Apparently Denny’s is offering free breakfast today. Yawn. I’m not touched. Why? I’ve NEVER eaten at Denny’s nor do I intend to - ever.

I revealed this little “shocking” tidbit to the78msj via Tweets the other night. Her response: Not even after the club??? Nope. It’s really too late to be eating after a night of dancing the calories away. Doesn’t that defeat the purpose??

But if I ever felt the need, my spot would be Swingers on Beverly.The fact of the matter is that Denny’s simply is not HAUTE! There, I said it.

But, for those that dare throw caution to the haute wind, be my guest. Free Grand Slams (which I hear only cost $3 anyway, so really what’s the fuss?) for all down at your local Denny’s.

Have all the carbs and fat you like! But don’t be tacky - you still need to leave a tip!

In my “Still Alive” post I tried to catch you guys up on the goings on. I mentioned a mini make out session. By the way, I’ve had another since then – with a completely different guy no less (oh the tales that came from that…) I’ve become what The Panel and I are calling a “Kissing Slut.” 
I spoke with my cousin the other night about this and we both laughed our boy cut panties off at the irony. I HATED kissing and any signs of affection. If I did kiss you (my beau) it had to be a super special occasion. You’d really only know I liked you by the mere fact that I kept you around. 

I can actually think of boyfriends form back in the day that used to BEG for even a peck. Now, apparently, you say hello to me and if the mood is right you get more than just a little bit of sugar. But no sex (even funnier! And a little sad).

So, I guess that’s one thing I don’t mind taking into my 30s. I’ve grown into a more (selectively) affectionate chick. Who knows, maybe in my 30s I’ll actually LOVE someone in return!

Stranger things have happened.

If you’re in L.A. there’s a Kiss N Grind party this Friday at Cicada. I am SO there! Gotta get my kisses any way possible.

I was feeling like I didn’t want to write today. Feeling like “so what, it’s Friday.” Can’t stand my job. New roomie is…eh. And with bills and everything, being a grown up really sucks sometimes.

But Friday just turned into THE DAY for me. I just got THE BEST phone call I could have gotten. I have to keep the news under wraps for now, but if you’ve been following me on Twitter for the past 3 months, you k now that I’ve had something BIG in the works. And I basically just got the GREEN LIGHT!

In honor of such an occasion I happen to have a lovely 2002 bottle of Veuve Clicquot Gold Label Vintage Brut reserve in my wine cellar aka the bottom cabinet on the left in my kitchen. Bottles WILL BE POPPED TONIGHT!

To allow you to join in the celebration. Enjoy these Youtube videos that just sum up my feelings PERFECTLY. And, hey, if you have some good news: share! Happy Friday!

Because when thinking of the places I’m trying to go and things I’m trying to do I ALWAYS quote this song. As to say I KNOW it’s coming, not I HOPE.

Because this is what I’llbe doing all weekend!

Because I’m going to celebrate like it IS a holiday, all weekend long!

One More! Because I did, indeed, just get THE GREEN LIGHT!

Two weeks ago today I was sprinkling DC with all kinds of Midwest-goes-Hollywood Hauteness. Hair was freshly cut, layers bouncing and I was well rested enough to hit the streets. The streets = Lotus Lounge.

Lotus is unassuming enough on the outside. Amidst a block full of old brick storefronts sits a similar building with only one trace of difference. The sign. A single lotus flower (like above). Upon walking in and taking the stairs down we saw immediately that Lotus was, indeed, different than it’s drab neighbors.

We got there early to enjoy a sushi happy hour menu filled with salmon sashimi, spicy tuna rolls, Sakatinis and Sake Margaritas. Now, I’m a Cali. girl (by default). With access to some of the best sushi outside of Okinawa, I’m somewhat of an aficionado (humor me here). The sushi was good. Not great. But not bad either. It was fresh and tasty and hit my sushi spot – which needed to be hit.

The piece de resistance (say that with a French accent) actually came at official club door opening hour. At 10 pm the bar became FLOODED with patrons. Five minutes before it was bare. What happened at 10?

Ciroc hosts the bar for one full hour of $1 drinks. Yes! That’s right. Now, I’m a vodka girl (tonics and gimlets with extra lime to be exact). My number one being Ketel One. Number two: Grey Goose. Anything else just wouldn’t be civilized. Oh, but it would be. I must say: Ciroc is pretty smooth (probably due to the French distilling it with grapes); so smooth that it sneaks right up on you. So don’t get carried away with the $1 drinks.

The music was great (the best west coast spinner has nothing on this guy). Very nice atmosphere and décor – I’m a club/lounge/restaurant snob. I need décor. And ambience. How’s cold clouds of steam shooting up sporadically throughout the night for ambience? I loved it. And the fellas…weren’t so bad either.

So, if you’re in Washington D.C. and looking for something to do tonight, head to Lotus. Get there early, enjoy some sushi in a big, plush, wrap-around banquette. And at 9:55 head to the bar and hold down a spot. Ciroc is treating. Until 11 pm that is. Go tonight. I don’t know how long the Ciroc is going to flow.

Lotus is located at 1420 K St. in Washington D.C. Please drink responsibly

So I know I’m about two weeks too late. Remember the post about me realizing that I’m not so young anymore? Well before bumping and grinding and then fizzling out at The Roosevelt, the girls decided to have dinner at BLD (located at 7460 Beverly Blvd in Los Angeles). The initials stand for Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner – the name alone tells you this place is all about the food. And we could tell. The décor is very simple yet inviting. No shellacked dark wood floors or faux marble that you can barely slide to your table on in your heels. To the contrary it reminded me more of the housing of an art gallery in the Eastern Market district of Detroit. Simple so that you can focus on what’s important. In this case, it was the food.

I chose the wrong week to go meat free (I’d eaten chicken twice a day for 3 weeks straight and decided that I hand a flesh hangover). Tuesday nights just so happen to be fried chicken night. Initially I didn’t care that I couldn’t indulge. Honestly Los Angeles restaurants version of fried chicken is bare bones. It’s chicken and it’s fried. Eat up. Sooooo not the case at BLD. My Strozzapreti Pasta with goat cheese and grilled vegetables was pretty amazing. Even Giselle and Liza oozed allover their clams. But Kendra, who clearly knew better than the rest of us, got the night’s special.

The fried chicken breasts (they were far from stingy with the helpings) came along with collard greens, cornbread and a heap of cheese grits. I’m always shocked by how many upscale SoCal haunts specialize in the southern treat. Anyway, according to the girls the chicken was juicy and marinated from tip to tip. Apparently the breading was to die for. I sampled the grits and nearly jolted right out of my seat! The food was so good we had the chef come out so that we could personally compliment her.

The wine was good, the service was great and the food was even better. If ever you’re in L.A. and looking for good food without all the fanfare, give BLD a try.

Photos courtesy of Best of L.A. and Gayot

Last night the girls decided to do dinner and dancing. First stop: BLD (review of BLD in tomorrow’s Singular Opinion Feature) for dinner and drinks then off to The Honey Collective party at Teddy’s at the Hollywood Roosevelt. Now, being that it’s a holiday week and there are tons of parties around town I initially thought I might club it up every night this week.

But I’ve come to a realization: I’m getting old! DJ Rashida is known for spinning great dance music so Kendra, Giselle, Liza and I were all set to “dance the night away.’

Well, we headed over there at about 11. A few “entertainer” (Raheem Devaughn, Farnsworth Bentley and Will.I.Am – or his evil twin) sightings and one more round of drinks later we were all shits and giggles and dancing like it was 1999. But it’s not 1999. It’s 2008, we’re 9 years older, and our bodies know it.

Liza was the first to fizzle as she decided to lean her two step up against a pole and just sway. After doing the take-a-break-from-dancing and quick club walk through (you know, just to see and be seen) we ended up in the VIP amongst some of the most comfy, irresistible father’s library leather sofas ever. Liza and Kendra gave in but Giselle and I pressed on. But I was rapidly losing the good fight. As if in slow motion, my gyrating slowed down to a mere hand wave back and forth. I simply couldn’t go on. I tried, but just couldn’t. However, Giselle seemed to have gotten this radical burst of energy. She was the last diva dancing. Ironic too, because earlier that day as we chatted over IM she lamented that she knew she was too old to try and dance the night away, and might have to call it a night after dinner. Surrrreee. It was all a ploy.

Sad. But, in my defense, 4 inch heels, 2 hours of dancing and being just shy of 30 is NOT a good combination. Ladies, take heed. Learn from my mistakes.You may look young, but Mother Nature knows better.

So while you think of the good old days when you actually had to be put out of the club, enjoy my Boogie Nights throwback.

Sometimes I get restless and there are so many things to do that I can’t choose. Or better yet, it won’t choose me. Friday was one of those days.

I was trying to round up the girls for happy hour when Carll sent me an e-mail. He was just checking in since I hadn’t “returned any of his numerous calls.” Eh, I thought, and I don’t plan to reply to this e-mail either. But as the day dwindled on and everyone was opting out of happy hour in order to get ready for their later plans, Carl’s e-mail was searing away at my psyche. So I give in and reply:

Hey! So sorry I keep missing you. Been SUPER busy. We should get together…soon.

This was slightly evil of me. I won’t ever accept last minute plans but as my Friday after work pre-debauchery outing became more and more unlikely, I was hoping he would take the bait. Ding! Outlook let’s me know I have a new message all of two minutes later. It’s Carl. Surprise, surprise. He wants to know if soon means he can take me to dinner tonight. Around 7? Sure!

But just as I say “yes” one of my sorority sisters (SS) texts me and suggests that I meet her for drinks in Century City. Her treat. Le sigh. Her offer is much more tempting, as I really like her and I’m, clearly, lukewarm about Carl. I shoot him an e-mail asking if we can re-schedule for Saturday. No explanations, because it’s not his business. While I’m awaiting his reply SS texts me and efficiently gives me a timeline that I see doesn’t really work with my anxious-to-have-a-drink-right-after-work self. So I tell her that we should just do it another time.

At that very moment Carl sends me a long winded e-mail about how disappointed he is, and he wishes I’d make time for him and he’s certain “not to disappoint” if I’ll ever just give him a chance and… Frankly all I can read is nag, nag, nag. Ugggghhhh!

Before I can even reply he sends ANOTHER e-mail saying that he gets it. He knows that I got what I “think” is a better offer and he wants me to know that I’m “a tad rude” but he’ll forgive me because I’m “so darn cute” and that I say I don’t like the games that L.A. men play. Well, he doesn’t like the females’ games either. If I’m really and truly interested in him I’ll stop playing this cat and mouse game and just let him treat me to “a fantastic meal with even better company.” AGGGGGGGGHHHHH!! Gag me. Anyone touting how great they are socially, is not that great.

He doesn’t realize he was making it WORSE. Threats don’t work with me, and I’m not that nice. I’m all set to fire off a reply. Just then a Pizza Hut banner ad rolled atop my Yahoo. Mmmm. Pizza. I promptly sent Carl an e-mail saying that I had, indeed, received a better offer. Said offer included extra cheese and pineapple with a few glasses of Merlot from my private collection. Make someone else a lucky girl tonight. I’ll pass.

This would have all ended up better had the girls just met for happy hour or if SS could have been in Century City 30 minutes earlier.

Carl works two blocks down, so I must avoid Wilshire at lunch time for a few.

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!

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.

So, of course, dating is a huge part of any single girl’s (or guy’s) life. However having lived in L.A. and in the Midwest, I realize that dating styles differentiate based on regions. Boy, have I got some stories. And though it might seem like a lot of fun to be single, footloose and fancy free in a place like Hollywood you should know that that’s not the case! For me anyway. Dating gets old. Meeting people and doing the whole get-to-know-you song and dance is beyond tiring. When said song and dance lead nowhere and you end up on yet another first date a few days after the last one, it becomes frustrating.

I conducted a poll recently amongst men and found out that men are actually confused about some key dating facts!! Who knew? Well, I kind of figured, based on the way things were going. But I now have proof!

I know we’ve all read – or heard of (you read it! No need to lie.) how to guides like The Rules,

and the ever so popular “get a clue and love yourself guide” He’s Just Not That Into You.

However, those books speak directly to women for the most part. How to find a man. How to keep him interested. And, hey here’s how to seal the deal and get that guy to marry you.

What are we, chop liver? Continue Reading »