In A Los Angeles Minute….

My weekend was a complete blur between the drinks, my girlfriends, and jetlag (so to speak, and so it seemed). My Saturday night started out with the girls. I parked in Siberia to get to a fiesta that had us hiking south of the border (Mexican themed, clearly). The party was great and these hostesses with the most-ess were clearly thinking outside the bun! My little posse however had also rsvp’d to a different engagement and so after about an hour of margarita madness, we were on our way to a cute little neighborhood bar in WeHo with our cell phones, lip glosses, and passports in hand.

Apparently we didn’t get the memo that it was celebrity night at this dive and the stars were slumming for sure (Just trying to keep it real I’d assume, or do they need to ‘up’ their street cred for call sheets?). Well, it looks as though my jet setting was not about to end anywhere near the border, because in a Los Angeles minute I was face to face with gents from South Dakota, and later in the night, from Arkansas. Now it will probably come as a shock to you that these gents were out here to make it big on the silver screen, armed with a not-so-crystal-clear perception of how things really go down in my star-studded city. Now, in a city where casting couches are taken for a ride as often as the new Audi A5’s, a girl’s got to have some rules in order to keep her sanity. These rules of course, are subjective to each gal on the go! For example, one of my favorites is friends don’t let friends date actors. This has proven well for me, because if Fleetwood Mac is right and “players only love you when they’re playing”…well, I can’t waste time on a playboy actor who’s ready to switch leading ladies as often as Fred Segal gets new merch.

So at around 2 a.m., I was ready to head home, jetlagged from another amazing night over the hill and through the canyon into Hollywood. I bid adieu to the cross country nomads that came here with the intention of making it big in a city that has the attention span of a goldfish. I told them to “break a leg,” and walked away, armed with new numbers in my cell, my ‘go-to’ girls, and stories that were well worth the chaos. In a city with a fault line as unstable as the majority of celebutantes and their accompanying headlines, you enjoy every second you have, because like inhabitants near the San Andreas fault line know, everything can change in a Los Angeles minute.