#WTF: "Mansion hopping" is actually a thing??
<editorsnote> With everything going on in social media, I wasn't going to post this today. Then, I thought - fuck it. People need humor, especially in times like this. Presenting ... my best effort. </editorsnote>
The following is an actual conversation I had Tuesday morning while waiting for a TV pitch meeting at the CW to begin:
Producers: How was your 4th?
Me: "This morning I woke up in a onesie, which is marginally better than the morning before when I woke up half naked in a tutu wondering where my cupcake bra went."
Maestro ...
A few weeks back, I got hit up by my buddy Greg with an invitation to the Marijuana Don 4th of July party. Have you seen the Don's instagram feed?
Greg is a social puppeteer (aka hustler behind the scenes) and (true) growth hacker. We met years and years ago at CAA through my old cellular client who brought me on board to help launch WhoSay.
Knowing what a shit show this party was going to be, the first person I reached out to was Broke Ass Stuart.
Fresh off his run for mayor of San Francisco
The last time we saw each other we ended up in a PG-13 threesome, and our adventures were chronicled in the Bold Italic- with a shout out on LYFT's Facebook page.
We're both pros at crashing parties, and are "yes" people. When our forces combine, there is a 99% chance we'll end up at a donkey show in Mexico.
Stuart arrived on Saturday eager to dabble in debauchery.
"I can't stop listening to Toto," I admitted as he arrived placing his bags in my apartment. I still can't believe I met Scott, and now we text, and are becoming legit friends.
Equally hilarious that my middle name is Dorothy.
Dorothy and Toto are reunited, bitches.
Here's what he said about the post ...
Once Stuart got settled, we grabbed an Uber ready to barhop downtown.
Why do you think we do what we do, I ask on the Uber ride over?
What do you mean? he asked. (Stuart has a very popular blog, and is a "local celebrity" in SF.)
Why do we write? Create this content? What are we doing it all for? Ego? Attention? It's a true labor of love, but why do we do it?
I don't know, he said. It's a good question.
I feel like with Talk Nerdy, I was always trying to prove something. Trying to prove that I deserved my spot in tech ...
trying to prove the boys "wrong" ...
trying to prove my family and friends "wrong" ....
then when I finally got to where I wanted, I realized I was the one in the "wrong" and to get "right" I had to start honoring the things that fulfilled me.
I totally feel like my career is just starting but from a very different place.
That's good, he said. I guess I never thought about it. Personally, I'd like more money in general, but now we have an ad sales guy helping us out, and down the road might raise capital. We'll see.
That's amazing, I said. Oh and you got a little somethin' right there ...
We then barhopped downtown, and met up with some of his friends. Sometime way past my bedtime, we put ourselves to sleep and Stuart woke up early the next morning to go visit family in the Valley.
That's perfect, I texted back (I slept in). It'll take me a while to get ready.
See, earlier in the week, I messaged my friend Mark who works as a costumed performer over at Hollywood and Highland. I assumed it was similar to Venice beach, where vendors needed permits. I was shocked to discover otherwise:
I can argue either side of this issue. Yes, I get that it is free speech, but these people also ask for money for the photos. I know it's a "suggested donation," but where do you draw the line?
Curious as to what the experience would be like, I asked Stuart to pack a costume, and we'd head over to Hollywood and Highland (giving all proceeds to a local food bank).
Knowing I had a blue wig from the a bar crawl I went to back in May, my brain immediately went to dressing like Katy Perry, from the California Gurls video.
I then went to the costume shop on Hollywood blvd (for the second time in one week - epic win), and quickly discovered that:
1. they did not have a "Katy Perry costume"
and 2. my wig wasn't the right shade of blue.
If I'm going to do this, I'm going to do it right, I thought.
I then purchased a pinkish/ purple wig, matching tutu, fake boobs, and foam mouse ears.
The wig I had to cut to match the same length as the video, and for the famous cupcake bra, I painted a plastic pair of boobs white (with bright red nipples) and coated healthy layers of spackling over it (which looks exactly like frosting). I then cut a heart out of the mickey ears, and painted them - while gluing gummie bears over the spackling.
It shockingly came out pretty good, and I might have found a genuine liking to cosplay.
Stuart was shocked on his return. You look incredible, he said.
THANK YOU! I said still dancing around the apartment to Katy Perry (trying to get in character).
Stuart then put on his costume, which was this bright moomoo, and we grabbed an Uber.
Wow, I said attempting to buckle my seat belt. I've never had the problem of my boobs being in the way while buckling up.
We arrived at Hollywood and Highland a short time later, and the costumes were an immediate hit.
The performers thought what we were doing was hilarious, and to our surprise wanted our photos.
With each capture, and smile exchanged - Stuart and I quickly realized that we felt SUPER uncomfortable asking for money.
If we were transparent with people in terms of our motives, I was afraid it would detract from the business of the other performers. The purpose of the mission was to assimilate, never offend, and these people are fucking hustlers man. They work their ASSES off.
We collected $5 whole dollars, and decided that smiles were payment enough for us.
We then started barhopping, due to the crowds being a bit much directly next to Grauman's. We popped over into the Hard Rock for some nachos and adult beverages. When we were done, Stuart commented on how hot our server was.
Dude, totally, I said. Really exotic looking, and seemed genuinely cool. She reminded me of a tan Lizzy Caplan.
Agreed, he said.
The friendly faces continued as we bar hopped down the boulevard ...
Thanks for coming out Erik!
At Cabo Cantina we met a guy by the name of Joe.
Say hi Joe ...
Where ya from, Joe? I asked introducing myself.
"I live here," he says.
"At Cabo Cantina?" I quickly reply.
He turns and says, "I'm healthy, wealthy, and good in bed."
I respect that you lead with that, Joe. I bet you if you say that to any other girl in this bar she might take you up on it.
He continued either not catching my hint, or not caring.
Are you an actress?
No, I said. I work in tech and I'm a writer.
You look like you can be an actress. I think you're lying.
I laughed thinking WWKD? #whatwouldkatydo
Katy would grab her cupcake boobs and bounce up and down remembering that she is fucking Katy Perry and long hair truly don't care.
So, that's what I did, only mine were cupcakes and hard as rocks.
Stuart then asked to leave saying, he didn't want people to see that he was at a chain restaurant. (So San Francisco of you!)
I laughed saying not a problem, I was super over creeper mcgee.
That guy was really weird, said Stuart.
Which one? I asked.
The one I was talking to - he wanted to know if you were "dirty."
Dirty? I asked confused. What does that mean in guy world? ... Was he asking if I had STDs?
No, he said. He was asking if you were easy, he wanted to sleep with you.
My brain didn't even process that part as I responded with "that's what dirty means to dudes? For reals?"
Yep, he said.
We then walked by Musso and Frank's, and I said this was the place I had wanted to take him. I really dig the ambiance, and it's totally old school Hollywood.
Done, he said opening the door.
Stuart's life rule: "be freaky when no one else is a freak."
Two for the bar, we say to straight faced to the Maitre D.
(Which would have been SO MUCH MORE HILARIOUS if we had said we were under the name Froman, first name Abe.)
I'm sorry, he said, but we can't serve you when you're dressed in this manner.
"Why I am so offended, Stuart says throwing his arms up in the air."
.... but we will take our business elsewhere ...
I can't stop laughing at this point, so I just turn around to leave.
Making fancy pants people uncomfortable is never not hilarious. I love that this is a thing!
We continued our pub crawl, and a few hours & bars later made our way over to Mama's Shelter. At this point, the sun was starting to set and the crowds were starting to shift.
As we sat down by the bar, we both spotted a familiar face ...
... it was our server from the Hard Rock.
"Out of all of the gin joints- you walk into ours," Stuart says ordering her a drink.
She then sits with us, and invites her friends over as well. Our group at this point expanded to five: 3 normies, one Jen, one Stuart.
Let's head over to Burgandy Room, suggested Stuart. My friend works there.
Sure, I said loving a good dive.
We settled into our new spot, as Stuart left to use the restroom.
Man, I said hitting my boob. I'm not at all used to having such big things hanging from my chest - it's spatially hilarious all the things I keep bumping into.
How big are your actual boobs, she asked.
Here, I said lifting up the cupcake coated fake plastic boobs revealing my bra underneath.
Wow, she said placing her hands on my chest .... underneath my bra.
You've got really great boobs. Are these a C?
No, I said. B - small and mighty.
She then reached for my hands and placed them on her chest, as the line of questioning was then returned.
I'm a C, she admitted.
Katy Perry kissed a girl, and I felt one up at a bar. In LA, I do actually believe this is a thing.
I woke up the next morning in my bed, with only a tutu on.
Out of everything I could have taken off the night before, I made sure to leave just the tutu on. (Well done, Friel.)
After I put on my Tipsy Elves onsie, I ran down the day's plans with Stuart.
Three parties, I said, in three very different locations.
West Hollywood to Silverlake to Malibu.
Stuart realizing how aggressive the schedule is, said "well we're going to do what we have to do."
We arrived at our mutual friend's place (everyone knows everyone in the tech world) in West Hollywood.
This is why Jen is so awesome, she said as we embrace. You look so friggen cute, she said.
Heather is a very close friend, and even though she lives in San Francisco, I shockingly see more of her than my LA based friends.
How's the dating life? she asked.
I paused - laughing to myself about a conversation I had earlier in the week:
<flashbacksequence>
::ring ring::
Me: I can't believe, I'm saying this, but I learned something new in dating this week.
Friend: Oh yeah?
Me: Guys (plural ... P-L-U-R-A-L) have offered a "partnership" opportunity to date, but strictly for professional reasons.
Me: It's like back in the day of dowries, where your father would get a goat and three sheep in exchange for letting a dude make whoopie to his daughter.
THIS. IS. ACTUALLY. A. THING. I said COMPLETELY shocked.
It's not just in tech either ...
Without skipping a beat, my friend knew exactly what I was talking about and said ...
Friend: "Don't you wish you could go back in the day when guys just wanted you for your vagina. Welcome to success- guys want in your contact list first, and pants second."
Me: Yeah, but if they were truly smart enough they'd know that if I legitimately like you, I'll move fucking mountains to help whatever goal they want to achieve.
I continued, I'm going to brand this experience the JayandBeyEffect (even purchasing JayandBeyEffect.com for shits and giggles).
Every guy wants to date a Beyonce, but it takes two to tango (er, rap); one must truly become a Jay before he gets to the Bey.
But seriously, I still can't believe this is a thing, and in the key of En Vogue - they're never gonna get it.
</flashbacksequence>
Meh, dating is very much the same, but I'm learning, I said to Heather.
You are in the prime of your life. You are KILLING it professionally, and you just have to keep it up.
She continued, "you don't have to change the weight of your crown, you need to find a man with strong enough hands."
I laughed thinking, yes strong hands to throw me up against the wall while fucking the shit out of me ...
... for pleasure .... not profession.
Heather continued with the compliments, as I sat in my onesie laughing. (She's such a good fucking person, man.)
"I don't know if people actually get you. I've seen you switch into your modes where you just put your hoodie and headphones wandering while quietly people watching, and then other times, you're the life of the party. All of that is who you are!! You're always following your heart."
Yes, I said from snuggly inside my hoodie, but unfortunately now my heart is late for our next adventure. We bid our adieus, as we got in another Uber.
We then left WeHo to go to socially speaking the opposite end of the spectrum, a little place called Silverlake.
<tangent> Morgan Murphy wrote the pilot script for Talk Nerdy To Me. She's so fucking talented, but I didn't want to meet her through my agent and attorneys; I wanted it to be over shots of Jameson.
My shaman happens to be friends with her (because of course shamans are friends with everyone), and he suggested reaching out through twitter.
Done, I said.
And to my awesome surprise, she @replied me right back and invited me to her house for a BBQ.
</tangent>
My hands were actually shaking with excitement as I knocked on the door. I had worked so hard for so long to get here, and it not only got done, but executed in the key of Usher:
Upon meeting Morgan the first words out of her mouth were, "Nice onesie, I'm putting on mine later."
We commemorated our now IRL friendship with a foto:
I'm so sorry to do this, we said only a half hour into the party, but we have to head to Malibu for an event.
Here, her friend said, take a special coozie.
Thank you, I said putting it in my purse.
I thanked Morgan for her tremendous hospitality, and said I would love to grab a drink in the next couple of weeks to actually get to talk.
That'd be great, she said, as Stuart and I grabbed an Uber.
Bye bye, Silverlake hello Malibu.
It was time for the main event, the Marijuana Don party.
After an hour drive, we arrived at the shuttle, and laughed as we exited the Sprinter van.
A tank. The Marijuana Don has a fucking tank. I can't believe this is actually a thing.
(Read more about the Don here)
We then grabbed drinks, as I thanked Greg for the invite.
This is ridiculous, I said. I mean, I'm seeing it, but I'm not sure I can believe it.
Enjoy, he said with a smile that said everything.
From the marijuana bar ...
To the spread ...
The Don done good.
Stuart agreed.
I then put my hoodie up and wandered around the party people watching (which was ON FUCKING FLEEK).
I felt like a zookeeper watching these beautiful people primp in their natural habitat.
Gotta keep up the appearances, digital and otherwise.
As I turned to watch the sunset ...
... person after person came up to talk to me commenting on the awesomeness of the Tipsy Elves onsie.
"Can I just unzip this," said one guy motioning for my zipper.
Hi, I'm Jen, I said outstretching my hand and neck with a friendly but stern don't fuck with me fella.
The outfit was a HUGE hit, and it totally cracked me up that I was the most dressed person there - yet getting the lion's share of attention.
Somewhere past the point of caring, the fireworks began, and I sat watching all the pretty people take the same photos with their smartphones.
"You guys we're like totally ..."
As the fireworks wrapped, I ran downstairs to use the restroom. There were two lines, so I stood in what I thought was the shortest.
Jen, called Stuart (who was in the other line - outside of my view), are you getting a marijuana card?
What? I said, no.
Then stand in this line for the restroom, but just a warning someone peed in the bidet.
I laughed at the circumstances. SO MANY CIRCUMSTANCES.
I then left the restroom confirming in fact someone did piss in the bidet (gross dude), and walked back over to Stuart who was hanging out with a really hot model.
"This party runs down the whole row if you want to mansion hop."
"Mansion hop," I thought laughing? THAT'S A THING?!?! IN WHAT WORLD IS THAT A THING!
We then wound up in a hot tub (feet only) a few doors down, and I laughed as dudes were continued to be impressed by the onesie.
This is too fucking easy, I thought laughing.
Somewhere past the point of caring (clearly this feeling is on repeat), Stuart and I decided to dip out and grab one more drink back at the Don's before calling an Uber.
As I walked over to the bar, I spotted a familiar face.
"Remember the story of the Mentalist from Talk Nerdy? This is the dude that dated one of the two girls that lived in the living room," I said to Stuart.
"Do you hear what comes out of your mouth," he asked genuinely confused.
I smiled asking, what the fuck is up?!
I can't believe you're here, he said. I'd remember your face anywhere.
"Thanks man, I said. I still laugh that (insert the girls name) met you her very first night in LA at the Saddle ranch. They called you Sparkly Shirt, because your shirt had something shiny on it."
Wow, he said, you have a good memory.
"Photographic memory," I said laughing.
I told him we'd catch up later, as Stuart and I grabbed an Uber back - absolutely.exhausted. from the weekend's adventures.
I smiled the next morning waking up in my onesie getting ready for work as I bid Broke Ass goodbye.
Yep, just another typical Tuesday.
... cause that's TOTALLY a thing.
(Bee tee dubs ... I gave the $5 to a guy outside of the 7-11 that holds the door for people every afternoon.)
