It is 9:45pm on a Saturday night. Blacktress has plans to attend a birthday party, at a bar in Hollywood, and should already be circling the spot looking for parking. Instead she’s still in the shower casually belting (off key) the soundtrack from Dreamgirls.
In LA, parties are already kicking into high gear by 10pm. This is a hard thing for her to get used to. When she lived in New York, it was a rarity for any of the good people to arrive at any of the good parties before midnight. And they didn’t make the so called “walk of shame” back to their apartments until dawn.
But in LA the rules are all different. These assholes are actually on time to bars, clubs and mixers, and they’re all cleared out by 1:15. Blacktress thinks no bar, club, or mixer worth its salt rimmed margaritas should be all cleared out with the night a mere fetus. And for her, this is merely reason #115 why LA is bullshit. But what are you gonna do? So to save time, she decides to shave her legs only to where the hemline of her dress stops. Her upper thighs will be fuzzy, but fuck it, she thinks. Who’s gonna to see them anyway?
As Blacktress looks down at her legs, equal parts shaggy and smooth, she recalls what Iyanla Howard told her two weekends ago in the bathroom at Rush Street in Culver City.
“ You have to take short cuts on the road perfection,” Ilanya said very matter of fact, while adjusting her wig in the mirror. “I don’t have time to fool with my hair, so I buy it from this place in Leimert Park.”
Blacktress was shocked. She’d been jealous of Iyanla’s luscious mane since she met her at an audition six months ago. As Blacktress reached out to touch the spiraled enigma, Iyanla drew closer, her eyes foreboding, and her tone deadly serious,
“Girl. You don’t eeeeven. Want to see. What is up under here.”
Blacktress believed her.
Thanks to Iyanla’s sage advice, by 10:45pm, Blacktress is seated in a banquette, celebrating the birthday of a girl she knows, surrounded by a bunch of people she doesn’t. The garden variety of Hollywood types are nice enough, but they all fail the shallow test by asking what she did within the first 45 seconds of meeting her. Blacktress plays the six degrees game.
“ Oh you went to (fill in the blank) theater school? Do you know (fill in the blank)?
“Omigod! Yes… It’s such a small world.”
“Blah Blah Blah… (fill in the blank)”
“Blah Blah Blah”
Later she meets Alex Mitchell, a metro-sexual, wearing studded jeans, a tightly fitted vest, and Dior shades he has borrowed from his roommate. He better be stoned, Blacktress thinks. No one is allowed to wear shades at night or indoors, unless they are very famous, blind, or stoned.
“ You look amazing”, he coos. “Save me a dance.”
She throws an awkward grin in his direction then quickly turns her attention to the birthday girl.
By 1:00 am, everyone is saying their goodbyes and hustling out the door. The bar is quickly becoming a ghost town.
“Where’s the fire?” Blacktress asks the birthday girl.
“You know how it is. Everyone gets up early to go work out.”
Blacktress now notices a chubby girl fleeing for the exit.
“I don’t think so.”
Blacktress pauses to take the last sip of her lemon drop.
“ I have a theory. I think everyone in LA has to hurry out before 1:30, because when their I-phones strike 2:00 they all turn back into pumpkins.”
“You might be right.”
The two women share a real laugh. Alex Mitchell, one of the last stragglers, and apparently an eavesdropper, interjects.
“No! Everyone heads to house parties after 1. LA is all about the house party.”
Ignoring him, the birthday girl, who has been smiling all night, makes a sharp detour from levity.
“I can’t believe I’m twenty-fucking-nine. I’m a fucking dinosaur.” she grumbles, then tears, while staring out despairingly over the emptied dance floor.
Yikes, Blacktress thinks. I thought this was supposed to be a party!?
March 22, 2010 at 9:23 am
Excellent!! To quote Etta James, “At Last!! Pure unadulterated truth about La La Land keep ’em coming Blacktrress!! My Pride runneth over
March 24, 2010 at 12:09 am
It’s true. LA parties start way too early.
March 25, 2010 at 1:47 pm
enjoyed the blog. the cure to your dissatisfaction in LA parties can be cured with downtown afterhour bars, and hollywood alley parties (Freakcity, etc.). Your persona is strong with that birthparty story. I have a feeling Blacktress really loves NYC. People leave bars at 1:15 to get more blow and booze and a pack of smokes (despite their rigorous LA Fitness spinning class at 9am) from the local Sev before they stop selling at 2. Most then move it to the afterhours (downtown or otherwise)…You were correct in the house party thread. Honestly tho, the houses the “good” parties are at should be partied in. Who spends 4 mil on a home they don’t entertain in? Keep it coming Blacktress. I love forward to your adventures
March 26, 2010 at 10:20 am
Well soul sister, the struggle continues as we fight to salvage our passion, creativity, and dignity in this apathetic, pathetic, edges-rubbed-smooth environment. I recently visited NYC and ATL, the homes of true divas, dynamos, and down-for-the-all-night-party animals. Believe me: LA does not even aspire to reach the heights of hellraising Blacktress is craving. Nevertheless, the irony is deep. There’s something motivating about the longing. Blacktress is not and will never be comfortable here. Good. It’s COMFORT that breeds the lies, and instills the routines, and fosters the shallow relationships. Stay honest, spontaneous, hungry, and pissed.
March 26, 2010 at 1:00 pm
I really enjoyed reading the post! It’s funny — I don’t think anybody outside of California who has moved to LA to pursue perfection in their craft is a fan of LA. Parties in LA? (insert shrug here)I’m a homebody. I do enjoy a good lounge or bar though….but if I see a red carpet or velvet rope…I’m going in the opposite direction lol.
March 29, 2010 at 2:40 pm
Love your insight. You have a keen eye for the real!!