The Overrated Lifestyle of L.A. Law

Los Angeles is an awful place to be a lawyer.  On Friday night, I was hanging out with a friend who works in the entertainment industry—a great guy with more natural good looks and people skills than anyone I’ve ever met.  Not slimy politician people skills either.  I’m talking legit dynamic social skills with a head of hair like Hugh Grant.  He can write his own ticket.  He will have a very full and rich life.

So, I’m hanging out with him, his girlfriend and a couple of her friends at a nice lounge near downtown when they decide they want to go to a club.  One of those places on Sunset Blvd. with all the Lamborghinis out front—AKA the sleaze of the sleaze. 

Nightclubs aren’t my scene.  Of course they aren’t.  I’m a lawyer.

I could tell that none of my buddy’s girlfriend’s friends were that into me, and a change of venue over on the “unce unce unce” side of town wasn’t going to change that.  Chances of my pale ass getting lucky after blowing $400 on these thankless bitches and enduring pumping bass for three hours?  0%.  So I demurred. 

My buddy swore he knew a guy working a door at a club where TMZ hangs outside, and it wouldn’t be a problem getting in.  I didn’t give a shit. 

It’s always interesting to me that I earn probably three times of what he makes, yet sweet hook-ups and total access to hard-to-get tables, exclusive parties and private rooms fall at his feet.  My only power in this city comes at the expense of slipping a hostess or a thick-necked asshole a Ulysses S. Grant.  And even then, I still have to wait.  Lawyers have to buy their way into everything.  The legal industry is perk-less.

Two of the girls gave me the obligatory, “Ahh, come on. You gotta come with us.” It was sickly apparent they wanted free drinks.  And probably a ride.  But one of them touched my leg close enough to that part of my inner thigh that makes me horny enough to do stupid stuff, so I said, “Sure.  Let’s go get judged.”

To me, the club scene is so obvious.  The velvet rope, the arbitrariness of it all.  There are no standards, no rules—yet so much effort goes into making you believe there are.  What in the hell does the phrase “Dress to impress” even fucking mean?  The whole thing’s a shit-show.  You walk up, you show no fear, you look good, you get in.  There’s no magic to it.

I’ve got total confidence except in one area, and it’s that I do not have faith that I’m good looking enough.  I don’t belong to this world of pretty people that exists outside my doorstep.  That’s why I went to law school—because my looks weren’t tradable.  A thriving legal community in a city best known for its vapidity, implants and camera-ready populace is an anomaly.  I have no idea why I live here.

My opinion of my physical self may improve with further successes…like making partner…and having enough clout to bang gold-diggers.  But we’re not that far down the line yet.  That level of guile will have to come with time.

My quip from earlier must have forcibly hung like a stalactite in one of the girl’s cavernous domes because she couldn’t stop repeating my off-hand remark while we pounded 5-Hour Energy shots in a Chevron parking lot before rolling up the Hollywood circus of see-and-be-seen freaks.

“Let’s go get judged!”

It was like a toddler parroting words without any conceptual meaning, but at least she looked good in her short skirt saying it.  I, on the other hand, have always seen social interactions such as nightclubs—especially in Los Angeles—as nothing more than a process of being judged.  You leave your entire existence up to someone else’s opinion: Who made your car, who made your clothes, who do you think you are?  Then, if you’re not the face of a Dolce & Gabbana campaign, not any level of legitimate “Producer” or “Agent,” and/or have no medal grommets or screen-printed crosses on your shirt, you best be planning on bottle service.  If you’re judged unpopular or unsatisfying to look at, you best be judged rich enough to afford your presence.

Screw them. 

Maybe that’s an insecure way of looking at it, but on what planet does a single male lawyer thrive inside a club that doesn’t include topless dancing and a Champagne Room?  Not this one.  Not any.

There’s one primary reason why clubs and lawyers don’t mix: You can’t talk.  And talking is my strong suit.  If you’re dumb yet good looking, then a nightclub is your church.  Chicks who speak with their hips and guys who purse their lips worship there.

Think a club plays to your strengths?  Well, good for you.  Maybe you can fake it in a dark laser show long enough for someone to get concupiscent enough to sleep with you.  Maybe they won’t realize how dumb, boring, not funny, or [insert perceived shortcoming here] you think you are.  But I’m just the opposite.  My approach is to think that if I keep talking long enough, a girl will forget that I need to loose 10 pounds around the midsection.

I alienated most girls who had long-term interest in me in law school.  My lifestyle wasn’t conducive to women, and I thought I was BigLaw bound.  I could afford to turn down 7s, assuming 9s would be waiting around the corner from my windowless Jones Day office in a few years.  Skinny blonds with Brentwood baby-making dreams would be awaiting me on the off hours I was allowed out of the building.  But never count your chicks before you’ve hatched your career.  Or something like that. 

I’m not proud, but I’m also no longer ashamed to admit that this town can get the best of a single, middle-of-the-road lawyer if you let it.  The options are limited for a guy who is too abhorrent of nightclubs but not good enough for country clubs to find a woman worthy of second date—or even a second drink. 

Lest you think this story doesn’t have a happy ending, I did get the number of a P.Y.T. (pretty young thing) that night.  We even made out for a while in the breezeway leading to the side exit.  Raven hair, big green eyes, perfect c-cup cleavage…

But I doubt I’ll call.  It’s already doomed.  I told her I was a producer. 

Read more from Mr. 162 and his TTT lifestyle as an L.A. boutique associate.

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Los Angeles is an awful place to be a lawyer.  On Friday night, I was hanging out with a friend who works in the entertainment industry—a great guy with more natural good looks and people skills than anyone I’ve ever met.  Not slimy politician people skills either.  I’m talking legit dynamic social skills with a head of hair like Hugh Grant.  He can write his own ticket.  He will have a very full and rich life.

So, I’m hanging out with him, his girlfriend and a couple of her friends at a nice lounge near downtown when they decide they want to go to a club. 

Mr. 162 may have fallen short of the first tier, but in these crazy economic times, “small is the new big.” Mr. 162 provides a “learner, more efficient” account of the fast-talking, no-support-staff lifestyle of a Los Angeles boutique associate. Read more from Mr. 162.

25 Comments

  1. Guano Dubango

    April 20, 2010 at 3:22 am

    I agree, but that is why I did not go to California.  The competition for women must be very difficult there.  In NY, there are many more women than men, and most of the women are very anxious to get a steady boyfriend, but as I am not American, I have the same difficulty as this author, who is not handsome.  I think that if this man is willing to settle down with one woman, he would have a better chance.  I hope to find such a woman here in NY, who does not view me as a sexual novelty.

  2. Bitter Overseas

    April 20, 2010 at 3:52 am

    Honest and painfully accurate. Having grown up in L.A. I can relate to a lot of this. There are however pockets of depth there and lots of interesting things going on under the radar. Unlike NYC, where you can make friends on the fly and get a whole scene of your own going in 2 months or less, in L.A. you usually have to have a crew of your own already around to become socially acclimated. Don’t miss either of ‘em, being on the other side of the world…

  3. BL1Y

    April 20, 2010 at 5:07 am

    While I agree about how shitty it is to be a lawyer, you can’t blame the venue for your lack of success.  I’ve picked up girls at clubs.  It can happen.  I’ve seen me do it.

  4. Ex-Vegas Bitter

    April 20, 2010 at 5:16 am

    Back when I worked in Vegas representing a few of the casinos against P.I. cases, had great access to all the clubs.  Almost killed me being able to live that lifestyle.

  5. Anonym

    April 20, 2010 at 5:35 am

    Champagne… maybe things are tough for you because you are not nearly as clever as you think.

  6. Juris Depravis

    April 20, 2010 at 6:03 am

    The fact that you like to drop words like “concupiscent” speaks volumes about your lack of success with the bimbos, perceived or otherwise.  And if you can’t get a nine, just get shitfaced and bang three threes.

  7. Frat Guy Law Type

    April 20, 2010 at 6:19 am

    Clubs were sort of fun in college.  Sort of.  Fun.

  8. Alma Federer

    April 20, 2010 at 7:38 am

    There is more to life than chasing bimbo women.  There are plenty of quality women out there (and here) but you men are 100% visual.  When will you learn that mental ability should also be valued.  Although I am beautiful, there are plenty of other educated women that would make wonderful dates.  But you guys focus only on quick and easy sex.  Fooey on you men.

  9. Craig

    April 20, 2010 at 7:39 am

    Good story.  It doesn’t sound like you have it that bad considering you ended up getting a random girl.  And it also sounds like your standards are ridiculously high.  7’s are no good for you?  Only playboy models for you.  But otherwise, your description of the nightclub scene is spot on.  And I can tell your description of the girlfriend’s girlfriends are spot on too.  Good stuff there.  And Bitter Overseas is correct about the New York scene as well.  There are multiple ways to work yourself into a club scene in relatively short order.

  10. Craig

    April 20, 2010 at 7:45 am

    Are you autistic Alma.  Or have Tourettes or something.  Your retarded persistence of writing the same thing over and over again for every article is completely mind boggling.  It is really quite unexplainable.

  11. LA Native

    April 20, 2010 at 8:10 am

    Disagree 100%.  Just because you are socially awkward and unattractive doesn’t mean LA lifestyle sucks.  Plus, if clubs aren’t your scene, don’t go to one.  I grew up in LA, I hate clubs, but I love the life.

  12. Big Jim

    April 20, 2010 at 8:59 am

    Awesome.  I can TOTALLY relate, my brother.  I feel the same way in NY.  Outside looking in.  Lawyers have no street cred, no coolness, and we don’t make enough wheat to attract gold diggers.

  13. BL1Y

    April 20, 2010 at 10:01 am

    The only thing lower on the totem pole than a lawyer is a law student.  All the personality of a lawyer with the finances of a student.

  14. Chick Litigator

    April 20, 2010 at 10:37 am

    Am I the only one getting tired of Alma’s and Guano’s lame-ass schtick? It’s getting really old.

  15. Alan

    April 20, 2010 at 11:14 am

    “Lawyers have to buy their way into everything.  The legal industry is perk-less.” TRUTH!!!

  16. BL1Y

    April 20, 2010 at 11:44 am

    Alma was funny the first couple times, but she and Guano just keep reposting the same message over and over.  It’s like they have a bot or something that just takes a half dozen random words from that day’s post and mixes it with “my aunt oona” or “can’t find any real men.”

  17. Evil Lawyer

    April 20, 2010 at 12:38 pm

    This article brings back all my insecurities. Even as an Evil Lawyer, driving a Benz convertible I definitely am not a winner in the genetic lottery.  If a good looking woman looked at me, I’d look behind me to see who she was looking at.  But the posts are even better-JurisDepravis and BL1Y have really outdone themselves this time.  And yes, Alma would you please shut up.

  18. TaxxxGirl

    April 20, 2010 at 1:27 pm

    Holden Caulfield went to law school and moved to LA? Joking, joking. This is a great article, very incisive and honest. I’d like to read more from Mr. 162.

  19. quado

    April 20, 2010 at 2:06 pm

    I usually dig your stories… this was off putting.  I can make it in clubs without any problems.  BL1Y is right, it isn’t your occupation holding you back, it might just be you.
    btw its oontz oontz oontz not unce unce unce.  You’ve got to be up on this stuff man!

  20. BL1Y

    April 20, 2010 at 3:43 pm

    quado: For this guy I think it’s less oontz oontz oontz and more fap fap fap.

  21. Hank

    April 20, 2010 at 5:30 pm

    Guano is a douche, but I think banging Alma would be a trip.  Of course, I’d get out of there as soon as it was over so as not to let her know anything about me.

  22. S

    April 21, 2010 at 12:43 am

    “I grew up in LA, I hate clubs, but I love the life.”
    There’s no life in LA outside of the clubs.

  23. J

    April 21, 2010 at 8:33 am

    Sorry, but gotta say this guy hit it right on the head.  Want to know what’s even worse? I’m GAY and live in LA.  Take the shallow-factor of the clubs this guy is talking about, multiply it by whatever number of your choosing, and that’s typically what you get in West Hollywood. 
    You can be dumb as bricks, or have a coke or meth problem, but if you’ve got that “California” look or a six pack you’re good to go.
    Bitter? Of course, but hey, look at the name of the website

  24. Anonymous

    May 7, 2010 at 5:05 pm

    i guess it’s different for male lawyers… but young attractive dare i say intelligent female lawyers in LA don’t have those problems…

  25. Kelly

    May 10, 2010 at 7:19 pm

    You are incredibly funny.  I laughed out loud.  Thank you.

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