C’mon Hatton, Put Up Them Fists!!!

To be true, I had built this weekend up way too much, in my head at least. I thought it was going to be massive, great things planned. Cue brutal boxing analogy of me setting it up for it to be knocked down. I made the executive decision that I would not work the whole weekend for the money which I vitally need to sustain the L.A adventure, but to instead take the riskier option of going to two potentially good meetings/shindigs. Potentially. They could also potentially both turn out to be flops. Re de de. Hindsight is a great thing! Should’ve taken those viagras, so to speak, floppy mac.

Saturday morning I was asked along to a networking brunch/lunch/supper thing. Surprisingly, it went well, managed to spread out my 3 minutes of being likable well enough to make a few new contacts, get names, emails etc. Happy days. In fact, I was so happy walking home, that I walked right into a sign/pole and almost knocked myself out. But, I was happy, so didn’t really mind. Plus, that was only the minor shindig I had been asked along to that day, that night was the big one!

My buddy, who lives up in Bob Williams’ house, had asked me up there to play soccer and then stick around to watch the Ricky Hatton fight afterwards. Sounded good, but I was particularly lured in by being told it was a special game, keep it on the qt, a load were over from England for it, should be a class party for the fight, who never know you will show up, I would not want to miss out. Seeing as this is Hollywood, my mind started to imagine who it was that could possibly be coming along, particularly for the fight, I would be surrounded by actors, singers, models, greatest party ever, I could meet a few cool people, booze on up in the Hollywood Hills, could this be the greatest night of my life. Or of my weekend at least.

My knee has gradually being getting better, so I decided it was worth risking ruining it for life for the sake of a game of ball and the party. I get picked up by a sound Irish guy and head up to the game. (Weirdly, I have only met 3 Irish people since being in L.A, and met them all in the last 3 days) Bit apprehensive of who to expect at the 5-a-side pitch, every name under the sun of who could potentially be playing soccer flies through my head. Get to the pitch, introduced to a few sounds guys, don’t know of any them, we’re still waiting on more though. Few more come, game is good to start, still no sign of the big guns though. The final player for our team shows up, with his girlfriend in tow. I’m not one to name drop, ha, so I’ll call her Kelly’s Blue Book, and he is her rugby playing boyfriend. I only knew this when he happened to mention it, seeing as unfortunately there’s no rugby news over here in L.A. Unfortunately. I really miss rugby.

We play the game, he’s actually a good player for a rugby player, rip them apart with our slick one two’s, she’s our cheerleader, tells me she remembers meeting me about 4 years ago? Overall, a good game, but I was expecting more glitz. Finish up, time for the fight, down to the house. It has been my first time in the house, and it is savage. Class views of L.A from the terraces, class views inside the house of the original Andy Warhols around the place, it is ridiculous. When I asked if Bob was playing or around at all, I was told doubtful, so didn’t really pry anymore. There is only so many times one can ask that question without starting to look stupid. Kelly’s Blue Book made everyone pizza, offered me some, I asked if she had any healthy food like a banana, this got her a bit annoyed, tried to force feed pizza into me, then called me very rude for not trying it at least. Seeing as she had a boyfriend already, there was no reason for me to impress, so I stuck with the banana.

After I shower, and get to admire a savage signed Beatles picture in the bathroom, I am hearing a lot of different names of who could be coming up to the house to watch the fight. They’ll probably come after the start of it, doesn’t X only live next door anyways, and Y lives in the mansion next door, they’ll be along soon. We’d probably be here boozing all night, too late to go anywhere after the fight, the party should be good. Thankfully I brought a big bag of cans so I was well stocked up for the rocking party. The fight kicks off, I hear different names I recognize of who is on there way up in a while. Was that Slash I did hear you say? Good stuff, more like it. Ricky then gets me worried by taking a battering in the first round. The mood has dipped quite dramatically. This 12 round fight is looking dodge. C’mon Ricky, put up your fists man, where’s your defense, this party has to keep going!!!

Between people saying Ricky is looking shaky, he got pummeled, what was he doing, more and more names are been mentioned of who is going to come up to the party, names I know of, well known people. I am getting a good vibe, Ricky will last a good few more rounds at least, the party will keep going another while. Round 2, Pacquaio lands his unbelievable punch, Ricky gets knocked down, and knocked out. Little does Pacquaio know, but this punch has landed a blow in L.A too. The party is done, and dusted, sucker punched. Everyone is a bit shell shocked of how quickly Hatton got beaten, I am shell shocked at how the party was over before it began. Balls. People are making new plans. Lets meet her downtown instead. Lets go to where this person is playing a gig instead. Eh, can I come? No, no one is listening to me? Cool, I’ll meet ye there? What’s the name of the place again? Pardon? I’ll try your pizza now if you tell me!

Just like that, the fun times are over. I didn’t even get to whip out my disposable camera and take a photo with anyone (my camera is still bust since Mexico, thought it would be good to get a few photos of the views at least though so went old school with the disposable, good waste of money). I snap a few pics of the views, foggy enough and on a disposable so God only knows how they came up. I’ll throw them up, if I can get them from the disposable to my laptop that is, not sure if that can be done? Anyways, I get back home, with my 3/4′s full bag of cans, and it is barely even 10 o’clock. This was not going to plan. At all.

Booze on, got a call from a buddy and it ended up being a good night, went to a cool new club called Jane’s House where my buddy was DJ’ing. KBB and my one-two partner ended up being in there too, shots on, your round folks! Cab home, dropped at the top of my street, force of habit, I’ll have to be dropped to the door from now on. Big Jim waves me over to the strip club, ha, I needed much encouragement, I only went in to show my buddy what it was like, I swear.

Being honest, strip clubs annoy me a bit, I’ve gotten over the fact that the girls usually don’t actually have any interest in you, just your money for a dance. So, I tell the girls that come up to me that I can’t get a private dance from them. The reason? Priests aren’t allowed to do that sort of thing. Line goes down well, I predicted it might do, better than the truth, I had no money. One girl then wants to give me her number, she’s Irish too (owns an Irish wolfhound I think was her connection), we should really hang out. Thinking I’ve learnt my lesson from the last time, I decide might as well get her number, she is offering after all, rude not to take it. As she types her number in, I tell her I really shouldn’t be taking it, me being a priest and all, but if you insist, I will. She then hands me back the phone, number saved, and tells me she really shouldn’t have given me the number either. Oh yeah, why’s that? Oh you’re married and have two kids. Oh right. Our reasons are kind of on par really. Ehh… nice girl really.

Don’t worry, I only texted her today to tell her that I couldn’t text her anymore or meet up with her. That was it, I felt I should just text her to be courteous at least. She looked very very courteous herself last night. However, the text just proves my other point all along. About girls giving me their numbers, for absolutely no reason. Seeing as I am still waiting on that reply. Any minute now. Any minute. 

Song of the day is this wonderful piece of work… Moth’s Wings by Passion Pit

Tags: Boxing, Ricky Hatton, Stripping