So a Group of Writers Walk Into a Bar...

Hello there. You may notice that my voice sounds a little scratchy tonight. And no, it's not from smoking imported cigars with refined mustachioed gentlemen. I'll smoke those bitches under the table without blinking an eye.*

*Has never smoked a single cigar or cigarette.

No, my throat is actually sore because I swallowed a miniature pine cone on a dare.

[[dramatic pause]]

You think I'm joking?

[[another dramatic pause]]

Do you?

[[tertiary dramatic pause]]

Yes, I am joking. The real reason is that I inhaled pepper spray.

[[dramatic pause]]

Is she kidding? Is she serious? We don't know!

[[small undramatic pause]]

No, that is the actual answer. On Monday evening I inhaled pepper spray at Sonny McLean's in Santa Monica.

The events of the evening unfolded as such:

[[[[commence blogging]]]]

My Monday evening began in typical fashion, with me clinging to my final breaths of life as I emerged from the catacombs of an 8.75-hour workday with no lunch period or breaks. I arrived at Bagel Nosh promptly at 6:59pm for my weekly Writer's Blok meetup, where $5 buys you two hours of focused writing, the company of friendly fellow-writers, quietly looped Pinback albums, book giveaways, all the coffee you want, and nearly all the wine you want but it always runs out before the third glass. And, if you're me, you get the added bonus of being tragically cornered each week by a dude you initially thought might be a good networking opportunity but it turns out he's just a complete weirdo.

(Remember, folks: if anyone has more than two points to make about your astrological sign, get out of that conversation fast.)

An important Brule to remember.

This was a particularly significant Writer's Blok because it was our last meeting before taking a three week break for... for reasons, of some kind. It was a good last-until-three-weeks-from-now meeting. I got to read my stuff out loud, AND wonderful people brought baked goods from home... they didn't even have meth in them! I'll admit I was disappointed, but they were still delicious.

IT'S SO GOOD I WANT TO CLAW MY SKIN OFF

After the meeting ended, some of us headed nine blocks up to grab drinks at Sonny's, a wonderful Irish pub that restored my faith in white people. That is, until a couple hours in when our buzzed, geeky, and endearingly awkward conversations were all halted by a major scuffle happening at the front of the bar. I turned and saw a pair of muscular arms wrestle what looked like a welder in a blonde wig.

At first it was hard to see what was going on because everything was happening so quickly... but then it was because my eyes were tearing up. "Avoid that side of the bar!" someone shouted. And I heard murmurs of "pepper spray" ping-pong around the bar. I distinctly remember laughing about pepper spray to someone in the group and then suddenly choking to the point where I abandoned my beer and stood outside until I could stop coughing.

I have no way of knowing the full story, but the version I heard was that this... formidable... woman was drunk, got overly defensive, and whipped out some good ol' fashioned pepper spray on whoever was telling her to get her shit together. At least, I sincerely hope that's what it was, and not anything that would legitimately warrant pepper spray. That would've made the experience quite the downer. But once the woman was out and the bar owners let some fresh air in, we resumed our drinking and picked up right where we left off on our delightful evening.

I'm proud to say that this was my first time being exposed to pepper spray. It was just like losing my virginity, with less tears and slightly less choking. More importantly, however, it was a great memory for the Writer's Blok. Over the past few months my writing group has been as much about the group as it has about the writing, and for someone plagued by the paranoia that city life is dominated by isolation and hostility, that is a major reassurance to find. We're just a bunch of strangers who united over a common cause. Kind of gives "grammar nazi" a whole new meaning.

One of the things I love most about this group is the emphasis on setting goals. I may not have my group over the next few weeks, but I'll still have my goals. Until we meet again at the 'Nosh, I suppose I'll try to exercise the kind of discipline expected of a writer who doesn't need to be tempted by wine and baked goods. My goal: continue to write for two hours every Monday evening.

...At least until principal photography begins, when I'll fall down the open storm drain of film production. But I will emerge stronger, wiser, and riding a wild sewer gator.