Lady Gaga Came to a Sports Bar

I wrote a whole ramp up in an Uber to my excursion on Saturday for the Final Four, and it was clever and perfect, but none of that matters because… 

LADY GAGA WAS AT THE SPORTS BAR!!!!

 As in, Lady Gaga was at a sports bar in Studio City. 

 The only thing as implausible as this sighting was the fact that the game was so incredible, I was extremely vocal and deeply invested in it.

 For the final four, I decided it was time for something very brave: two games. Two bars. Two neighborhoods. Two squads. 

I wanted to make sure I brought my A-game for this double feature. I finally followed through on all of my complaining and got a blow out. I wore a different, clean, flattering t-shirt that was not $66. My cat eye was on point. I ate broccoli two days in a row, which is insane because I haven’t even tried broccoli since I was seven. I drank 66 oz of water. I was ready to go pro. 

 I got to Rocco’s in Studio City before the game started and took it in: “okay, this is very heterosexual,” I wrote in my notes, and I wasn’t even drunk yet. We’ve got a nice outdoor area with TV’s that isn’t on steroids like Parlor, and I noticed a couple of cool looking groups sitting out there. I started to think about how I’d organically get back outside to chat up some of these cool tables, since I’m not a smoker or anything. Like, do I flag one down if they come in to pee? Dramatically take a call outside?

 I sat down at the bar and I got IDed by the bartender. “OMG, thank you!” I said. He looked at my ID, confirming I am 32, and said “Well, you take good care of your skin.” Like, compliments will get me because I’m a cheap date, but also, he’s not Ricardo.

 As I waited for my Game One Date, Danny, I realized I’d never paid attention to the players being announced before the game starts. Did you know that one of the coaches is named Tony Bennet? I found that very funny. Also one of the teams had a player from Philly which made me happy, but I couldn’t tell you if he went to Auburn or Virginia, or even what he looked like.

 The bartender served me a cider that I literally needed two hands to lift, so he had my immediate respect. He was super friendly, attentive, and introduced himself – his name is Chris – so I was like, okay, watch out Ricardo, but then it got NEXT LEVEL when Danny arrived and I introduced the two of them, Danny was IDed, I remarked that I was older than Danny, and then it turned into some bit about how the two of them had beards which means they look older than I do, and then somehow Chris said that I would still be cute with a beard.   It was one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me except for ten minutes earlier when he told me that I took great care of my skin.

 I now have to disclose something: in my early twenties, I had a very intense drunk texting problem. I’d drunk text my sister “thinking of u,” (she was, like, 14), I’d drunk text myself, “you ate six oreos; RUN…also call back Grandma Ellen” but mostly, I’d drunk text guys. A lot.

I’m no scientist, but I learned that if I drink a cider the size of my head, 23-year-old Carlin comes back out to play.

 So a few things were happening at once: 

 First of all, I was really digging Auburn because they were the underdogs and last weekend’s win over Gonzaga was big for them. I was earnestly watching the game, explaining what was happening leading up to the final four to Danny, and then explaining the March Madness seeds and regions to the point that Danny said, “Carlin, you, like, actually know a lot about this.” 

 So basically I’d like to add “March Madness” to my Special Skills.

 Second of all, I was drunk texting someone I had had a brief thing with in December, you know, like the 23-year-old that I am. He lives near Rocco’s and made it sound like he’d stop by, but I also told Danny with the utmost confidence that there was zero chance he really ever would. Naturally, I’d sporadically check the entrance to see if he’d show up, just in case, then he wouldn’t be at the entrance, and I’d resume my life.

 Third: I caught a live one! A guy was ordering a drunk next to me, we got to chatting, he revealed he’s a Kentucky fan and goes to Kentucky meet ups, we discovered we were both at Parlor at the same time, and then he SAT THE FUCK DOWN!!!! A guy next to Danny kept trying to chat us up too. I was like, DAMN, ROCCO’S, I LIVE HERE NOW, but then I remembered I also had a fresh blow out and my eye make up was perfect, so really, it wasn’t Rocco’s, it was that I was feeling myself, but also this bar was fantastic.

 Fourth: while talking to Kentucky, I saw an adorable puppy in the outdoor area where one of the cool groups I’d wanted to figure out a way to talk to was sitting. And do you know who was petting that puppy? Lady. Fucking. Gaga. Can you imagine if I’d actually gone over to flirt with them, and discovered that Lady Gaga was sitting in their corner? It would not have gone well.

Okay, no joke though, seeing Lady Gaga was everything. She looked amazing in her leather jacket, punk vintage t-shirt, and oversized sunglasses. I was reeling that Gaga was just straight chilling with her friends in total anonymity on the patio of a sports bar in Studio City. Anonymous until, like, everyone saw her petting that puppy.

 Somewhere in this time, Chris disappeared, Danny noticed that the other bartenders in their array of college t-shirts were various degrees of “attainably handsome,” but WHERE THE FUCK WAS CHRIS?! We had something.

Unfortunately, Kentucky started to get annoying. Also he smelled like he needed to wash his hair. Also, also: he legitimately ditched us so he could sit closer to Gaga. I would have too.

 The game got freaking insane in the last three minutes: my heart was beating SO fast, I was SO loud, and SO drinking my second two-handed cider. This was a loud, split crowd. The guy next to Danny kept trying to talk to us, and I’ve never had more empathy for sports bar guys in my life because I was fully like, “SHUT UP, DUDE, THIS GAME IS INSANE,” without even taking my eyes off of the TV. I didn’t actually say that, but my energy did.

 The game ended with Auburn’s loss, and then I ended up talking to even MORE guys, this time about the Dodgers. I could flex my Chase Utley name-drop because, Phillies, and then, MY DRUNK TEXT RECIPIENT SHOWED UP.

 This is new territory in this venture.  No one has shown up since 2014, which was, presumably my last text in which I insisted someone “come find meeee,” and my friend Cara told me he looked like my dad so it was ruined for me. 

 I obviously couldn’t spill my mission, because that’s a weird look, but here was a crazy turn: [we’ll call him] Michael turned to the bartender and said “Hey, is Chris working today?”

 MY CHRIS?! If he knows Ricardo too, I’ll kill myself.

 It was a quick, banter-y visit, with a tasteful amount of flirtation, which Danny clocked, but I had to leave for bar number two, while obviously overanalyzing what all of this meant and planning our Palm Springs time share.

 I was so revved up from Rocco’s, Gaga, the game, and “Michael,” there was no way the second game was going to be even close to the first. 

 I headed to Barney’s (my mother ship) and was relieved that my dates, Katie and Montana, picked a perfectly inaccessible table, so I could eye men in privacy.

 I saw two super hot guys playing pool and asked if I should approach them (please remember, I’d had two double ciders), like I ran the place and did this all the time. Like, not models, not LA slick, just, like, super tall, burly, together-looking dudes who I’d trust to go to the basement if I heard something in the middle of the night. “No,” I was told. It fully ended up being girl-time, which was probably for the best.