Would You Like That Dirty, Hon?

A writer friend was in town from Australia, so we did the big Hollywood tour and ended at the Abbey at cocktail time. Amazing how that happened. While the music sucks, and I always crack up watching people trying to dance to it, it's a great place to find a dark corner (are there any lit ones there?) and talk. It was a scorching day, so the cool interior and a cold drink was perfect after shopping at A Different Light. It's sad to think I'm the outgoing one, but my friend would only mumble to the barkeep. Granted, those guys are probably hired for their head shots. So when K went speechless, I had to translate the order for a vodka martini. While Mr. 6ft 4, black wavy hair, incredible eyes made the drink, a very drunk guy on the barstool next to me tried to flirt. Creepy, and sad. I could have been nicer, but I felt like being blunt, so I pointed to my friend and said, "I'm here with someone." Said it loud enough for the barkeep to hear. Damn it. So when he leaned over the bar and asked, "Would you like that dirty, hon?" I couldn't flirt back without looking like a jerk. Once again, bar karma kicks me in the ass.