Beverly Hills Bar Mitzvah, or how to have free fun in LA

So a few weeks ago some friends and I had gotten on the list for a new lounge opening at The Beverly Hilton. I was excited because I was going to wear my new dress (courtesy of a fab boutique across from Fred Segal) and my good friend from up the coast was going to be joining in the festivities. Note to the masses - ano bimbos who hold the list at the door are not to be be-littled in front of their peers.

Translation: even though we were on the list, the twiggy bitch wouldn't let us in, regardless of the unabashed name dropping I partook in. I was more furious than embarrassed as we made our way back to the hotel lobby in search of the all elusive LA taxi, hoping to find a dive bar in which to drown our not-cool-enough for the club sorrows. Then the night took a glorious turn.

We passed the grand ballroom and standing post at the door was an all too familiar sight: the blown up bar mitzvah poster. Little Daniel was becoming a man, and his adorably framed face with a golden retriever proved too good to be true. We made our way closer and picked up a few leftover Monopoly themed name placards (it was already 10:30, no way the Goldenberg's were making that late an late entrance).

Once inside it became very apparent that this was a Persian Bar Mitzvah and we were a crew of 4 white 20-somethings (both my friend and I being very white and very blonde ) and then it hit me. Unlike weddings, which have a serious and emotional core - bar mitzvah's have one goal in mind: get sloshed. No parents give a shit once the party planner has been paid, the open bar's bartender becomes Mom and Dad's surrogate child for the evening and by the time they announce the hour to light the candles, everyone holds their breath in hopes mom doesn't trip in her Blahnik's over her questionably seductive Off Fifth gown.

Even though we were clearly out of place, in no time the boys were macking on milfs and I was workin the desert buffet. We danced the hora, took pictures with the family, played video games with the kids and even sushed Bubby who was too loud during the challah blessing.

At the end of the night we were wasted, we were full, our feet hurt from hours of dancing and it was entirely free. I even see the potential of these becoming perfect venues for networking/meeting nice Jewish guys. Because when asked how I know the child my simple reply will be: I don't, I'm crashing. Odds are no one will believe it or they just won't care enough to kick us out. Nothing is uglier than a drunk angry parent making a scene in front of friends, family and business associates. Everyone is better off just allowing the crashers to add to the festivities - which we most definitely did.

I've begun calling local hotels and clubs pretending to be a florist set to deliver flowers for 'the bar mitzvah this weekend', and I can't wait for little Julie's big night at The Key Club next Saturday!