If you’ve read my posts since I’ve moved to San Diego, you’d have caught on by now that the house I live in is pretty much a revolving door of extra people (some random, some not), living in our extra living room, lovingly called “The Carport” (its a renovated carport, now completely enclosed, but still with an outdoor porch light as it’s only form of lighting).
Our last Carporter, Brie stayed for about a month, in between her leases, and when her time here was coming to an end, another friend of the group, Smorgs realized he’d need somewhere to stay for about 3 weeks in between places… so exit Brie, and enter Smorgs. At this point, after three dwellers down there, I actually think it will be weird when that room is empty.
Late last week, V informed us she was asked to bartend a company holiday party in LA on Saturday night. A guy she knew from Chicago who had just moved here, was friends with the person coordinating the party, and she needed an extra bartender, so V agreed. The party was for a production company in Hollywood. I decided I wanted to go. Smorgs decided he wanted to go too. V told us we were absolutely not going.
Friday night was Girls Night Out (which Smorgs was obviously involved in, because when you live in the Carport, you’re one of the girls, no questions asked). We told V (several times) that we were coming with her to LA in the morning.
“No you’re not. And I’m leaving at 10. You sleep til like 1 on the weekends.”
Notttt this weekend…. I let her know I’d be setting my alarm, and going with her. And Smorgs was coming too. V wasn’t having it. Morning came. I was up and about to hop in the shower. V asked me what the hell I was doing.
“Going to LA.”
“Not with me.”
“Yes, we’re taking my car.”
“You can take your car. I’m taking my car.”
“V, that’s really not good for the environment.”
She rolled her eyes.
I stuck my head in the Carport. “Smorgs, are you coming to LA?”
He popped his head up out of his Aero bed. “Yep.”
We got ready and threw some random clothing in the car. We all packed black pants and white button downs because that’s what the bartenders had to wear. Smorgs and I decided that one of our plans would be to go in with V and the other guy dressed as bartenders before the party started, then change into regular party clothes in the bathroom once we were in. It was early, and we were rushed, so we didn’t bring any party clothes. We decided we’d go shopping beforehand, since we were heading up super early and would have plenty of time before the party started.
V still didn’t believe us that we were coming to the party. Or maybe she did, but she was just in denial. We picked up her friend, Alex, whom we later found out is a complete Facebook whore, and had already status updated about us before even meeting us… calling us “tagalongs,” and saying the road trip would be “interesting.” Hmmmpphhh…. We pulled up to his house around 10:30am, he came out to the car, opened the trunk and cheerily announced, “I brought Gatorades, Red Bulls, and snacks for all of us!” Ohhh… well in that case…. We figured we’d really like Alex….
Alex was somethin’ else. If there was a camera in that car, I think I’d replay it for all of my friends, because Alex is one of those people who you might not fully understand unless you met him. I think there were several times I just sat there in silence, wondering if he actually just said what he just said. He actually said it all.
We told him we were crashing the party, and I think he was confused. He came up with a couple of ideas, but they didn’t seem like good ideas. Most of them actually sounded like the worst ideas ever. He said he could text the woman who was running it to ask if we could come, but if she said no, we were out. We decided it was better to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission, so we told him not to say anything. We would figure out our own way in. Alex was nervous we were going to get caught and then say we were with them.
“We’re not idiots.”
We didn’t know what security would be like. We didn’t know what the dress code was. We didn’t know the set-up of the venue, or if there was going to be a guest list. We didn’t know anything other than that there was open bar, free valet, and that we were going.to.the.party.
In between Alex talking about threesomes with dudes and soaking with his ex-girlfriend… and confusion over who in the car was gay… we made a few stops along the way to LA. We pit-stopped in Huntington Beach to walk around at a street fair, and Smorgs and I decided it would be a good idea to get matching gun Henna tattoos on our forearms. Halfway through my gun, Wrinkley-Neck Henna Lady told us it’d last at least two weeks… and I remembered I wear scrubs to work. Whoops. #justlivinlife?
Our next stop was for lunch at a restaurant on the water in Malibu, where Alex kept exclaiming loudly, “We in DA BU!” … I’m pretty sure I saw steam coming out of V’s ears somewhere in between Malibu and LA. I was giggling on the inside, and thinking she was now pretty thankful we invited ourselves.
We arrived at the party location, which was at the actual production office. We found out there would be 500 guests, so thought nothing of there being 502 instead. It was 6pm and the party didn’t start til 8. We followed V and Alex in to get a look around. There weren’t really any people there yet, but we did meet the woman Alex knew who worked for the company and who was coordinating the event. She was really friendly and nice… but Alex did not get us the invite. He didn’t even try.
Fine. Party crashing it would be.
I think even at this point, V didn’t think we were coming to the party. As we were leaving, she said if we wanted to valet the car there, we could always take a taxi to bars in the area. Smorgs and I just looked at each other. We walked away and he said, “Why is she talking about taxis when we are going to this party?”
“I don’t know, but we are going to this party.”
We left V and Alex there, and googled the nearest mall, which was in Beverly Hills. We started at Macy’s and tried to pick out appropriate outfits, not having any idea of what the dress code was. Smorgs went with a pretty loud paisley button down, and I got a long-sleeved dress that was maybe a little shorter and tighter than my usual PB beach attire, and a pair of black heels (When in Rome?)
We changed in the mall parking deck. Like IN the parking deck. Next to the car. Down to the undergarments. We almost got away with it. I think I had my dress completely on and was just pulling my pants from underneath when I heard the laughter of a large woman who had creeped up behind the car. Oops.
We then stopped at CVS because Smorgs wore a hat all day and forgot hair gel. Get with it, buddy. My dress also smelled like a fat woman’s B.O, but it was the only one in my size so I was stuck with it. I went to the body spray section and sprayed the crap out of myself with “Sensual Night.” I figured it was an appropriate scent. I didn’t even care what it smelled like. I just didn’t want to smell like fat woman B.O. Next was the body lotion section. I started rubbing some on my arms and legs, and happened to glance over at the checkout where Smorgs was paying for his hair product as he turned to see me rubbing myself with lotion.
We ran outta there and I declared I felt like a homeless person in Beverly Hills. We stopped at Chateau Marmont for a drink on our way back to the party which was just starting. As soon as we walked in, we got caught by a bald man with hipster glasses who told us we were the most fashionable couple in there, and he wanted to have a threesome with us… except without Smorgs. He continued on detailing his life, from his dates with horrible women to ultrasounds of his testicles. He was really into Smorgs and his shirt, but then his gay friend piped in with “It looks like a paisley elf threw up on you.” Rude.
Like can we go anywhere and do anything normal? No. But I’m now really upset we didn’t get his card, because he’s a member of the Magic Castle, and I definitely need to get in there… ugh…
Onward ho, it was party time. How’d we crash it, you ask? We pulled up to the valet, gave him the car key, and walked in. That’s how. Piece of cake. Piece of crumb cake.
V made us promise to act like we didn’t know her. We did a pretty good job. Except she kinda shot herself in the foot by having a heavy pouring hand, because by the end of the night we were calling her Nessie and trying to set her up with the young hotties. She wasn’t really too happy about that. She thought we had bad taste.
The party was pretty sweet. I wondered what kind of job I could have to work in an office like that. We mingled, we tore up the dance floor, harrassed the DJ for more Britney, and used Christmas lights as outfit accessories. So much for blending in. I also may or may not have asked an old man if I could touch his beard (he said yes… it was a good one).
At 2am, the party was wrapped and Alex drove us home. Smorgs and I turned the backseat into a Meatloaf dance party for the first half of the trip home until we both crashed. V had work in the morning and was the only one who did NOT fall asleep on the way back. Well besides Alex… as far as I know.
I’ve had a few of experiences crashing parties/weddings, and I have to say this was the most successful. We didn’t get kicked out OR end up in jail. Everything else was bonus.
I think Saturday as a whole was one of my favorite days in a while.
Over and out for now, Pumpkins.
xoxo
Gossip Girl
breathe in, laugh out 