I got shoved into a table tonight when a bar fight broke out.
You’d think that at a bar legally within the Beverly Hills city limits, such things would not happen. But no, this was a fight with so many guys in it, it looked like a rugby scrum.
Prior to that, I’d been demonstrating that I can still act like an idiot when stone cold sober by bouncing around dancing. I was bouncing so much that a guy came up to me, and asked what I was drinking.
“Club soda!” I chirped. “I’m sober!”
I don’t think he believed me, but he came back from the bar five minutes later with a club soda and lime for me regardless.
Twenty minutes later, the party ended when the lights came on after the fight, as the five of us (well, three of us who were sober) searched for the battery to my Blackberry. It had been knocked out of its holster when I was shoved into the table, and had broken into chunks upon hitting the floor. D found the last piece, after ten minutes of searching, just as I was about to cry.
Forty-five minutes after that, we were home, out of the rain. I’m happy to be back in my nice, space-heatered room in West Los Angeles. I had a lot of adventures today that will have to be written up tomorrow.