy meal, and this USDA grade A choice of meat is no longer perfectly packaged. So you find yourself ready to butcher the entire tryst, and lets face it, a sharp object in hand is a risky little accessory. Thankfully, stainless steel is the new black.

You want to know why they have four glasses of wine at the Seder? I’ll tell you. Because after cooking that ridiculous meal all day, four glasses is the only thing that can bring a girl back to sanity. So, let me take you on a guided journey through my day– how lucky for you!

10:00 a.m.- Go to Trader Joes.
10:10 a.m. – Nearly face a head on cart collision in the produce section checking out a guy.
10:11 a.m. – Decide hot guys should not be allowed to shop for groceries before I’ve had my morning caffeine fix. Blame hot guy for my lack of coordination.
11:00 a.m. – Get to my grandmother’s to assume the role as the domestic goddess (that) I am.
11:11 a.m.- Finally find a vintage apron that matches my outfit and decide I’m officially ready to start cooking. I am the best thing since chopped liver. The Millionaire Matchmaker would totally agree.
11:42 a.m. – Decide chopping eggs makes me want a martini– heavy on the vodka, hold everything else.
11:59 a.m. – It has become evident that I will not be eating chopped egg, or other egg like products again in my life. Ever.
12:17 p.m. – Clearly I have earned a lunch break. Clearly. By this point my lunch could come in a grey goose bottle and I would be happy. I also enjoy my last carb concentrated meal.
12:20 p.m.- Bid a tearful goodbye to bread, and all bread-like products. I whisper rest in peace and forget these simple carbohydrates and the special place they hold in my heart. I also console myself by thinking of the fab five pounds I will be losing in the week to come.
12:52 p.m. – Start peeling potatoes.
12:56 p.m.- Manage to slice off almost an entire nail with my potato peeler.
12:57 p.m. – Start dialing 9-1-1 and then realize I might actually live. I am emotionally damaged and will probably suffer from PTSD for years to come, but I will live.
1:20 p.m. – Put a lame looking kosher-for-passover-which-means-it-tastes-nasty kugel in the oven.
1:28 p.m.- Reminded by my grandmother, armed with several four letter words, that wax paper is not oven proof.
1:29 p.m. – Take kugel out and rescue it from the grips of aforementioned evil wax paper.
1:30 p.m.- Realize oven mitts are, in fact, there for a reason.
1:31 p.m.- Stare down the oven. I won.
1:52 p.m.- Stir some concoction on the stove top; put cover back on pot.
2:08 p.m.- Pot bubbles over. Get in a fight with the stove.
2:09 p.m. – Lose fight with stove.
2:20 p.m.- Ask my grandmother if it is time for the first glass of wine yet. She says no.
2:52 p.m.- Decide G-d had it easy because all he had to do was split the Red Sea.
3:14 p.m. – Am no longer allowed near stove or oven.
3:42 p.m.- Attempt to make sure the brisket is awesome and is oh so worthy of Paris Hilton’s “that’s hot.”
3:44 p.m. – Am no longer allowed near sharp objects or any and all kitchen appliances.
4:00 p.m.- Wandering the desert for forty years with no kitchen in sight has never sounded so good.
4:15 p.m. – Completely exhiled from the kitchen. My apron has been retracted. I take comfort in the fact that my frilly apron does not match anyone else’s ensemble. I am now laughing at all the fashion slaves who only have time to make unleavened bread, and not coordinate outfits.
4:30 p.m.- Steal Elijah’s glass of wine. He didn’t have to spend all day in the kitchen.
5:00 p.m.- Eagerly await Seder and more importantly, dinner. Because clearly, I helped.

Chag Pesach Sameach! If Elijah is looking for his wine, tell him giving it to someone who REALLY needs it is a mitzvah.

In A Los Angeles Minute….

My weekend was a complete blur between the drinks, my girlfriends, and jetlag (so to speak, and so it seemed). My Saturday night started out with the girls. I parked in Siberia to get to a fiesta that had us hiking south of the border (Mexican themed, clearly). The party was great and these hostesses with the most-ess were clearly thinking outside the bun! My little posse however had also rsvp’d to a different engagement and so after about an hour of margarita madness, we were on our way to a cute little neighborhood bar in WeHo with our cell phones, lip glosses, and passports in hand.

Apparently we didn’t get the memo that it was celebrity night at this dive and the stars were slumming for sure (Just trying to keep it real I’d assume, or do they need to ‘up’ their street cred for call sheets?). Well, it looks as though my jet setting was not about to end anywhere near the border, because in a Los Angeles minute I was face to face with gents from South Dakota, and later in the night, from Arkansas. Now it will probably come as a shock to you that these gents were out here to make it big on the silver screen, armed with a not-so-crystal-clear perception of how things really go down in my star-studded city. Now, in a city where casting couches are taken for a ride as often as the new Audi A5’s, a girl’s got to have some rules in order to keep her sanity. These rules of course, are subjective to each gal on the go! For example, one of my favorites is friends don’t let friends date actors. This has proven well for me, because if Fleetwood Mac is right and “players only love you when they’re playing”…well, I can’t waste time on a playboy actor who’s ready to switch leading ladies as often as Fred Segal gets new merch.

So at around 2 a.m., I was ready to head home, jetlagged from another amazing night over the hill and through the canyon into Hollywood. I bid adieu to the cross country nomads that came here with the intention of making it big in a city that has the attention span of a goldfish. I told them to “break a leg,” and walked away, armed with new numbers in my cell, my ‘go-to’ girls, and stories that were well worth the chaos. In a city with a fault line as unstable as the majority of celebutantes and their accompanying headlines, you enjoy every second you have, because like inhabitants near the San Andreas fault line know, everything can change in a Los Angeles minute.

Spring break is in full swing and it’s made bottled blondes and faux tanning as American as apple pie (with a slightly greater health risk than those oh-so-totally-worth-it calories). So as seems to be a recurring theme with my life lately, I am in serious need of an adventure, a change, and clearly a tan before my porcelain skin is replaced with a bronze glow and “pale is the new tan” is no longer making headlines. Lucky for me, 100hookup has conveniently planned a pseudo-spring break for Memorial Day weekend and I am more than on board! I have recruited my fave wing girl, and we’re both excited to leave Los Angeles behind in favor of a trendier resort locale. So, I am advising that you all consider doing the same as well; Palm Desert and Sin City were clearly so 2008 anyway. Before you pack the SPF and leave Los Scandalous to join Jimmy Buffet’s search for his lost shaker of salt, I advise that you prepare yourself for a UV saturated sea-soaked good time. The countdown is on and I have two months until the BFF and I leave sunny So Cal in the hopes of becoming sun lightened in Cancun. Viva Mexico, margaritas and Monsieur Cuervo.