By Louisa Cohen
*[For the completely unedited version of this portion of the story you may have to ply me with drinks if you weren’t there to experience the madness along with me]

XIV, Kid Cudi, Patrón, and Hickeys Hickeys everywhere

Landing in LAX without Erin was a bummer, but with her blessing from afar we were all wished a wonderful time… only 48 hours in, and what a wonder it already was.

After a sleepy night in the OC ‘burbs visiting our friend’s sister, we hauled ass to downtown LA via train, hopped into a taxi at Central Station and were on our way to the Sunset Strip. When we rolled up to The Andaz West Hollywood we felt like we had walked in to a rock star’s fabulous mansion. The Hollywood hills surrounded us, the open concept ‘front desk’ hotel staff mill about with mini laptops and approach with the familiarity of old friends. A complimentary bar is always set with coffee and croissants in the morning, cool drinks in the afternoon, wine in the evening, and See’s Candies 24/7.

My Rock n’ Roll instinct was right, as The Andaz is an infamous hangout for rock stars circa 1980. The lobby features some of the best fucking photography I’ve seen, and the mezzanine there’s an entire wall of art photography featuring one model only: Ozzy Osbourne, pictured young, pictured old, in drag, in the tub, eating bats and all that shit.

We were instantly poolside on the rooftop, sipping water and snacking on ceviche, getting bronzed for the evening dress up and shenanigans ahead. Swimming beneath the Hollywood Hills picking out our dream homes – we were quickly being seduced by the city of dreams.

Fast-forward to evening, and two more girls have arrived. My adrenaline is at a high, surrounded by such wonderful women and anticipation of our night ahead. Through a lucky connection, personal trainer to the stars and Five-Factor Fitness Guru Harley Pasternak, we got a great table at the restaurant and bar, XIV (‘Fourteen’ for those of you who suck at Roman Numerals), interior by Philippe Starck and a stone’s throw from The Chateau Marmont.

We walked in and were treated like starlets, and for narrative’s sake I must mention I instantly noticed a man sitting at the bar. He was so stunning that, well, I had an agenda in mind as I selected my seat. Let’s just say it was a room with a view.

Okay, let make no bones about it: I was eye-fucking him like mad. Fast-forward 30 minutes later, and he and I were shaking hands as he offered me and my friends a round of Patrón. Maybe he could sense I needed more to drink. When I tried to say my name a string of gibberish came out and my dear friends were shuddering with laughter.

Our new friend was a gentleman as he let us ladies finish our dinner and waited sipping champagne at the bar – he had officially been invited out with us that night. After all, he had a plane to catch to NYC the next day. Along with our aspiring-actor waiter we had a crew set to roll out, no wonder everyone in LA has an entourage – this seemed too easy.

We lucked in again and landed VIP access to the newly opened Trousdale Lounge on the Sunset Strip. Just as we whipped out our ID we realized we were surrounded by the paparazzi, not shooting us – but this hive was a buzzing with stars. Deryck Whibley from Sum 41 rolled up just shortly after we did. Inside we spotted Sam Worthington (Avatar hottie), Spencer Pratt’s BFF, and when I was outside with my male company a door swung open, and as I tried to go back inside…there he was Mr. Solo Dolo himself – Kid Cudi. Man on the Moon happens to be in heavy rotation on my iPod, and a major crush is a-brewin’, so I nearly peed myself. I had a moment to ponder what to say, but after time unfroze, cameras swarmed and I was swept out of the way.

Trousdale was a blast, it was packed on a Tuesday, the tunes were incredible – whether we were dancing, chilling, canoodling in dark corners, or drinking way too much – we knew we lucked-in, lucking out at the newest hotspot in town.

After we left the joint, some of the gals ended up at a party hosted by one of the Washington Wizards, and myself?! Well….yada, yada, yada, lets just say I returned to our hotel very very late that night (or early in the morning (depending how you want to look at it.) I bee lined to the room, profusely avoiding eye contact with the hotel staff and reeking of top shelf tequila.

Can’t wait for tonight.