To Those Three Guys I Met At The Well In Hollywood On Saturday Night, Should They Be Reading This.

Hi.

What the hell?

Seriously. Who the hell ditches a woman in the middle of Hollywood at 1:30 in the morning? Who the hell ditches anyone in the middle of Hollywood at 1:30 in the morning?

Oh, that's right -- the three of you.

You know, it's a really good thing for you that I have a healthy sense of the absurd, and that there are a lot of people walking to their cars on Hollywood's side streets at 1:30 on a Sunday morning, because otherwise? There could have been A Scene.

Allow me to refresh your memory. One of you met me at the bar at the Well as I was closing out my tab, and proceeded to initiate flirting. My friends were leaving, but I decided to stick around for a little while longer and hang out with the three of you. Why not? You certainly seemed like fine, upstanding young men, at least by Hollywood standards, and I do enjoy chatting with new people. When you all decided that the bathroom line was too long and wanted to go to the Bowery, just across the street, I took up your invitation to come along.

Apparently, the Bowery wasn't happening enough. One of you suggested that we go next door to Magnolia. You milled around the foyer, trying to decide whether to stay or go.

"You guys figure it out," I said, touching the arm of the guy who'd been trying to feel me up for the past hour. "I'm going to find the ladies' room." Which I did.

Evidently, you used that time to figure out that you didn't want to be anywhere near Magnolia.

Oh, I did all the logical stuff. I walked through the restaurant. I asked the guys at the bar in the foyer if you'd said anything about where you might be going.

"Those three guys that were here -- they didn't happen to say where they were going, did they?"

"Sorry."

"Yeah. I think I've been ditched."

"Seriously? Dude, that sucks."

"Ya think?"

I checked the Bowery. I even struck up a conversation with a busboy on the Magnolia patio, just in case you were all in the bathroom at the same time and were going to emerge.

"You didn't happen to see three guys taking off, did you?"

"Sorry."

"They totally ditched me."

"They what?"

"Took off."

"I'm sorry, sweetie."

I was so pissed at this point that I didn't even object to some strange guy calling me "sweetie".

Since you guys obviously had left the block, and not having any other ideas, I went back to the Well and had a look around.

Nada.

"What the fuck kind of putz ditches a woman in Hollywood at 1:30 in the morning?" I asked the bouncers on my way out. "'Cause I met three of them here."

"Oh, that's not right," one of the bouncers said, in a sentence that would go on to win the "understatement of the evening" prize if there were such a thing.

"Well, if you happen to come across three nebbishy guys from New York looking for a woman named Rose, tell them I left." The bouncers agreed to do so, but we all knew you weren't going to show your faces again.

I made the circuit one more time: I checked Magnolia, stuck my head into the Bowery, scanned the streets and walked through the Well once more.

And then I went back to my car and went home.

So, guys: I'm curious. What the hell? It doesn't matter, exactly, since there's no way that you can ever justify abandoning anyone -- much less in Hollywood -- much less a woman -- but I'm wondering what was, or wasn't, going through your heads. At least two of you were sober enough to know what you were doing.

Seriously. What the effing hell?

If you'd like to come beg my forgiveness and perhaps explain, the one who was trying to get me to make out with him at the bar was told where I hold court on Monday nights. He also knows -- or at least was told -- what web site he can reach me through; hence this post.

This is, of course, assuming that you're big enough to show up and take responsibility for being total jackasses.

And that you're reading this.