There’s a reason why I choose to stay home. Why I choose to pop in a movie or read a book. Why I choose to sip a glass of wine and suffocate in my dragons blood incense, in order to ward off the negative energy that possess this city to its superficial madness.
Every now and then I let down my gaurd from where it once was, and go out for a night of uncertainty. Well this night assured me to always keep my sanity pills near by.
BootsyBellow has been a popular spot for some time now and with every reason. The image has kept up in having selective celebrity clientele and exclusive passes of getting past the velvet rope. This is one of the very few places that continues to subliminally try to pull the “25%” rule and play it off as a capacity factor. I prefer the inner social crowd over any basic club like its competitors Supperclub, Playhouse, DBA or Lure. Lets be honest though, there really are no comparisons nor competition when you’re going for the Cream de la cream, yet this time they fell a little short.
Considering I’ve done the social scene for a good ten years now, nothing really surpises me. The drunk girl, the smutty dancing couple, the train of girls holding hands (I don’t understand that crap) or the douchebag perv. It’s inevitable, you’re going to come across them without failure.
With the years that have passed in the Hollywood night life, it has become an even bigger disappointment. Typically with high expectations you’d hope that the strays, as I call them, would be left outside to continue wandering the streets, but no not this time around.
I got into a “non” physical altercation with a guy named Sam , in the back private room who made every effort to intoxicate my friend, in order to have his way by wanting to “dance with her for 30 mins”. yeah ok buddy. At first he was a cool guy to whom I saw right through his aggression and lonely corner, but I kept my eye on him monitoring his every move. As I made it very clear that my friend didn’t need anything stronger than a glass of water. He obliged. Foolish me As another admirer, coincidentally named sam too, who had asked me my freaking name for the fourth time with the ending compliment of “I love your hat”. He was mad cool and respected the fact that his night with her wouldn’t go any further than a air kiss goodbye. In fact, when I abruptly corrected him in calling her a tease I played off his character for expecting an unrealistic exchange from an innocent dance.
I noticed the other Sam troll offering my friend a beer, a Corona with lime to be exact. Didn’t I just emphasize on the water memo?!? and here I need to step in as the sober friend to take it away? Ok so I am officially a cock blocker, but lets clarify on that phrase…no one can be a cock blocker if no one’s going after your cock. Seems like your hands and yourself tonight buddy.
(Not Sam but close enough)
He told me to relax… Warning Warning (never tell a girl like myself to relax) and called me sweety as a patronizing form of endearment, at which I responded…I’m not your sweety, but I will be a witch (Black hat, black boots, black everything including my skin).
As he proceeded to refer to me as a “joke”, asked me if I was her publicist, which I should have publicly whooped his butt, and he not being a only fan of my hat in a club, as I looked around in a full cirlce of hat club goers…I went in for the kill.
His birth was a joke, his existence now is a joke, his dumbfounded expression to a large vocabulary in my valid argument, definitely, was a joke.
Sam…. is a sneaky gutter rodent that makes his way into the one club I still praise for keeping the old Hollywood in check.
Sam, is your typical troll at the bar that is so thirsty to get just about any, and I do mean any, chick to acknowledge his pathetic existence, that he has to drown himself with a corona bottle just to quench his thirst.
Sam is that guy, who clearly doesn’t understand the importance of keeping your hands to yourself or territorial space. He likes to play tug of war with an objectified females limbs that are in inches from him. Sam is a pansy who wears a laced red thong to match his Bitchassness when he can’t handle sheer rejection.
Sam, is the guy who played himself shorter than his height to get a girl, that’s already inebriated with beer goggles to further her blurred lines. Sam, I saw you trolling behind that tree still desperately attempting to get my friends attention even while she antagonized you in talking to another guy and laughing at the lack of dignity that you had every chance in leaving with.
Do you see the pattern here Sam? Out of all the guys my friend willingly danced with, exchanged business contacts with and carried on a normal conversation with….she just wasn’t all that interested in you. She Just wanted one last free drink and you were the schmuck who got played to get her one.
I made friends with the bouncers though. Im sure they can respect a girl that can walk in a straight line without having to hold hands every step of of the way, which reminds me… ladies! the holding hands thing is stupid! Just as stupid as you all needing to go to the freaking bathroom and fit in the same damn stall. Just ease your way into a crowd and if you can’t ease, say excuse me and people will move. Back to you Sam. Although you won’t be wearing that white shirt and army color played out jacket, I’ll still remember that manged looking face of yours.
So I challenge you to feel the palm of my hand again on your nose and I’ll have a pretty laced red thong wrapped just for you if you plan on bringing that bitchassness again
Other than that we enjoyed our time! Boys ease up on the after parties though… can’t call it much of a party when there’s only a palm full of people in a “Big Hollywood house up in the hills” not at all impressed, but I’m sure a tourist on Hollywood blvd will go for that line.
Blows Kisses
UPDATE!!! My friend still can not remember what happened that night. She now considers drinking past her limit needs to stop.
