The Druckin W in Westwood

I remember a joke I heard when I lived in Ireland, where a “Kerry man” joke is the equivalent of a “Polack” joke in the U.S. (I am from Chicago and therefore Polish, so I say Polack fearlessly. Plus, I boost their GNP with my unwavering commitment to their vodka. Na zdrowie!)

ANYWAY. The joke was, why did the Kerry man go halfway to Dublin and turn back? Because he saw a sign that said, ‘Dublin Left.’

This is precisely how I feel about my visit to the W in Westwood last night with awesome new pal, la belle Christelle. We sat in the deserted bar, just the two of us and a sweet, buxom bartendress. I think a tumbleweed blew by. We were ALONE. And it never occurred to us to step out to the pool, why would it? It was 60° out, so it sure wasn’t gonna look like this:

Swimmin' pools, movie stars.

No. Not like this. Like a freaking hybrid ice-skating rink HOW COOL IS THAT?! Complete with specialty cocktails, like Spiced Pumpkin Lattés, and Adult Hot Chocolate! (Which was totally my name in prison.) But did we check it out? Noooooo. Because we never saw a sign. So we never turned left.

If you go (and WHY THE HELL WOULDN’T YOU?!) would you pretty please tell me all about it? I’ll be here, hanging out with the tumblin’ tumbleweeds.
Love and kisses,
Adult Hot Chocolate

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