My Hollywood Halloween




Halloween was here and now it is gone! Not a lot of scary specials on TV and the closest thing to a good Halloween movie this year was Tyler Perry’s, Boo! A Madea’s Halloween (don’t get me started on that). Apparently, Halloween is a time for laughs and not scares. F***ing ridiculous!  Well, I guess the best thing to look forward to was the awesome trick-o-treating with the little demon spawns I call my offspring (Just kidding. I love my kids).  My daughter was a Spider Fairy and my son was Robin. I, on the hand, will be what I have dressed as for the past 3 years—the Cowardly Lioness. Basically, I thought this Halloween—and the ones for the past nine years—would be only about the kids.

OR WILL IT?! (Dun, dun, DUN!)

I began working at this collection agency in August. Almost immediately, my coworkers were very kind and welcoming.  I am initially a very shy person; guarded, if you will. Therefore, it takes me good, good minute to warm up to people. My technique is basically observing the people around me, taking notes of their behavior and personality in order to figure out how I should approach this “work” relationship. Well, I began conversing with a few female coworkers of mine and they have constantly asked me to go out with them. From what they tell me, they go out all the time and it is always a good time. I can see that. Both of them have teenage children; therefore, it is easy to go out because their children are old enough to fend for themselves. Me, on the other hand, I have two children under the age of ten. Leaving them unattended to fend themselves as I go out for a night on the town would ultimately end up with me being placed in jail. You might not know this about me, but I am not built for jail.  I might be crazy, but I’m not “jail” crazy.

Anyways, after months on blowing them off because I was mainly stuck in a mindset of being a “homebody”, I decided to take them up on their invitation. One of the women–let’s call her, C– texted me the flyer for this Halloween costume party in Westlake Village, along with a picture of her costume as a scary doll. Awesome. We were to be there by 9pm. Now, back in my day (I’m not even 30, by the way), we didn’t leave the house until 10:30pm, having to drive like a bat out of hell to get there before the “Ladies free before 11pm” ended. Well, I met up my other coworker, M, at her house and we headed to meet C at the place. It was a Mexican restaurant where they transformed at area into a dancefloor.  I knew the night would be a good one for me when the bouncer carded ONLY me at the door.  I know that would annoy most, but I like to know that I look younger than I am. It also made sense to me why people were looking at me oddly when I ordered a drink at the bar (that or because I was the only black person there. But I digress). Everyone has on their cool costumes and boy, were some peculiar. Two white guys dressed up as Ice Cube and Easy E…WITHOUT BLACKFACE! That is how you do it, people!

The atmosphere did not feel like a nightclub. The music was that Electronica with a bit of Dub Step and I just can’t get jiggy with that ish. The deejay played a remix rendition of the theme song to Ghostbusters! What kind of madness is that? I ain’t afraid of no ghost, but I am indeed scared of the rhythmically-challenged people dancing on the dance floor. It was similar to a car accident in that it is indeed a horrible sight; however, you are unable to look away. It is also very inconveniencing. While C danced her little heart away to Rob Zombie, M and I stood on the sidelines, sipping on our Amarillo Sours. Finally, they started playing music that I like such as, Blackstreet, Ice Cube, and even some Britney Spears (It’s Britney, b****!). While trying to avoid any contact with the man dressed as the Naked Cowboy, I found my eyes fixated on the Batman who could not stay on the simplest beat to save his life (a one and a two, and a one, two, three, four, DAMMIT!). Listen, I was just happy to get out of the house and if they wanted to stay, I was down, but this was just not my scene.

We ended up leaving, driving to another bar that appeared to be as much of a dud as the first one. C decided to spring into action, desperate to show me a good time being it was my first time hanging out with them. She decided to call one of her guy friends, K.  On the phone, K stated that he was at the Roosevelt Hotel in Hollywood and said he could get us in. M placed the keys in the ignition so damn fast. I’ve never attended a party in Hollywood before, but I did not want to have these high expectations going in.  Play it cool, you know.


We arrived at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel and everyone was dressed in their costumes. Like stated in Mean Girls, “Halloween is the one night a year when girls can dress like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it. Do you, boo-boo! Do you! I swear, Hollywood is where all the beautiful young people come and live until they get old and wrinkly, and then move to Miami to die. All the women looked like models and here I am trying to keep my stomach sucked in long enough without passing out. At the entrance, everyone wants to get in. You have the big bouncers in their black suits and ear pieces as though President Obama and Michelle are in there doing the “Stanky Leg”. C calls K and he meets us in the front. I’m not going to lie, on the phone, K sounded like a jerk. Howeverm in person, he was a nice piece of fine chocolate. I’m talking about Idris Elba type.  Basically, he was staying there at the hotel and he had to explain to the bouncers that we were with him,  going to get us the green wrist bands to get in. I swear, at each staircase and entrance way there were bouncers on full alert. If you did not have that wristband, you were SOL! We managed to walk out onto the smoke area in the back for a while because we had to wait for his “friend” to come down from the room and give us the wrist bands. While we waited, I glanced at all the beautiful people in their beautiful costumes—some drunk and some sober-adjacent— exit their expensive cars and head in to dance while Big Sean performed (Oh yea! He was there!). I was also able to hear the conversation between K and C. The man is a bit on the aggressive side; very territorial. It was as if he studied at the Ike Turner Preparatory School for Young Men. As long as he didn’t try no bull with me, we would be good. After a few more calls, his friend answered, but he sounded wasted. SURPRISE, SURPRISE! Nonetheless, we were able to get on the second level because apparently “there are levels to this s***”.

The second floor was designed like a carnival. There were games and even a photo booth where all the women could practice all of their duck faces. There was a dance floor playing music across the hall, but like everything else in there, you needed a certain type of wrist band and bouncers were guarding it, many looking down from the balcony. Was the Pope getting busy on the dance floor doing the Wop? K asked us what we wanted a drink. Of course, I went to my go-to drink, Amarillo Sour, but the bartender stated they didn’t serve those kinds of mixed drinks. I decided on Cranberry and Greygoose vodka. Ugh. I’m sorry, but I drink for taste. If it is not fruity, I’m not buying it. Well, I didn’t buy it, but I felt as though it would be rude if I didn’t.  So, while K was apparently molesting C by the bar with all the booty grabbing and whatnot, M and I observed the crowd. I was already a bit buzzed, so I was feeling pretty good (two drinks are my limit). Looking around, Hollywood seemed like another world. Everything appeared all superficial, yet glamourous at the same time. I guess, that’s how they get you. Deep down I was hoping Charlie Hunnam would walk in dressed as Jax Teller from Sons of Anarchy, wearing those glasses I find oddly hot on him. I imagined he would see me amongst all the supermodels with their butt cheeks hanging out and approach me, striking up a conversation about how he was never really down with the “swirl” until he saw me.  A girl can dream, can’t she?



Unfortunately, it didn’t happen like that. Instead, I was followed around by some drunk guy dressed as Clark Kent, who was too drunk to remember where he was, but not drunk enough to give me twenty dollars. Damn.  K asked us if we wanted to go upstairs with his drunk friend. All there was up there was a lot of cocaine and sex. NO THANK YOU, SIR! What is this? A scene from Scarface? Season Five of American Horror Story (there was way too much sex in that season. Like, seriously! Too much). As the great Kilo Ali stated, “don’t you ride no white horse”. Oh, I won’t, Kilo. I won’t!

Although, I didn’t dance, I enjoyed joking with people. I expected Hollywood types to be all stuck-up and uptight, but they were the exact opposite. It might have been the alcohol or the cocaine that I suspect many of them were on, but they were incredibly chill. Striking up a conversation with a random stranger was as easy as a Sunday morning, especially if you are slightly buzzed. Apparently, I am a riot. People around me thought I was hilarious. Go figure! M found a cute guy to talk to and I was basking in being out of the house after forty years. The men were GOOD-LOOKING! Goodness! I was having a ball. However, for some odd reason, K thought M and I weren’t having a good time.

“Yo, when I introduce you all to my people, I need for you all to say “hi” and have fun. Y’all looking good and you are grow women.”

Oh…ok, Ike. First of all, I had to set him straight in that we were fine,  that him and C were the ones that made us walk around behind them, making us lose our seats. Second, I had to tell him to stop staring me directly into my eyes because I feared he was reading my thoughts. Like, seriously! I swear, the way he was looking into my eyes, I thought the next thing that would come out of his mouth would be, “YOUR SOUL IS MINE!”, in his Shang Tsung voice. Speak to my ear, please. He thought it was funny, but I was serious.

It was almost 3am and the party was slowly dying down. I was surprised I lasted that long. Usually after wrestling with my toddler and arguing with my nine-year-old about her bedtime, I am exhausted. I deserve a medal. Well, we all went back to the smoking area and sat and chilled, observing all the beautiful people pick up their beautiful cars from valet. The entire time, I just sat there thinking about what a life it is here in Hollywood. It felt as though I was on an entirely different planet and I loved it—minus the cocaine and crazy sex that was taking place upstairs. Now, would I do this every weekend? HELL NO! Every once and in a while should suffice.

Well, it was time to go mainly because I was hungry and tired (Tungry?), and M had church in the morning. C said her goodbyes to K, as did M, giving him a hug. I was going in for a very hardy handshake because that’s how I roll, but in true Ike Turner fashion, he forced a hug out of me. It literally felt as though I was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

As we drove down the 101 toward home, all we three women could talk about was how much fun we had and that doing it again was a must. Honestly, I really enjoyed myself. No, like I REALLY did. The environment alone made the night out enjoyable. I didn’t feel like a celebrity or anything, but I felt good. It also made me realize that I need to start hitting the gym even harder! Well, hopefully C keeps in contact with K and there are more parties to attend. Hollywood, you beautiful wild, weird son of a b****! Thanks for the good time. Until we meet again. Christmas party with Drake, perhaps?


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