Monday, February 8, 2010

L.A. Stories- Advice From A Drunken Life-Coach

I'm at Cinespace in Hollywood- it's a great little nightclub down the street from my apartment, and my amazing friend Carlos is a bouncer. Carlos hooks us up in a beautiful way- I stroll past the line which wraps around the block, Carlos smiles at me and the rope drops. Then I'm all up in that club.
In the most superficial way possible, it's a good feeling. It's also nice because it's coooold out here!
Last night, my friend Tiffany came as well, and brought her small entourage along. She's friends with a promoter, so they strolled right in as well. This is especially nice when cover at Cinespace can run anywhere from $20-$40. It's insane.
The club was packed and at the end of the night, 5 separate fights broke out. It became like the wild west- one fight in one corner, then suddenly everybody starts swinging. Some guy got so excited about a fight breaking out he threw up on the wall, and a girl jumped away from it which started a hair pulling wrestling match with another girl. I expected a piano player to break out the rag-time music as bottles break and someone gets shot and falls through the railing. Fortunately, though, no one smuggled in any guns or pianos.
Early in the night, a couple of guys instantly attached themselves to our group, but they were pretty fun and good-looking enough for the girls to be pleased that they were around. They danced with us and we had a good time. As the night wore on, though, they drank more and more. Tiffany, on a mission, took a girlfriend and one of the guys outside for a second leaving me sort of stranded waiting with his friend on the stairs. I noticed he was wearing dogtags, and like the sexy club bunny I clearly am, asked him if he know that the smaller loop of chain was meant to go around the toes of a soldier as a toe tag if the soldier was wounded. He looked confused, and then explained that his dog tags were GUCCI. "Ohhh." I say. "Well, that explains that." (???)
I joked around with him about starting his own fashionable military unit, until this little exchange occurred:
Him: So what'd you do today?
Me: Hunh? (It's a nightclub, after all)
Him: Like, how'd you spend your day?
Me: Oh- well, today was kind of a sucky day.
Him: Why?
Me: I don't wanna go into detail- let's go dance!
Him- No no no- What did you PHYSICALLY DO today?
Me- laid around in bed...
Him: Why?
Me: I don't wanna talk about it, dude.
Him: No! It's Okay! I'm a part-time lifecoach!
At this point I decided to indulge him, because I had a suspicion it would be awesome. It was.
Me: Okayyy, I laid around because I was really sad.
Him: (exploding) That's bullshit! Do you know how beautiful it was outside today?!?
Me: Yeah.
Him: It was 84 degrees on the beach- it was sunny- there were lots and lots of people.
At this point he begins touching me with his index and middle finger, in my chest, every time he says the word "you."
Him: You (touch) need to be around people- you (touch) need to be in sunshine! There's vitamin D and shit out there, and you (touch) absorb that shit, right, because you're (touch) a human being and you (touch) need (touch) to (touch) be (touch) in (touch) the (touch) sun! (touch!)
His touches are getting sloppy and several of them find their way to my actual breast and nipple. Then he gets deep on me.
Him: Why were you laying in bed when it was so sunny outside?
Me: Because I was in a bad mood- people self-sabotage when they're in a bad mood.
Him: No no no no no! Self-sabotage? You know what the worst kind of sabotage is?
Me: What.
Him: (triumphant) SELF-Sabotage!
Me: Ahhh.
Him: The good things in life go to whoever's working for them. So if I lie in bed for one day, someone else is gonna get what I want, because I'm not working for it.
Me: So it doesn't matter what kind of person you are- you can be a complete douchebag but because you're working for something you'll get it? Like a job as a part-time lifecoach?
Him: (oblivious) Exactly! Think about it! Just think for a second and answer honestly- why are you so lazy?
He's now touching my temple and forehead, for some reason, and oblivious to my open smirk.
Me: I dunno, I guess I thought I could take one day off.
Him: No no no no no! You can't! Because if you lie in bed all day and don't get out of bed, you're lazy and you deserve the bad things.
Me: So what about people who can't get out of bed? What about quadriplegics?
Him: (pause) Quadraplegics? Well that's just bad luck!
At this point I'm openly laughing at him. He sees this as encouragement and presses his forehead against mine. It's gross but sooo worth it for what he says next:
Him: It's their bad luck, man. Quadri-pah-legics. If they don't have any arms or limbs or whatever, you know, they just gotta get out there- they just gotta work harder than the other quadri-legics. ...They can still have roles in the movies.

Thank youuuuuu, Hollywood!!!

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