I spent the weekend in Los Angeles, visiting family, and hanging with some friends. But before I could appear in public I needed to get a haircut. My stylist in Chicago has been on maternity leave and I was getting a little shaggy. So I figured I'd get a cut in Beverly Hills on Rodeo drive. It couldn't cost that much more than back in Chicago, right? Normally after tip (and without product) I spend $45. I estimated that after tip, maybe $70. Wrong. That didn't even cover the cut. Try $100. But damn my hair looks good.

It was worth it since I was going to be bar-hopping with pretty boy Speaker. I rocked a pair of seersucker pants and a linen shirt. We met up with some friends and destroyed our livers. Our group of eight dudes left a trail of destruction in West Hollywood.

One of the guys was a coworker of one of my friends who was also in town from Chicago. Rather than refer to him as "the black guy in the group" (like "the black guy in Swingers" and "the black guy in Top Gun"), we had another name for him. I looked at him and knew he resembled someone, but the name couldn't come to mind. Finally, Speaker said, "Danny Manning." We were drinking with Danny Manning. (The following night I saw Chris Duhon, Michael Wilbon, and Ray Allen working at Roscoe's Chicken and Waffles). Danny wanted to get him some pussy.

Too bad we were in West Hollywood.

At the Village Idiot we found an open spot in the bar's left corner. Speaker and I did a lap around the bar to see if there was anyone from his target demographic. While on the other side of the bar, someone said (again, memory shot), "Holy shit. It's all dudes in that corner. Actually from the bar taps on, it's all dudes." That's where my friends were sitting. The section started with a guy in a tight mesh shirt and went through a guy with pink hair. My memory isn't so shot that I can't remember mesh and pink hair. We nicknamed that part of the bar "Gay Corner." Danny Manning didn't pull off any miracles at this bar.

We went on to another bar - I don't remember the name. But it was dark and they played some bad 80's and 90's music. There was a dance floor with some beastly looking women. Everyone noticed this. That's when Heath said, "It must be 'Slump Buster Night' here." God that was fucking brilliant. Danny Danny Manning loved this place. "Everyone needs an Oompa Loompa to fuck just in case your first choice doesn't work out." God bless that guy.

But we left for yet another bar, where I did my patented puke and rally. It was just a little boot - and I made it all into the toilet. Which was a good thing since one of my friends works there. The bar was dead - but we had PBR's and shots already set aside for us when we walked in. Danny Manning was not a fan. He left to find himself an Oompa.

Because we went to Jumbos Clown Room. Where old strippers go to die. This is I really don't remember much. We were there for maybe a little over an hour. But I did manage to get a dance from probably the best looking girl in the joint. That's not really saying much. I thought she was average looking. Until they turned the lights on at close. Not a pretty sight. If she really worked hard at her craft, she could maybe eventually work the afternoon shift at Club Paradise. But I'm sure that Danny would have banged her.