Single in L.A.

A couple of weeks ago while at happy hour (where else would we be?) Giselle, Kendra, Sophia and I talked about how “over” Hollywood clubs we are. It’s way too much work. I don’t mind getting dressed up, but I’ll leave all the jockeying for position to the young girls that like to wear shirts as dresses. Seriously, we went to Falcon on Sunset and realized that we were the only fully dressed women in line – and decided to leave. Kendra even recounted how she and Giselle tried to get into Villa two nights in a row to no avail. Pffft!

But I guess it’s all relative and a matter of perception. Because last week three different people (outsiders looking in) referred to me, with slight disdain I might add, as “being all about the scene,” “Little Miss Hollywood,” and my favorite a “hip scenester.” Me?

I’m nothing if not introspective so I took a look within. I never want to come off as a hypocrite. Am I a hypocrite? Let’s see. I haven’t been to Hyde in a year, but when I did go I walked past a group of at least 100 people, velvet rope lifted, entry granted. But I know the guy at the door! I’ll even acknowledge that I would only go to Opera Les Deux and maybe even Area during the week because “every Joe Schmoe is trying to go on the weekend.” Okay fine.

But I won’t question myself due to the perception of others. I am who I am, label me if you must. I mean, ideas are pitched and deals are made over lunch at Kate Mantilini not IHOP, so what do you want me to do? I’m a victim of my industry, can’t you see that?

Maybe those judgmental labels are born of jealousy. Maybe?

Pondering this gives me a headache. And I need to call Katsuya to confirm my reservation and prime seating for next Tuesday. Happy Friday!

Photo courtesy of LA Eater

A couple of weeks ago after the whole Sex and the City debacle I told you guys I’d review things from time to time, no? Here goes.

Last night the usual suspects decided to switch up the venue for happy hour. One Sunset was the victim, but the damage was minimal. Everyone else had been there before but this was my first time. One word: Sexy. The décor, the menu, the food presentation: all very sexy. Even the restroom was kind of sexy. The food was excellent. Our clan noshed on tapas bites of lobster and goat cheese quesadillas, spicy tuna tartare and yummy crab artichoke dip. But the piece de resistance had to be the triple mushroom flatbread – drizzled with truffle oil, it was full of decadent deliciousness! If ever you’re in L.A. check out One Sunset, have their signature namesake drink or the White Lotus (a very close ginger infused runner up for my taste top spot). Tell them I sent you. It won’t mean anything but, hey…I’ve learned that dropping a name, any name can get you further than expected out here.

Note: This little outing gave birth to at least three tales. All to be told here. Stay tuned.

Friday night two of the usual suspects (Kendra and I) happened upon happy hour at the usual spot (The Belmont). Giselle was recovering from too many Skinny Girl Margaritas (found a step by step recipe - below) the night before so she opted out. But we were joined by a few of the semi-usual suspects and good times(and several drinks) were had by all.

Being in L.A. at least 75% of the present company at any given time will be in the entertainment industry and such was the case that night. We went back and forth about what films sucked, who acquired what, who read which script and were even treated to a mini rundown of the Cannes Film Festival (I SO need to be there next year). But as always, when groups of women congregate there is (a teeny tiny bit of) discussion of men. Dating specifically.

So as we talk about all the crazy men out here, the men that mooch off of you (one girl said the guy she’s dating actually just showed up one day and never went home) and just how it’s hard to date out here in general (because LA is full of horny weirdos). It made me think about the fact that I used to have a ton of crazy dating stories, but my pool has been dry for a minute. What gives?

Having said that I’ve decided to lend myself to scientific research for the betterment of all womankind. I’ve set up four dates with guys I’m only mildly interested in just to see what happens. Knowing me, the predictable will happen. Developing.

Hope you all had a super Memorial Day Weekend! I did (not)! I had so much work to do. Gotta put in the time now so you can see me up in lights later.

Anyway, I said the “Happiest Hour of All” would begin a series. I really could probably pen a little web series on the things that happen to my friends and me at happy hour.

Our Usual Spot: The Belmont Cafe (prime West Hollywood location on LaCienega. (I nearly got run down last month by a photog in hot pursuit of…Pauly Shore of all people)

The Usual Suspects: Giselle, Kendra, myself (stats of all the usual suspects to come) – this is the core but I switch up with whoever wants to drink and chat.

The Usual Fare: Spicy tuna tartar, this ridiculously amazing mac and cheese (has smoke apple wood bacon, and CRAB meat in it – unfortunately I’m cutting the carbs to get summer ready right now)

The best part about happy hour at Belmont: Normally at happy hour you’re chained to the venues list of drinks that are on special. Which is usually some frutti tutti concoction filled with cheap liquor. NOT Belmont. Half off any drink INCLUDING TOP SHELF SPIRITS.

Bonus: Cute guys that aren’t as skinny and short (not always anyway - guys, you should NOT look like girls or aliens. EAT SOMETHING) as the rest of the men here.

So, who has time for happy hour?