Yes, I’m Immature and No, I’m So Not Cool


Sorry, had to do it. I had to be immature there for a second, mostly because I am immature, and I was watching The Decline of Western Civilization a few weeks ago and it spurred me on a little. Even though apologizing for being immature is actually super mature. And now that I’ve gotten that out of my system…

This morning our friend Todd told Mauro Guns N’ Roses are playing at The Troubadour tonight. He went for tickets at the old Tower Records on Sunset, which is now a Gibson store and was some kind of clothing store after it was Tower Records, a clothing store I never went in because for me it would be like going to Memphis Minnie’s on Haight Street in San Francisco, the restaurant that took the place of Spaghetti Western. Just, NO. I can’t go to places that exist as blatant proof that my adolescence is long gone. (If you’re under 20 years old and you’re reading this, you might be like, “what’s Tower Records?” And I’d be like, fuck off.)  Watch, next they’ll knock down The Boathouse on the pier where I used to work. Oh wait, they already did. It’s a fucking Bubba Gump Shrimp restaurant. If they get rid of The Apple Pan, I’ll have a nervous breakdown.

So I had to go pick up my best friend’s daughter Gia and take her to school, and yes, bitch, I got in the car and blared a little G N’ R. I blared it all the way from my house, to Gia’s, to Starbuck’s, to Gia’s school and back to home. In my convertible. I kind of have proof, if you can call it that:


Gia is 16. And suddenly I was 16. And we had the exact conversation I would have had if I really was 16. I was like, “Hey Gia, Guns N’ Roses are playing tonight at The Troubadour.” And she was like, “oh my god, really? I’m gonna text my mom and see if she can get tickets.” And I’m all, “DO IT!!” Because I’m not 16, I’m 49, and Jalee and I just could have gone.

“Sweet Child O’ Mine” was playing. No, BLARING. For a second there, I had hope. But it’s sold out, and I’m not cool enough anymore to know anyone to get me into The Troubadour and I guess my husband isn’t either because he didn’t say a word. He didn’t even tell me when AC/DC was at Dragonfly. He went to work and then said he was working with AC/DC which he had probably known for two weeks. I’m so uncool, not even my own husband gets me in for cool shit. FINE. And ya’ll have fun tonight at The Troubadour, except you, Todd, because Mauro said you didn’t get tickets either. We suck.

Written by Anne Clendening
Anne Clendening was born and raised in L.A. She's a yoga teacher, a writer and occasionally slings cocktails in a Hollywood bar. She could eat chocolate cake for every meal of the day. She has a huge fear of heights and flying. And fire. She wishes she could speak French, play her guitar better and make cannoli. She's probably listening to The Dark Side Of The Moon right now, kickin’ it with her boxer dog and her hot Australian husband ★