Tuesday night I ventured past my territory, which encompasses everything east of La Brea* and traveled west. In LA, west of La Brea is not just a location, it’s a different world. The people are blonder, tanner, and even skinnier than the East side. Which is why I stick to my parts of the city but on Tuesday night I made an exception, missed my spinning class, and traveled west. Couple of weeks ago I had told my Brother Tito that I wanted to go to a French Tuesday event, because A) Brother Tito doesn’t have any more friends left for me, B) I really hate the online dating experience, and C) I figured I could check out the scenery and find some potential victims.
Tuesday night’s event was a White Party at the Beverly Hilton, which happens to be West of La Brea. I remembered really fast why I stick close to home. First, turning left on Whittier, off of Wilshire, to the Beverly Hilton parking driveway, I was greeted by blinding flash bulbs. Nope, it wasn’t the paparazzi greeting me. Turns out this is one of two locations in Beverly Hills where they have red light cameras. Now I have to wait and find out if I actually got a red light ticket. The light was yellow when I started the left turn and it was yellow when I entered the intersection. But the cameras did start flashing, but maybe it was for the cars that actually went straight through the intersection. In any case, I’m keeping my fingers (and legs) crossed, hoping I didn’t get a ticket. My driving record can’t handle any more excitement. I drove for 10 years without tickets and accidents, then year 11 I got a ticket, year 12 I got a speeding ticket and an accident. Hopefully, this one wasn’t a ticket. I really need to shop for new clothes to support the economy and I don’t want to spend $400+ on a red light ticket, supporting the city of Beverly Hills. Beverly Hills doesn’t need my dollars. The boutiques of Los Feliz and Hollywood need it more.
The scene at the White Party was interesting. The sea of white was blinding, the women were skinny and beautiful** — not just regular skinny, but Eva Langoria skinny — and the men, well, they looked like they were looking for their next mistress/trophy wife. I think the most horrendous image of the night was a girl in Ugg boots and blue denim skirt, with a white top. I don’t know why they let her in. Not only did she wear a blue denim skirt to the white party, but she was wearing UGGS!!!
So after one glass of white wine, Brother Tito and I got on the dance floor and made the best out of the white night. And I did get to dance with a cute Colombian boy Mario, and burned off the white wine calories. The best thing that came out of the evening was that it reminded me why I love my neighborhood and why I try to avoid certain parts of Los Angeles (Beverly Hills, Brentwood, etc.). And I also got to spend some quality time with Brother Tito, which is always a good time.
* If my BFF Laura or her husband John are reading this, my West of La Brea rule does not apply to you. I will always break this rule and travel to wherever you are to spend time with you, John and Gabi and enjoy John’s yummy cooking.
** There are a lot of gorgeous people living in LA. The East side of LA is more natural beauty, brunettes outnumber blonds and they’re not as tan. The West side is a little more enhanced, past the point of natural-beauty, and REALLY tan and super-skinny, sea of size 0 and -2. It’s great for people watching, but not for a meaningful conversation. (P.S. If you want to see plain people you gotta venture out to the 909 area code.)
I have to agree with you. In this place you will find the most superficial peope. SUCKS!!