What Happens in LA…

What happens in LA stays in LA. Generally. Although names have been changed to protect whoever’s innocent, the following did in fact happen on a recent weekend in LaLa Land.

The tale begins with Bloody Marys by the pool. In the morning. Which stretches to afternoon. A book called, Do One Thing Every Day That Scares You, is involved. Four old broads up for a challenge are the players.

It’s Pride Weekend, featuring the most interesting fare, including those Westboro Baptist Asshats, resulting in one broad grabbing another to keep her from getting real up close. There is mad mother finger-waving joined with a, “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.” The drunken fool wandering the sidewalk ready for a fight shall remain nameless. Pfft.

The girls take a page from the book and decide on a “scare” activity for each girl; tailored to fears, dares and general foolishness. Activities are private as I want to go back to LA with my girls. Selling secrets might get me blackballed.

The party moves from rooftop pool to a little fiesta on Santa Monica Blvd in West Hollywood. We have to. The first dare was accomplished poolside. Although no one asked us to leave, we could sense the crowd couldn’t handle our swagger. At the cantina, the peeps are out and so are the cameras. We try for live coverage but nobody’s biting. They were sorry later for sure.

The girls accomplish their tasks–no timidity, little hesitation and lots of laughing. And with the help of our server Gavin. Gavin steps up big time in the coaching department. The Irishman, who won his country’s version of Dancing With The Stars–no lie, look him up–provides words of encouragement. And applause. Yes, Gavin claps as each “dare” is accomplished. He even joins the party when his shift ends.

Gavin encourages this girl: “You’re just ascared.” Say that with an Irish brogue. “Yuv got to try new things. You can do it. I know ye can.” My personal leprechaun leads me straight to accomplishing my task and I admit to newfound badassery–squee, my favorite.

Two more drinks and two more “dares” accomplished right there on the street for everyone to see. Hint: it involves sunshine, a dog and a microphone. No help? Hmmm.

Newfound bravado tucked in our pockets, we find ourselves hotel bound by 10; a full days liquid courage prompting us forward.

When next the ladies search for Bloody Marys, it’s at The Abbey. Given it’s The Abbey, our sendoff includes a show of LA’s best “girls.” Our table is next to the stage. They put us there so the queens can applaud our bravery and send us off to The Dale all full of ourselves.

The only fallout? One bruised knee and two bruised elbows courtesy of a fall over a metal thing anchored to the floor at LAX. Bloody Marys were not the cause. Walking with head turned backwards chatting is the culprit. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

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