Stealing Christmas

The best thing about being an assistant - an assistant to the big boss, too - is being the gatekeeper of the Christmas offerings. So far, I have pilfered:

- Box of peppermint bark

- Bouquet of flowers

- Basket, Rose's sweetened lime juice and bottle of Sour Apple Pucker schnapps

Yes, it is exactly like Devil Wears Prada, but without the designer bags / products.

Hollywould if she could

Since I know y'all love it when I name drop, here's a little Saturday night story:

From what I have observed of American college culture - maybe just of the USC variety - it is traditional for one to spend ones formative (ie pre-21) years at frat or house parties. However, once one is legally able to purchase ones own alcohol, one usually ditches the solo cups and popov vodka for the over priced cocktails of exclusive Hollywood clubs, (as seen on the Hills).

However, there are also horror stories abound about just how exclusive these clubs are - you can't get in if you aren't on the list, especially if you aren't white or if you're a boy. So our household has generally shied away from that whole scene, instead sticking to our comfort zone of jungle juice and beer pong.

Last night, Rona and I were feeling particularly ballsy, and decided that we were going to Teddy's at the Roosevelt no matter what. Why Teddy's? Um, because that's where Rob frequents. And yes, we are on a first name basis. I'm sure he'd call me by my first name too, if he had ever met me. Anyway, don't think of this as stalking, think of it as clubs being marketed successfully to their target audiences.

When we got there (after like an hour of sitting in traffic...) the street was chock-a-block with big shiny black cars. We thought that this was just a regular night for them, so, a little intimidated, we followed some people to a roped off place to interrogate the door bitch. I decided my foreignness would be excused for touristness so it was ok to be so uncool.

Here is lesson number 1 for outings in LA: Do your research. Natch, we chose the one day that the Roosevelt was booked for the Scream awards after party. So no entry to Teddy's. On the bright side, we did see Tim Burton outside, looking very kooky.

Not to be deterred, we wondered down Hollywood Blvd and decided to get in the first queue we saw. We ended up at a club called Central Hollywood. There was a little line, so Rona stood in it and I went to the front to ask 'how long the wait would be'.

Me: Excuse me, do you know how long the wait will be?

Door bastard: How many people are in your party?

Me: Oh just me and another girl. *Point at Rona*

Door bastard: Just you and her?

Me: Yea

Door bastard: Who's list are you on?

(I feel that might have been a wink wink kind of moment, but really.. wtf was I supposed to say?? Is there a secret list name I'm meant to know for situations like this?)

Me: Uh... no ones?

Door bastard: *exasperated* You guys can go in.

Me: Sorry... it's my first time clubbing in Hollywood... *wave Rona over*

Door bastard: Don't be sorry. It's not all that great, but have fun!

Ok this is getting really long, I'll make the rest snappy.

Central is a pretty cute club. It's not super big, but it is super dark. They were playing Barbarella on a screen on a wall which was bizarre and kind of fun, but didn't really go with the tiny glowy star lights hanging from the ceiling look. The music was also kind of lame, for which I blame the Dj. It was really erratic and didn't have smooth transitions and jumped genre's really randomly. And the fact that I knew all the songs is probably a bad sign. There are 3 stalls in the bathroom, which isn't decorated particularly nicely, but also wasn't particularly dirty.

Anyhoo, Rona recognised Columbus Short and Dave Scott, and since I had no clue who they were I was happy to grab Columbus and say "Were you in Stomp the Yard?"

Hahaha. Anyway, since they are kind of C list I guess they were really happy to be recognized because they were both really sweet and came back to talk to us a couple of times, and Columbus bought us a round of drinks.

That was as good as the 'spotted's were, but whatevs, we were happy.

Also, you will be proud to hear that as Designated Driver, I had diet cokes and water all night. This did not stop me from knocking my side mirror off on a pillar.

The End.

Damn The Man!

So, last night USC kids gathered in force to fight for their right to... party. I mean, the fighting wasn't part of the original plan, but when the police showed up it pretty much became the new black.


It was really weird, like living in the 70s in the times of protests and rights, but without actually having to care about anyone or anything except being drunk. DPS or LAPD, whichevs it was, was pretty impotent. They had a good 50 people in their riot gear trying to storm a college block party, but sort of not knowing what to do other than walk forward and stop and have a chat. I guess they got fierce in the end when they brought out the foam batons, but really... I was seriously considering looting Ralphs, since the long arm of the law was busy that night.

Dramatic Bag Checkatics

Really, what is so hard to understand about a check-your-bag-at-the-door policy? You go in, you pay money, bag does not go in.

Why? They ask.

People steal things, we explain.

I'll have it with me, it'll be safer what. They protest.

Um, this is actually to stop YOU from stealing shit, we don't say.

We aren't going to take your stuff, we say.

I kid you not, about 5 different people implied that we would steal their shit.

As if, my cousin scoffs, so ugly, why would we take it? But not to them, obviously.

What if I come back, and my handphone and money is missing? One woman asked. Gutsy. Also rude.

Well, you'll know it was one of us and you can tell our boss, I replied. Rather calmly.

Is it really that terrible to give up $2 and not have to carry these massive bags around?



Then, the bag return part. More drama ensues.


One can't find her tag. My cousin finds it on the dance floor, or something.


Where's my bag? Another girl half shrieks to her boyfriend.

It's there. Don't worry.

What happens if I can't find my tag? She asks me, lip trembling.

There's a $20 fine.

Oh, okay. If someone tries to get it, and it's not me, don't give it to them!

Which bag is it?

The Coach one.

Okay.


A woman gives me her tag. Not a woman. THE woman.

I give her her bag.

Are you sure you don't want to check that everything is there? I don't think she heard me.

My cousin did. She jabs me with her elbow.

Ouch.

Serving Sangria

I'm just a little bit too fond of alliteration.

Anyway, it's 3 am but thanks to a midnight coffee run by Mom and a post-coffee Del Taco run by Dad, I am sufficiently caffinated enough to be buzzed all night not doing work. Woo woo.

So instead, I am looking up how to make sangria.

We've done this before, but it was sour as all hell. From using lemon concentrate.

This sangria isn't actually one that I made, it was one consumed in Cabo. But I took the pic so that counts for something right?

So here's how it's gonna go down:

1 part orange juice
1/2 part gin or maybe brandy.. we'll see.
2 parts red wine.

Zinfadel, or Merlot, some recipes say. In this case, it's Franzia. We're classy like that. (Does Franzia even have a type of grape? Or is it just a hodgepodge of leftovers?)

And er, some chopped apples and oranges and maybe a few grapes for good measure. Actually, we have some frozen grapes in the freezer, those would make pretty cute ice cubes huh? Then it won't dilute the drinks. Anyhoo, they can all hang out in the 5 million plastic pitchers left over from the big 2-1.

So far, confirmed:

Me
Rach
Ronez
Ginge
Shawks
Mom
Dad
Steph
Stephen
Liv
Bert
Jake

Waiting on:
Jesse
The boys from 5
Ross
Probs some other peeps

Do you even care? Probs not. But that's cool.