Trip Start Jun 01, 2011
56Trip End Ongoing
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Thanks to Facebook, a friend from Denver found out I was in the LA area. She and a friend had come down for the weekend to get a good fill of dancing, drinking, and clubbing - California style. I met them at their hotel right downtown - the Omni - a 5-Star luxury California dream with more class than I could ever dream (or want) to have. I pulled in to the front roundabout to ask about parking. Three or four attendants were standing outside, none of whom approached me, but rather just stared in disbelief at my struggling, dirty, bug plastered, mud splattered truck pulling in to their establishment. Surely, this man is in the wrong place, they must have been thinking. I stepped out and walked up to one, who was still looking a little stunned, and asked what the parking options were. He pointed out a lot just a block down. Thank you very much! I kind of wish my truck would have backfired or had a nice belt screech as I was pulling out, just to complete the visual
I got to the lot. $8. I had a single Washington and a baggie of change, which was lost somewhere in the depths of my truck. I parked, rigged my topper door to stay open, and crawled inside, being watched in humorous disbelief for the second time in less than five minutes. Eventually, I found my change bag. One of the attendants, who didn't quite know what I was doing, looked over as if to ask if I needed help. Like a young boy who just found a frog, I bestowed a wide grin and held up my change bag in triumph. Both attendants just started laughing. I don't quite know if they were laughing at me or with me, nor did I care. I was happy, and thought the whole thing to be pretty funny, as well. In broken English, they pointed out a [somewhat shadier, in both senses of the word] lot across the street that was only $6. I smiled again, thanked them, took my truck and change bag across the street, and somehow conjured up six dollars worth.
When I first saw Juli, we hugged, I was introduced to her friend Shaun, and the very next words out of her mouth were "If you snore or puke it'll be the murder hole for ya." What?! Since fancy hotels don't want people slipping or jumping to their deaths, the windows either do not open or, in the Omni's case, there is a small "window" that hinges open about 6 inches
Following a 5-star shower we headed to Trader Vic's for some dinner. When asking our feisty waitress for recommendations on whiskey or bourbon drinks, she first mentioned the Maki Maki (miki miki?), a "delightful bourbon drink served in a slightly pornographic mug." Without letting her even get to the next drink, "I'll take one!" When she returned later to deliver our drinks, she regretfully informed me that "the normal mug is nowhere to be found, so we compensated you with extra alcohol." Even better!
After dinner it was back to the hotel to get dressed for the evening - a night at the Club Monte Cristo for Malediction Society. "Club Malediction Society is like stepping into another realm. It is a place of dark and beautiful dimensions, brooding darkwave and pounding EBM/Industrial music, and other musical genres somewhere in between." My companions came prepared - sexy black leather boots, little black dress, black goth pants with all the chains and rippings and fixings, they looked GOOD
The club itself made itself known. Pounding walls and vibrating windows give that away. The entrance, however, was a little trickier. Around the corner, across a parking lot, into a small, dark entryway, up a stairwell, across an open roof, into a dark room, and through some thick, black velvet curtains. Like the belly of a whale. Noticeable shapes and figures, a red chandeliers and a disco ball hanging from the ceiling, an open dance floor in the middle with a dark cubby off of one side housing the hardly-visible DJ, a number of tables and couches on another side, and the bar straight to the back. All perfectly clouded, illuminated, and blended with just the right amounts of light and dark and just a whisper from a fog machine.
It took a few drinks to get there, but eventually I was out on the floor, a white cowboy in a sea of black leather. But nobody cared. I don't think anybody even noticed. Unlike other clubs I have been to, which are little more than a bunch of high-maintenance bad boys trying to find and grind on the drunk chicks in the place, all of the people on the dance floor were just dancing by themselves, for themselves
They were without transportation, other than feet, cab, and a 3-mile radius hotel shuttle. I had been itching to see the ocean for months, so the next morning (after a 5-star sleep on the floor, no puking, no snoring, no Murder Hole) we checked out, Shaun hopped in the bed, and we made our way to Santa Monica. Oh, beach
A large iced latte was required after the combination of 2 hours of baking in the sun on the beach and some fish n chips that were literally dripping grease. We threw Shaun back in the back and drove to LAX, lucky that Mr Policeman who almost stopped us near the entry did not see him riding in the back. Bags and humans were unpacked, we said our goodbyes (there have been a lot of goodbyes on this trip... but I guess that means there have also been a lot of hellos), they hopped on a plane, I hopped on the 105, and they flew 1000 miles in probably about the same time it would take me to drive about 30, on to La Habra Heights (coming soon!)