Mo from one of the forums was in town, so we gathered for a WeHo pub crawl last night.
Our waiter at the Brazilian place was a lovely drag queen - alas wearing a work uniform that lacked any glamour. It just seems wrong to stick someone who can be fabulous in something as mundane as a t-shirt and black pants. But hey, we all gotta work, right? She had on great silver hoop earrings that looked fantastic against her long neck. I have no talent for it, but I sure notice when someone wears bracelets and rings of all styles and sizes and somehow makes it work together.
Maybe not only in LA, but damn rare anywhere else - a tall, thin older guru type with waist length dreds who spun a prayer wheel while he waited for his table. I should have checked to see if he got seated faster. Any edge in getting a table is appreciated.
We went to The Abbey next. The martini menu was impressive. So was the mojito menu. I went for a vodka martini, three olives. Comfort food. The Abbey was crowded with people trying to be seen and the music sucked, but we had a great time trying to figure out who would inspire missed connections posts on Monday. Honestly, since I'm evil and lazy, if I were looking for someone, I'd simply post random missed connections describing what I'd like to meet and see who hit me up. I'd save a ton of money on cover charges, and wouldn't have to deal with WeHo parking. Not that I'm looking. But if I ever am....
After we toured the Abbey, checked out the beds, and hit every bar inside, Mo said she wanted to dance. We hiked over to Rage. Now, I warned them that my dancing was like Elaine from Seinfeld - a full body dry heave. Did that stop them from herding me towards the dance floor? Did it stop me from willingly going to the dance floor? No. One martini wasn't enough of an excuse to please diminished capacity, so I'll admit that I simply wanted to dance. And there's nothing as fun as getting to grind against some hot girls who are out to have a good time. Sometimes I just closed my eyes and absorbed the (as Mo called it) thumpa-thumpa fag music.
I had a great time watching the hottie go-go boys on stage. It must have been theme night, because they had on tight baseball pants slung way low, beaters shoved up high on their chests, and baseball caps. Boy Cubbie was getting led off to the bathrooms about twice an hour. Alas, no takers for Boy Dodger.
After a couple hours, I was done for. Some nighthawk. I packed it in right after midnight, so maybe I am of the geeze. Sigh. I headed out of the club just as the line to get in got serious. But as my excuse, I do have obligations today. I need all my wits for this one. As I explained to Vish (another of our group) I have ringside seats to a family brawl today, and the unfortunate thing about family fights that have been festering for twenty years is that you must be present to win.