Did That Really Happen?
DID THAT REALLY HAPPEN? MY NIGHT AT THE PLAYBOY MANSION
By David Perea
Oh my God… did that happen?
I feel like I woke up from Chris Nolan’s “Inception”. Dreams layered within dreams. I woke up this morning back in Kansas, but I I still have the ruby wristband that got me into Oz.
What am I babbling about? I went to the Playboy Mansion last night.
I entered a contest through LA Weekly’s Facebook page to attend the Liberty Belle Ball hosted by the Marijuana Policy Project, and quickly forgot about it. Entrants were asked a simple question: Describe why you deserve to go. I immediately began thinking of how many ridiculous responses LA Weekly would receive. I imagined the sad stories and tall tales being told, so I decided not to beg, or paint myself as anything but an average guy on the week of his birthday who wouldn’t cause no trouble. The best part? I didn’t actually win. The fella who won couldn’t make it, and the honor was passed to me like runner up for Miss America after the winner got caught in some sort of scandal or another. Finally, I was pretty!
Kristi from LA Weekly called me, wished me Happy Birthday, and asked if I wanted to go. I blurted out yes and gave her the name of my plus one, my brother Vincent. I had a strong feeling that he would be able to clear his schedule on such short notice, and he did not disappoint. On the drive there we reminisced at some of the wild things I’ve gotten us into. I win contests, you see. It’s like my mutant power. Put my name in a major contest and I’m likely to come up, no matter if the contest is a random drawing or a merit based competition. We were both apprehensive when we got into line to check in. While we joked with the well (and some barely) dressed people in line about being cooked under hot lights like a buffet, we held our breath. At the top of the line we hand them our IDs, they check off our names and give us our wristbands. Behind me, I hear Vincent say, “Son of a bitch.”
This shit just got real.
Did you know that you don’t just drive up to the Mansion? We parked some miles away where shuttles take you through the majestic Holmby Hills. While on the shuttle, my brother and I started coming up with our cover stories for the evening. We settled on getting lost on the way, winding up at a church revival, and becoming Baptists. We were just about to break into hymnals when we drive through the main gates and, seemingly, into another world.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but the party itself was very cool and very classy. We pass the photographers taking celebrity shots for the trades, emerge into the backyard of a million men’s dreams, and there are fire twirlers dancing on the pool. Not in the pool. ON it! There were no naked people, but as there was a contest for patriotic pinups, there were plenty of beautiful women wearing suggestively patriotic stars and stripes.
There wasn’t anything exceptionally different about this party except that everything about it was beyond cool. For the silent auction, gold records from Stevie Wonder and autographs from the Rat Pack stood proudly across from the fire dancers on the pool. Above that, attendants served pasta on one end and sushi on the other. Waiters and waitresses walked by with duck egg rolls and the most delicious sliders I’ve ever tasted. As we left the bar by the pool, we passed Zach Morris and that dude from that Robot Chicken who isn’t Seth Green. Actually, though we didn’t meet Mark Paul Gosselaar, Breckin Meyer was a nice cat. I told him I liked his new show, and he seemed genuinely tickled by it.
We delved deeper and found ourselves in a lovely garden party, with tables set up on the grass in front of the stage where Fishbone would soon be getting people up on their feet. The other part of the silent auction boasted photographs of Marilyn Monroe and the handwritten lyrics for “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” by John Lennon, among others. As we walked through the crowd, I asked a pair of well dressed gentleman if they could part so I could pass. Actually, what I said was, “Excuse me. I’m fat.” When they said they were sorry, I replied, “Why? You didn’t make me fat!” That cracked them up, and it turned out that they were the presidents of one of the hosts of the party, Green Life Medical Systems (http://www.greenlifemedical.com/), a website that connects Marijuana patients with doctors and dispensaries. We met some of the founders of the Marjuana Policy Project (http://www.mpp.org), and everyone was so kind and excited for us that we won our way into their party.
On the other side of the garden, in front of the VIP bungalows, was The Floating Bed (http://www.floatingbed.com/). Imagine a bed, supported by cables, under a canopy pyramid, swinging and rocking while you sleep, or in this case, wiggle your legs in the air while your brother cracks up. At first I was wary, because I’m a big guy, but the pixie swinging in bed wouldn’t take no for an answer. In a moment I was lying on my back, gently rocking back and forth. She convinced Vince to join us, and there we lay, 2 guys, a girl and a floating bed. I felt like a baby. I could have stayed there all night. We practically did.
Everything is better in a floating bed.
We may have had the best time of the night at the photo booth, where they had all sorts of patriotic props set up on the other side of the pool. While the ladies in attendance did their sexy Charlie’s Angels poses, Vince and I got ridiculous. He put on an American flag top hat and vest that he said made him look like Apollo Creed from Rocky 4. We look like a couple of pimps on holiday. We also took our patented “Hard Day’s Night” jumping photo.
For mom.
We wandered into the famous grotto and it was like a hot springs in there; steam filled the rock enclosed jacuzzi. No one was naked, but there was a couple already in there ahead of us. The woman dipped her toe in, and Vince and I left the lovebirds alone. I’d like to think something happened in there, but I’ll never know. It’s like Schrödinger’s Grotto; filled with infinite sexy possibilities.
Although we were explicitly told that there would be no smoking of marijuana at the mansion under pain of expulsion, we saw more than a few people light up. One older gent in a wheelchair scooted around with an open jar of weed so large there were migrant workers harvesting inside of it! He seemed to be one important cat, because people were asking him for photos and autographs, but I’d like to think they were just hoping he would share. We met a few more awesome people, including pro wrestler Rob Van Dam and comedian Doug Benson, who seemed like he wanted more from us than just saying hello, like we’d broken the ice and he wanted to genuinely hang. There was even a mysterious woman in red, captivating my attention like some femme fatale in a noir picture. Vincent tried to convince me that I imagined her, but she was real… I think.
Before long our night came to a close. There were lollypops in the bathroom with little happy faces on them. The party ended at midnight, and the shuttle took us all back to our pumpkins. It barely seems real to me now. Each part of the night had its own surreal qualities, and I really felt like we had gone into some other world, one where people routinely pay a thousand dollars a head to be served gourmet sliders and hear Fishbone and see ladies dance with fire on swimming pools. I’m still wondering; did it really happen?
Perhaps I should go to another party at the mansion just to make sure.
Very Special Thanks goes to LA Weekly for hooking it up, Marijuana Policy Project and Green Life Medical Systems for hosting the shindig, and Hugh Hefner, for being down like that.
Floating Bed Beauties photo can be found at http://www.mpp.org/events/annual-party/liberty-belle-ball-photos.html.
