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Power House

4/7/2014

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I need to stop drinking on school nights...

On Sunday, Chad surprised me by taking me to Power House, a dirty bar I've wanted to visit ever since I worked on Cahuenga. From the outside, Power House looks like a dive...and then you walk inside...mega dive.

We stop in for a quick drink before lunch, but soon one drink turns into four and that's when the weird shit went down.


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We park at the bar and order a round of drinks. The clientele consists of younger rocker dudes on our right and a guy with his Dachshund to our left. The bartender is looking all cute and streetwise in her newsboy cap. The walls are covered in vintage, garage sale art, and everything has the yellowish tinge of cigarette smoke. The bathroom is covered in graffiti and lacks a mirror, ala the Blue Lagoon in Santa Cruz.

Chad goes to the juke box to play some music and I start flipping through an issue of 'Girls and Corpses' that we bought at a nearby newsstand. I feel someone caress my arm and look up to find a smiling man who is not my boyfriend.

UMMMM.....


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He starts asking me questions in a thick Russian accent, which I can hardly articulate, so I redirect my attention to my phone. I know the Russian is still standing next to me, as I can feel his gaze and heavy breathing over my right shoulder. I keep looking over at a completely oblivious Chad, who is clearly enamored by the CD-style juke box. The bartender comes over to check on me, and shortly thereafter, Chad comes back and reclaims his bar stool. He doesn't at all seem weirded out by the smiling Russian dude two inches away from him.

The Russian is having a hard time standing, so Chad offers him his stool. The bartender rewards our good deed with a shot of Fireball.

After we leave, we run into the patron with the weiner dog. He shouts over at me, "That guy hitting on you was the weirdest thing I've ever seen"...

Oh, Hollywood.

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