Last night I had a friend come into town and decided to do the Hollywood hotspot scene. The only problem is that despite living two blocks from all the major clubs, I really don’t know the “scene.” And I don’t particularly care to. I see enough of Paris and Lindsey in the rags- I don’t need to pay a $20 cover charge to share their air space. So I figured I’d check out the small joints between my place and my friend’s hotel.

At the first bar I sat between a guy text-messaging and another guy talking on his phone while playing air keyboards to the song on the jukebox. I’m old enough to remember when people actually talked to people in person and played real air instruments like the guitar or drums. Keyboards? Come on. What’s next- air triangle?

Stop number two was a tapas bar I thought was a nice find. I saw a pitcher of sangria and asked the bartender if they sold it by the glass. The bartender said “yes” but the woman next to me whipped around and told me I should pass. She interrupted a conversation with a present being to do that so I figured it must be pretty bad and went with a safe Corona.

A guy walked up and ordered a bottle of water and the bartender said, “Six dollars.” Figuring I must have heard that wrong I asked the guy if his 16 oz bottle of Crystal Geyser really cost six dollars. He confirmed it. My imported beer cost six dollars, how could they possibly charge the same price for crappy domestic water?!! The place wasn’t even particularly fancy. Three dollars for that bottle is ridiculous. Six dollars should require the authorities to order a rape kit.

I quickly realized why the guys at the first bar were fooling with their phones. It turns out people alone at a bar do still want to chat and my water inquiry opened up those floodgates. Frankly, I didn’t feel like talking to the guy. For one thing, he paid six dollars for water. I don’t care how rich you are, anybody who pays six dollars for 16 oz of Crystal Geyser is an idiot. Not only that, he was sporting the porn ’stache (and anybody who’s read my online dating blog is familiar with my aversion to it). I have a difficult time looking at guys with the porn ’stache without giggling. Then they ask me why I’m giggling and I never have an excuse ready so I know it’s best for me to just look away. So for the next 20 minutes, I looked straight ahead, talked only about myself and didn’t ask him anything. A rational man would think “Either she’s not interested or she’s a self-centered bitch,” right? Not this guy. I swear to George Clooney he said, “What it going to take to get you to come home with me?”

My response could only be described as, “BWAAAAHAAAAAHAAAAHAAAA!!!!!!”

Yes, I cackled big time. I don’t think it would have sounded any more ridiculous if he’d said, “What’s it going to take to let me perform open-heart surgery on you?”

I thanked him for the laugh then told him I had to get going.

I met my friend and together we went to one of the few bars in the area I’m actually familiar with, which is probably one of the biggest dives you can find anywhere, particularly in Hollywood. Somehow a bunch of pre-halloween revelers must have been seriously misguided as the place was totally packed.

We were trapped behind a guy dressed as a soldier who couldn’t seem to get the bartender’s attention. Knowing that we wouldn’t get served until he did, I said, “Instead of you standing there, why not put your cute blonde girlfriend with the enormous breasts hanging out of her Heidi costume there instead?”

Ok, I think I really said, “You’ll probably get served faster if you switch places with your girlfriend.” Fortunately, he was smart enough to get it without all the extra details and they switched. Naturally, she was served immediately. Why do people have to be told that stuff? When the bartender’s a forty-ish guy covered in tattoos and wearing a trucker cap, who do you think is going to get his attention first?

Of course, I saved the best for last…

Beware of silly string!

While walking down Hollywood Boulevard, I noticed this sign on all the posts and wondered if the local authorities have just given up. I imagine Chief Bratton saying, “We can’t stop the drugs and drunk driving and violence, but mark my words, we WILL put an end to silly string this halloween. Make the signs.”

Come halloween there’s going to be some poor accountant who only gets to let loose once a year, this time deciding to bring along harmless silly string. The next day he has to tell his co-workers he got slapped with a $1000 fine and they’ll tell him, “You should have done hits of X like we did. Only cost $100 a pop. And we all got laid.”

That’s Hollywood for you.