Official Licensed Warehouse Party

I have a pretty good weekend story here, but first, something I wanna address:

Ya know what’s so crazy to me? That there is a country of redheaded people. Ireland. How crazy is that shit? No other country has that.

Oh wait no I just checked… 10% of people over there have red hair.

Wow. Are redheads facing extinction?

Do we need to get a campaign going here? January has International Kiss a Ginger Day. Should we give February a holiday that’s called International Hug a Ginger Day, where the “hug” is a euphemism for “hug naked”? That’ll solve the redhead shortage. Damn I should be a Vice President of a small telemarketing company with that kind of problem solving.

The weekend is still hot on my heels, but I think I’m ready to talk about it. I remided… remydeyd… memrydeed… how the fuck do you spell that word??

*Consults the Encyclopedia Britannica*

REMEDIED! Yes. I wanted to say that I remedied myself. For I have consumed the ancient powerful herb, one of mankind’s best kept secrets. And it is called “kratom”.

Kratom is a plant that grows naturally in Southeast Asia and it’s used all the time in the region, especially Thailand. You can drink it as a tea, or take capsules of it, but it’s something everyone should try. And, oddly enough, it isn’t illegal yet in the US! So, get it while it’s hot, because the government wants to reschedule it to a Class 4 blah blah blah fuck the gov.

Now I’ve started at the end of the story, let me go to the beginning.

Saturday night, I arrive at Blacklord’s house, and we were smoking buds right away. And then there were bags of molly everywhere and I’m like “well here we go.”

Me and Blacklord would leave the house around 11 PM to go to, what was purportedly the “first licensed warehouse party in LA ever”. We had been going to parties in warehouses forever. All of the after hours parties happened in warehouses, and they were always illegal for some reason. But now they weren’t. And this party tonight was the first where it wasn’t.

The DJ’s were two guys who were called Simian Mobile Disco, who Blacklord showed me once and I remember liking, but I was too fucked up then to remember what they sounded like. We were looking forward to seeing them.

We pulled up to the front of the place, and security was tight. There was a fucking metal detector. What is this, Chicago? And then you had to put your keys and shit in a box while they slide it though the side, like it was the TSA. I went through, set off the beeper, they asked me to turn my belt inside out, and I was good.

There were drugs in my shoe but I fooled those motherfuckers because I am a criminal mastermind.

Blacklord passed through security after me, and he went through the metal detector, but then I looked at all of his valuables in the security box, and the security guard going through it. And then I saw him lift up the cigarette box, and I panicked.

The cigarette box held ten, count ten “marijuana cigarettes”. Or you can just call them “joints”, if you aren’t from a 1940’s marijuana propaganda video.

And then the security guard opened the box…and started sniffing inside. I had to think fast. We couldn’t let ten joints get taken before the night even began.

“My keychain! What happened to my keychain?” I blurted out. The guard sniffing, as well as two others stopped to look at me.

“I put it in the box. I know it went through here. What happened to it?” I demanded to the sniffer.

He just looked very confused. As he should have looked. Because there was no keychain. A lie fabricated from the furthest reaches of my mind.

And now that the distraction caused the guard to put the cigarette box down, we were all good here.

Blacklord’s, “I think you left your keychain at my house,” was just the icing on the cake.

We got inside, and I must admit, the venue was nice. Wide open dance floor, multiple bars, decent lasers and not the ugliest crowd I’ve ever seen at a party.

It did get uglier when our other two accomplices arrived at the party, Tal and Nick. Not just because they are ugly, but because they made People Magazine’s 50 Ugliest People List for the 6th year in a row. Both of them. Good job boys.

*gives a sport-tap to entire little league baseball team*
*get arrested for pedophilia*

The four of us together were an unstoppable force. We were ready for a rager of a party…

And instead, we got a total lull of a party. The security check at the door encapsulated everything that was wrong with a official warehouse party. All of the charm and lawlessness of the after hours parties was gone. People were getting tossed left and right. Girls. Pretty girls were getting screamed at by security guards, and people who were fucked up were getting escorted out of there.

The music, which should have been the best part, was lethargic. It had no texture to it. Just repetitive techno with no real drops nor any memorable melody. The first DJ was playing when we got there, and he sucked. Then the second guy joined him, and together they were better, but not significantly. And then the first guy left and the second stayed on, and he was the best, but really by default.

I only saw two or three people sweating profusely while dancing, and that is not emblematic of a good dance party.

What made the lameness of the party easier to swallow was that, we already had tickets to the next party, an after hours party that Blacklord’s girlfriend described as the “only after hours she’d feel comfortable wearing heels at”. So it would be classier than some of the weirder shitstorms of insanity me and Blacklord go to.

We bailed from the first party before the 2 AM close time and headed straight to the second party. When I looked around our Uber, I realized that Nick had done us the disservice of going home for the night. I had seen him yawning on the dance floor at the first one, and I can’t say I blame him.

We got to the second party, located in a warehouse more slender than the first one, and hidden in a building in the homeless area right next to Little Tokyo, where I used to work at the visitor center.

There was a big chubby guy out front smoking a cig, and we approached him thinking he was the doorman/lookout guy. He saw us, asked how many people, took a long drag on his cigarette as he surveyed the area, and then pulled open a massive iron door, which was almost totally soundproofing the dance party inside.

Two friendly girls greeted us at the door, asked to see the tickets (which Chris had already bought online), and they warmly welcomed us inside. Hehe. They “warmly welcomed us inside”. I’d love for girls to warmly welcome me inside anytime I show up at a party. Especially at a sex party.

This party was superior in every sense. The beats were better. There were nice lights and visuals on the walls (although the projector behind the DJ blew out midway because the DJ was dropping excessively hard beats). There was a nice rooftop on the second floor with a wonderful vantage of downtown LA, and nice long leather couches with just enough room to sit and be cozy enough to talk to the people sitting at your sides. And the crowd there was chatty and everyone loved everyone else.

I met a ton of characters, from the Asian scientist, to the Asian hospital worker from Tokyo, to the Asian Asian from Asia… plus the enigmatic German girl who I met at the start of the party, disappeared for three hours, and then reemerged only to find herself constantly magnetized to my presence. With nary a word out of her lips, and a beaming smile permanently fixated on her face, she greet me with hug after hug after hug. It’s like I was trapped in her embrace; not a bad problem to have.  Unless the one hugging you is a grizzly bear.

This was also the first party I’ve ever been to where 100% of my high fives were reciprocated.  And I was dishing them out left and right.

We killed our little baggies of molly, having dipped our fingers in our respective bags maybe 10 or so times. We would have to rely on the bar for drinks for the rest of the night.

…And our second baggies of molly. Did I mention that we each had 2 bags of molly? Oh because we did.

At one point we found a bag of drugs on the floor.  And you know whenever you find drugs on the floor, you have to sample them. One of the first lessons my mother ever taught me. Mama knows best.

I think the white powder was cocaine. At least we treated it like cocaine. Me and Blacklord put some on our fingers and snorted it with our fingers lodged up our noses. Actually, only I did that. Blacklord poured it on that webbing you have between your thumb and pointer finger and then snorted it. What a pro.

There was a birthday girl, and we got tight with her after I found out her friend was Japanese and we started having a conversation in her native tongue. We got them drinks and gave them drugs. I think they had a pretty good time. Although at the end of the night their whole crew, minus the Japanese girl, were sitting on a couch all slumped over each other just completely annihilated. “They drink too much. I’m babyshitter,” the Japanese girl told me, which is why I love Engrish.

At one point the music stopped… completely… and the security started to tell everyone to keep it down. Police were outside supposedly. Not for our party, but still nearby. We needed to keep quiet for 10 minutes. Which, realistically, is a really hard thing to do when everyone is turnt up, to just go silent all of the sudden.

Everyone would be quiet for like 15 seconds max, and then it would get loud again and we’d need to be shushed. People just couldn’t contain themselves.

This half-assed silence lasted a turbulent nine minutes, but we survived, so we were rewarded with more good music and an excellent party.

We stayed til’ 6:24 in the morning, when the party officially ended. It was a strong finish to a strong party.

Our Uber picked us up and took us back to Blacklord’s. In situations like this (and we’ve been in many) where it’s just me and him returning home after a party, the ritual changes, but there is one constant:

Wrestling.

The best way to end a long night of partying is with some WWE wrestling matches. And some marijuana.

And thus it was a great night.

Before I let you go, I have something I need to ask you: would it be bogus to give a big collection of left-foot socks to Goodwill? Like, if I just presented this big box of socks to charity, and they don’t have clothes, so they accept the socks, but they realize that no two match and then they have to debate between wearing no socks, or two clashing socks? I think it would be QUITE a conundrum, if ya ask me.

Thanks for reading.