New Years In Los Angeles: Glorious.

Our evening started off with modest goals: we were going to consume a tasty, if not garlicky, dinner at local Caribbean tapas joint Cha Cha Cha and then head next door to the swanky new bar, Seven. It seemed like a simple enough plan, and the prospect of multiple sangria pitchers floating around the table was enough to have us all salivating in an alky sort of way, but alas, it was not meant to be. Turns out Cha Cha Cha was quite the caliente destination for New Years feasting, so much so that we'd have to wait an hour and a half for a table. Well, a culinary jaunt to the Caribbean was tempting (and let's not forget that sangria), but we could not afford to sit down for dinner at 9:45 PM (we had bar reservations at 10:15 PM). Sadly, our logistics began to unravel as we realized the simple one-two punch of Cha Cha Cha and Seven was not going to happen.

Feeling adventurous, our party of five (no relation to the show, and certainly not as moody) trekked down the street in search of other meal options, but we feared we might be out of luck. After all, most restaurants force rigid seatings on New Years Eve, and our lack of reservations anywhere could have meant we'd be pre-gaming at McDonald's — not that I'd be opposed to that. I'm sure Mayor McCheese puts out quite the New Years spread.

Luckily, we stumbled upon The Boulevard, a nifty little lounge/restaurant that's been featured briefly on that most hallowed of L.A. travelogues: The Hills. Well, if it was good enough for Lauren and Lo, it was good enough for our gang. We piled into the restaurant and were promptly seated.

The Boulevard: Nicely trendy with nary a douche in sight!

In attendance: me with the ever sunkissed S-Lo.

IndianJones and his girlfriend, Lady of IndianJones (The LOIJ). They have real "careers"; so they have to be anonymous.

And blogger J-Unit.

We were all highly impressed with the place. It looked great, the music was good, the noise levels were at appropriate and comfortable levels, and our service was diligent and helpful. My dirty martini was perfect and potent, as were everyone else's cocktails, and almost instantly, we were happy that we didn't have to deal with the loud chaos of Cha Cha Cha. We patted ourselves on the back, chirping away proudly about how this was actually the better choice for the evening. However, as enthusiastic as we were about our successful restaurant sleuthing, The Boulevard still had one major hurdle to get across: the food.

Since it was New Years Eve, we were presented with an abridged menu. Basically, the only entrees were a salmon dish and, uh, hotdogs and hamburgers. $9 Hot Dogs, no less. These options didn't seem to really match the decor, but we were hungry, and so we threw caution to the wind and partook of this upscale cookout of sorts. J-Unit, IndianJones, and I all ordered burgers (each burger, it should be noted, could be topped with one of three combos of hoity ingredients) while the girls stayed dainty with some appetizers (roast shrimp, tuna tartare, etc).

Well, little did we realize that we weren't just ordering burgers. We were ordering "burger twins" — a.k.a. two burgers. They were larger than sliders, smaller than restaurant burgers. A neat, but semi-pointless twist.

Needless to say, it didn't take very long before the boobie jokes were coming fast and furious.

It's sort of like the fast food answer to the Venus de Milo.

After enjoying some cheap snickers at what we called "boobie burgers," we finally began to eat, and surprise surprise, the mammaries of meat were delicious. I couldn't believe how good they were. Just to make sure it wasn't the effect of the martini playing with my taste buds, I took an informal poll of the burger eaters and discovered that they too loved their dishes. As for the girls, they liked the shrimp and were ecstatic over the tartare, with Lady of IndianJones on the verge of a full-on foodgasm. Needless to say, we were all extremely happy with our time at The Boulevard, and it was made all the better when we discovered they had two different happy hours available for our enjoyment. But while this was all well and good, we had more important things to get to: namely, drinking.

When we were done with dinner, we walked over to Seven (rolling our eyes at Cha Cha Cha on the way) and stood in line for entrance. I spotted a charming little New Years banner that may or may not have been purchased from the 7-Eleven across the street, and I decided to take a picture of it as it would make a perfect headlining image for this post (see, I think ahead about these things). However, for some reason — probably by virtue of me taking out my camera — IndianJones thought that I surely wanted a photo of him, and so he leapt into the frame, thus sullying my once-perfect view of the banner:

WTF, IndianJones?

Luckily, he did eventually move out of the way, and I was able to get the picture I had wanted (see the top of this post). We then headed inside to our booth, and that's when the fun times, as they say, BEGAN.

Bottle service, natch.

It was a very sophisticated affair...

...as evidenced by these enormous party hats / dunce caps.

S-Lo could not have been happier to have been wearing a tiara. (Not that you can see that.)

The place eventually filled up; although, it was slow to do so, considering it was supposed to be a hot bar.

Let the awkward, uncoordinated seat-dancing begin!

It's gonna get worse before it gets better.

Soon IndianJones gets the dance party started for reals, yo. Kal Penn would be so impressed.

This is actually how they do the Macarena in India.

I don't remember what song was playing, but I'll just assume it was "My Humps."

Turns out I don't actually have any photos from midnight, but this pretty much sums up how we looked.

...aaand this pretty much sums up how we looked about an hour later.

This may or may not have been a tranny.

We didn't know exactly what IT was, but we decided that maybe it was time for us to seek out more attractive crowds.

Enter The Standard Hotel.

IndianJones and his Lady split off and went home while S-Lo, J-Unit, our friend (pseudonym forthcoming), and I headed over to The Standard. The crowd wasn't necessarily that much prettier, but it was larger. And that's all we could really ask for (besides a celebrity sighting... of which there continued to be NONE)

Celebrity or no, I was determined to have a good time, as evidenced by this "I'm determined to have a good time" fist pump.

While I was trying to take a picture of my friend from afar, these two stepped in front of my camera and decided to ring in the New Year by SCARING ME TO DEATH.

Alas, all good things must come to an end, and curiously, The Standard proved to be quite artsy looking in its closing time glow.

Well, that's pretty much it. Not a whole lot in terms of stories, but that's okay. We found a fun new restaurant. I also have some great, awful photos of a friend, but I figure I should get his approval before I splash them all over the Internets. One word: COUGAR. Cross your fingers for a follow-up!