Making It Rain

Make it Rain

After a crazy New Year’s Eve in Vegas, most of which I don’t remember very clearly, I vowed to have a few dry weeks — catch up on sleep, detox and not go out very much. So, how did I find myself sipping a Jameson at a club while a woman tried her best to get my attention by jiggling her breasts in my face?

I had to go into LA for work again and so I hit up my friend who lives Downtown. She told me that there was an Artwalk that night and that I should avoid traffic home and just stay for dinner and some local LA culture. Sold.

As we sat down at my favorite sushi restaurant ever, Sugarfish, (Trust me. You MUST try it), my friends were shocked to discover that I’ve never tried sake before and insisted that I indulge. It was still early and quite cold when we left the restaurant, and so we decided to stop for a dessert drink at one of my favorite downtown bars, Parish. Then off we went in the bitter cold to see some art. I don’t care how uncouth it makes me look, but I’ve never really appreciated art. I admire great photographs, of course, and also acknowledge famous pieces by long ago artists, but honestly, I was pretty bored when I visited the Getty and other museums of that sort.

So, we walked into our first gallery and the only way I could describe it was, well, it was weird and ugly. I totally did not get it. At all. I mean really, people PAY for this stuff??! I jokingly turned to my friend and said, “I need more alcohol if I expected to ‘get’ this stuff.” Around that same time, a few photographers that were in the area texted me and told me they were at a bar down the street, so we decided to meet up with them. Then one of my friends had a few of her friends meet up with us, and somehow I never found myself empty-handed for the rest of the evening. We ended up at a few bars until at some point my friend’s friend, S, made us all get into a taxi. Thinking we were headed to yet another downtown bar, we settled in for the ride.

The first thing I noticed was the neon signs. I jokingly told my roommate that it looked like a strip club as we walked in. The next thing I knew a wad of cash is being thrust in my face by S. Confused, I asked what it was for. He points to something behind me. I turn and see five or so almost naked women swinging on poles on a stage. Seriously? Making our way to the bar, I stuff the wad of cash into my purse. There was no way I was throwing away money on something like that. I mean, I totally could buy a super cute pair of shoes or two instead. S finds us seats at the edge of one of the corners of the stage. Yippee. I sit there and sip my drink as unobtrusively as possible. Do not make eye contact. Do not make eye contact. Oh, and try to keep the look of judgement at the creeper patrons off my face as well. Unfortunately, right about that time, I turn my head and somehow find two large, fake breasts shimmying precariously close to my face. WTF do I do now??! I feel bad for her, so I slip her one of my dollars, which of course encourages her more. At which point, I turn to my roommate with a look of abject horror and pleas of help me in my eyes. He grabs my friend and me and leads us to the door, thankfully.

The night air is frigid, and no taxis are in sight. We start a long, freezing trek 12 blocks toward my friend’s loft. Passing by a McDonald’s we all agree that McNuggets sound like an incredible idea at 2 am (Never mind that I’m a vegetarian, but chicken nuggets aren’t really meat, so I figured I was pretty safe). But we were on foot, and they wouldn’t allow us through a drive thru on foot. Dejectedly, we face the cold once again. About six blocks later, we finally are able to hail a cab, and we make him take us back through McDonalds. Happily, in our alcohol induced stupor, we enjoy the best meal ever (yuck) of McNuggets, a¬†McRib, and fries.

I wake up the next morning feeling (rightfully so) like death to find wads of cash everywhere, my purse, my pockets and inexplicably, my bra.

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