Ms. Cheevious in Hollywood

My Zany Years Spent Working in Tinsel Town

dancing

I was rocking *AND* rolling

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I WAS ROCKING *AND* ROLLING

 

#DailyMischief

 

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So the other night, M.C. Nugget and I went out for some cocktails with my new BFFs Marrie and Suzie. I mentioned here how Marrie and Suzie (fellow bloggers who also dish on dating and relationships) and I have known each other for about six years or something, and yet we just met in person this week. That was a very cool experience.

But on Friday night we brought the SMACK DOWN on nightlife in Santa Monica when the four of us decided to meet for drinks after happy hour, after we’d already had a couple of cocktails.

Sure, it began as a respectable gathering. We grabbed a great table on the outside patio at Areal (our favorite place), and shared funny stories. It felt very civilized. I think… I mean, isn’t THIS what respectable, fun and interesting adults do? I’m just curious.

After a few cocktails and a couple of other stops, we (me) decided it was time to dance. I like to dance, and if I hear good music, I’m done for. Play a song I’m in love with at the moment, and I AM CUTTING A RUG, you guys. It’s a weakness I was born with (it runs in my family, as evidenced by the above photo). If the Pied Piper tried to woo me, that blasted flute thing wouldn’t do. Not unless he played a beat-box track along with it. Then, I’d be toast. And this is true, whether there is alcohol involved or not. Alcohol merely intensives things.

So, there was that.

As the evening at Bar Copa (the closest dance place we could get to) progressed, I decided to busta-move in front of our little table. When I say busta-move, I don’t mean twerking, no. We’re talking deep knee bends… the kind where you squat all the way down to the floor and stand right back up. I can do this… normally. 

I was able to do it a couple of times, but I was a little wobbly, so instead of cutting my losses and moving on, I chose to keep trying. I teetered forward a couple of times, catching myself on the little table in front of me, until I finally over compensated, and rolled backward onto my BUTT.

ON THE FLOOR.

ON MY ASS.

Great way to break out my slick cool moves for my new girlfriends, I know.

Nuggie quickly jumped up, “Okay, dancy, come and sit over here with me.” But there was no controlling me. I just kept rocking AND rolling.

It wasn’t the alcohol, I swear.

It was THESE SHOES.

I rocked AND rolled

I promise, if you try to deep-knee-bend-dance in these shoes, you WILL invent a new dance. It will be called the ROLLY POLLY.

It brings a whole new meaning to the song “Get on up on the dance floor.”

 

#MomFactor: Every mom needs a little fun now and then. That’s all I got. 

 

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Blog content copyright 2014, LISA JEY DAVIS a.k.a. Ms.Cheevious.

 

 

Beach Bar Bouncing

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This week I’m gonna’ give you a little somethin’ somethin’ to help launch you – full board – into Spring.

Fred the Wonder Chicken had a friend in town from Pennsylvania last week.  That guy is one big FUN event after another waiting to happen!  He was like the Ever Ready Bunny (or is it Energizer Bunny?) of good times! 

Now, I’m only telling you this, because I know some of you think I am a goodie two-shoes.  Well, I’m not.  Okay? Let me set the record straight. 

I am cool.  I am a bad ass, dancing fool.  I love to get out, flutter around the bar or restaurant, say hello to everyone, and if necessary, cause trouble.

So, guess what?  FWC, his Pennsylvania trouble making friend and I got kicked out of a bar on Saturday night.  Yup! Me, Ms. Cheevious – the Goodie Two-Shoes of Los Angeles got BOUNCED from a BEACH BAR! 

Okay, so to hear them tell it, I gotta’ say (because it sounds better), that our departure from the premises was a mutual decision between the management and our party.

But here’s the low down: 

We all know how I like to get my groove on, right?  Well, I was the one who begged to go to this particular dance club on Main Street in Santa Monica.  It just looked cool.  From the outside it looked like I could groove all night long, and love every minute of it.  But looks can obviously be deceiving. 

As the evening progressed, and I was dancing, minding my own business, having a nice little time – the music began to get progressively more difficult to dance to. It became sort of that whole “techno” music vibe. I hate techno.  I hate dancing to it. You can’t sing to it.  What is the point?  I think techno was invented to drive people crazy, and make them want to kill themselves.

So after a few songs that all sounded exactly the same, with that same stupid, annoying beat, and after I’d had a few cocktails, I approached the DJ to ask if I could request a song.  

That was the first mistake. 

He was NOT happy I was asking.  As a matter of fact, he was just plain mean about it.  To my surprise, however, he managed to growl in his cockney, British accent, “What you want to hear?” 

So – have I told you that I am blond?  Of course I have – to those of you veterans, reading this.  But to you new folks – have I told you that I’m blond?  🙂

I could be convinced to REALLY think it is something in the dye.  I’m sure there is some way for it to seep into the brain – and right at the moment when you are trying to pull up something really clever, it steals your thoughts from you.  Gone. 

Particularly on days when you’ve just had your hair done.  Saturday was one such day for me.

So, I stuttered and stammered a bit, before blurting out, “Brittany?” only to feel the urge to dodge a spit wad from the guy.  He was that kinda guy.   “NO!  I’m NOT PLAYING ANY BRITTANY!” 

Ya’d think the guy would at least have a smile on his face as he rejected me, especially since he was jabbing a sharp, steal blade into my soul with his evil eyes.  But no.  This guy was ANGRY. 

So, of course I thought I just had to do better.  So, what did I suggest?  “Madonna?” 

That was the second mistake.

Can you  BLAME ME?  I am BLOND, I had some drinks, and in trying to be COOL for the COOL BRITISH BLAH BLAH DJ, I was just pulling up anyone out there that I knew had a new album out! 

“I’M NOT PLAYING MADONNA!  NO! GET OUT OF HERE.  GO AWAAYYY.” 

So, have you ever seen a baby deer – a doe, freeze in front of a car?   You know how they get those big saucer eyes? 

Well, that was me, after being punished by the DJ.  Only my eyes welled up with tears to boot.  HA HA!  What a wimp! 

I moped back over to our little corner, and immediately Fred the Wonder Chicken knew something was wrong.  I told him what had happened, and before I could say anything he jumped up to go tell that guy how to talk to a lady.  My hero! Awe!  Ummmy, yummmmy!!!

I suppose push came to shove, (not literally), but FWC – after calling the guy a “DICK” or something of the sort – asked to speak to the manager.  Guess what?  The DJ just so happened to be the manager.

So, as we were leaving, with a couple of nicely dressed bouncers kindly walking alongside us, we made sure to say how sorry we were that they had to work for that DJ – and as FWC put it, “Such a DICK.”  One of the bouncers said to me, “Tell me about it.” 

So, I got bounced from a bar – but have a great story to tell because of it!

I hope you all get out there this Spring, get your grooves on, and get bounced from a beach bar as well!  Ha ha – Jussssst kidddddding!

Have a great weekend everyone!

Love you people!  Mmmmmmmpphhuuuhhhhh!

xoxo,

Ms. Cheevious

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Blog content copyright 2009, LISA JEY DAVIS a.k.a. Ms. Cheevious