Only in LA

 A few years ago i was in a club in Santa Monica called Circle Bar.  This was way back when i didn't drink, though i have always loved to dance.  Well at the top of the dance floor was this large semi-circular booth that served as the VIP for the place.  On the night in discussion that booth was filled to capacity with hot chicks.  Not really wanting to question the why I settled for the "how".  As in "how can i be down".  So slowly my friend and I worked our way into the good graces of these ladies and the few geeks that accompanied them.  Before we knew it we were in the mix surrounded by hotness on all sides.  Including on the table right in front of us.  It was a dance revolution and we were leading the charge.  Just when you thought things couldn't get any better the record skipped not literally of course, I think the DJ in that joint was using CD's.  Although the song he was playing set up the pins that were about to be knocked down. It was Lynyrd Skynard's Sweet Home Alabama that sent everyone into a sort of rock mosh movement that connected the entire dance floor and some surrounding tables in a undulating mass motion that had the appearance of water sloshed around in a container.  It was somewhere in the middle of the song and at the apex of the rapid furry inspired by such a well know and well like master piece that my big mouth came falling open with a few random factoids about the driving force of our spirited union.  

See the song was written as a retaliation to the searing words of the Neil Young song "Southern Man".  The tune, at the time, must have really fire up Ronnie VanSant, the now deceased lead singer of Lynyrd Skynard.  I actually like both artists and I was simply commenting on the fact that it was funny how popular that song had become and how that must have fueled the fire to the conflict.  Truer words I suppose cause just that simple remark uttered in some sort of half witted attempt to win favor in the eyes of the beautiful women around me sure as shit sent fire through some ones eyes.  That some one being the guy whose VIP booth we were currently so happily residing in.  They flashed red and his lips split with all sorts of venom spewing about the rag tag bunch of rednecks that called themselves Lynyrd Skynard.  On another side note, which I hope doesn't offend yet again.  Those rag tag rednecks named their band after their high school gym teacher of the same name, different spelling.  See ole Mr. Skinnard let them know constantly that they would never amount to anything.  Guess the joke was on him.  Could you imagine having to live with that.  He must have heard his name over the radio for the remainder of his existence.  A constant reminder of his close minded folly. 

Well, as it turns out our irate host had also been at the short end of the Skynard stick.   Never would I have guessed the reason this dude was in the VIP surrounded by the best looking girls in the bar was because he was in fact the son of the man under discussion, Neil Young.  Needless to say, we didn't last much longer in the VIP.

Now, many years later I find myself in a very similar situation.  Only this time the famed figures involved are of much more present influence.  In fact you would never guess it would be possible to run into this person randomly in a public place.  At least I didn't.

Unfortunately after the mess that was made last night a compromise was reached.  I would still write about it, though out of respect(for my friend not the pissy little brat), I wouldn't name names.  So if you are still interested stick around and see what you make of the debacle.

Just after ten my brother and I rolled into Medusa Lounge.  I had never been there before but was quite pleased with the decor and over all mood of the place.  It was beautifully lit with stone pillars dividing the seating areas and stained glass on the walls.  The friends we were meeting had already settled into a table and greeted us with smiles, hugs, and hand shakes.  There were two guys and two girls there that I didn't know but introductions were made and the good times carried on.  of the two women one stood to shake my hand while the other barely glanced at me as the dead fish was delivered.  Funny how much is said without speaking. I sat next to the more friendly of the girls as we ate our sweet potato fries.  As it turns out these young ladies were good friends and had been working together traveling the country for the past year.  They joked about just how close they had become and how friendly they really were.  Jokes, how often they simply represent a thin vail for the truth.  Interested i was.  Things were going well and after some frisky little silliness the comfort level improved.  now it was only a few of us still sitting at the table.  The others had wondered off to find conversation of their own while we were left to ours.  Looking it seems more like a set up than anything.  Little miss dead fish priss was not only a princess but a drama queen.  The royal blood that pulsed through her veins needed attention and she was about to grab it, form everyone.

Now, much like our previous tale hot stuff was of famous decent.  Only much much more famous.  As in the prior recollection I was clueless as to who we were in the company of and actually had to google a picture of her later to be convinced.  The difference, however, is in the fact that the spark didn't come by way of a randomly played song.  The fuse was lit by little bit herself.  Hell she even fanned the flame, and when it didn't burn fast enough she went ahead and blew up.  Leaving  my brother and I questioning what had happened to cause such a explosion.

As news of the explosion spread our mutual friend came to fill us in on the details we had not previously been made aware of.  Still it the reaction seemed a bit much.  not wanting to let a spoiled little pre madonna ruin my evening I went on enjoying the atmosphere of the club.  I even took a quick stroll on the dance floor which was in a separate room with it's own DJ.  After the tour i went outside to get Jeremiah who was smoking on the sidewalk.  As i came through the heavy wood door decorated with mideval metal adornments I catch a glimpse of Rick Ray, a friend of mine that i hadn't seen since about the same point in my life as the previous story occurred.  We chatted frequently online and had actually just spoken on facebook earlier that day, weird.  As i walked over to greet he and his friends a well dressed asian man came bolting through the door spewing vomit onto the sidewalk.  not relevant but funny none the less.  What was even funnier was as the rest of his cohorts were departing in their fine threads, one sexy little stick figure of a woman nearly did a backflip as she slipped in her four inch stilettos on the water that was poured on the sidewalk to wash away the disgusting stomach contents that had been forcibly placed there.   She was very good hearted about the accident and even laughed as she questioned me as to whether or not i documented the event.  I wish.

Soon after we wrapped our convo up and took it back inside where unbeknownst to me the drama was still unfolding.  This was not my idea of a good time.  Nor was it Jeremiah's.  So he left and went of to the corner store to buy a soda.  I, like and idiot, stayed.  I was finishing what i had started with Rick outside when this little doosie of a dilemma found me once again.  "Don't blog about her, don't post photos of her....don't don't don't".  Funny how who I am and what i do was the first thing we talked about and no one had a problem with that until little miss britches went and made and ass of herself.  No wonder people talk so much shit.  The truth is i think she likes it.  Why else would she have whipped up such a club wide frenzy while everyone else is trying to ignore it.  So, again, i was forced to play her little game.  

Now i have been through alot of shit in my life so I have little sympathy for silver spoon spectacles looking for a pity party.  Throw it, fine.  Just don't expect me to attend.  Still for some reason declining the invite didn't seem to be an option.  In fact patrons of her little soiree were coming out of the woodwork.  One of the guys i had been introduced to early vehemently defended his wind bag of a host to me.  Not sure what he was looking to accomplished but had it not been for our mutual friend whom I respect it would have landed my fist in his big ass mouth.  That i realize now wouldn't have been the right thing to do either.  I go out to have a few drinks and a good time as a result.  Fighting should be left to the UFC.  Where I came from was a dark dark place.  I Have since evolved as a person but this silly son of a bitch wanted a trip back down memory lane and that is nowhere I would willingly travel.  So instead i took a breath turned my back and went back to my conversation where he had so rudely interrupted.  That didn't last long however.  The unused adrenaline killed what ever buzz my buddy Jack had created and played devils advocate to the underlying desire to joke out Henry the hero who still stood only steps away.  It was time to leave.  The night was done.  Our good time was damaged beyond repair.  Best to cut our losses and return to action under better circumstances and with better company.   From experience i now that the odds our in our favor.  The good times are abundant for those who know how to find them and the bad are simply speed bumps on the way.  For darling kill joy, on the other hand, she is only perpetuating here decent into misery by hanging onto pain in the past.  Best to move on sweetheart, you lost the election.  Don't loose your happiness as a result.