Observation Deck

Well, what was suppose to finally be a girl's night out in Los Angeles turned into another group date.  Not that I'm complaining, it was a nice little high school reunion, but when I heard the destination was the W in Hollywood I'm pretty sure I audibly groaned.  I walked away from the night with many observations, the most important being if you want to kiss a girl, trick her.

Combine Virgo tendencies with a dose of social anxiety and you get me.  If I'm going somewhere I've never been, I like to do some research before hand.

Will there be a line?  Cover charge?  Parking?

Fire exits?

Maybe this over-thinking has a bit to do with my years spent as a production assistant where I learned it was better to know too many details going into something than not enough.

Maybe.

Luckily, the fine gentlemen were kind enough to drive us.  Parking crisis averted.  That's about where the luck ran out.

Not surprisingly, there's a huge line to get into the W.  But wait!  Somebody knows somebody who has a connection!

Please.  I've lived in L.A. and Vegas too long to know that this very rarely pans out.  Unless you're guests of Mrs. Wynn, which definitely happened.

After standing around for far too long wondering what keeps those super short dresses from rising that extra inch, our "connection" informs us that the guy he knows who usually works the door isn't there tonight.  Go figure.

There's an Irish pub across the street so we step in there.  A decent mix of sub-par guys, though two of the more attractive ones looked very similar to some actual friends.  I should have taken pictures with each of them, but I just stared instead.  I told my wingman to just drag me into doing things next time.

In her defense, she was conversationally engaged with one the most ridiculous guys ever.  In my opinion, not hers.  To quote:

"Girls like boobs. (Long enough pause for it to be awkward)...But not as much as guys."

"I wish I had boobs, I'd never leave the house."

So actually I've heard a lot of guys say something similar to that last line.

But what the fuck are you doing continuously talking about boobs with some chick you just met?  It's not like my friend was excitedly talking about the subject with him.

Hearing him word vomit with no one attempting to clean up his mess was painful.  When he wasn't talking about fatty tissue he was going on about the details of his job.  Snooze.

I got tapped on the shoulder and instantly became the photographer of a bros. photo shoot.  That was fun for a minute.

Then another guy tapped me on the shoulder.  His opening line: "What do you do?"  I wanted to fucking scream.

If a guy approached me at a bar and was able to provide interesting conversation, I'd probably marry him right there.  You know, if he had all his limbs and there was a minister.

I feel like the guys who might pass the conversation test are the ones too shy to make the initial approach.  I know you're staring at me as I wait to order my drink.  I'll make eye contact.  I'll even pause before walking away just to give you that extra second.  But I will not come to you.

Unless I'm hammered.

Even then, probably not.

I'm sorry that as a guy you initially have to do all the work.  Don't worry, I'll make up for it in bed.  Or against the wall.

Saying goodbye to my friends was probably the most interesting part of the night.

Who needs conversation anyway?