Well, it’s Grammy weekend here in sunny (okay, in hazy) Los Angeles and I have decided that I’m just getting old *sigh* For the past couple of days, we’ve been living the high life. Well, not the really high life, but you know, an LA sort of high life.

Thursday we get to attend the Blacked Eyed Peas’ PeaPod even at the Avalon. Their last fundraiser at the Avalon was awesome. I was so starstruck be everyone we got to see. I was *this* close to Scarlett Johanson and Molly Simms. I saw Paris and Nicki and some Backstreet Boys. I saw Naveen Andrews from Lost. It was a non-stop party. This year, not so much. The only celebs we saw were the performers backstage (Herbie Hancock, the BEPs, Slash, Macy Gray, and probably more still that I just didn’t recognize). Outside of the BEP’s performances and the free alcohol (I had one drink) it really wasn’t all that exciting and it was damn long night.

Friday we had a music website launch party to go to. For me, someone new to this whole industry sort of thing I was pretty darn excited. More excited still because it was going to be held at the Viper Room. I mean, come on, the legendary Viper Room, just imagine how kickass this thing was going to be. Only it wasn’t.

Sadly, it was, well, the Viper Room. It was dark. It was crowded. The music was loud. So yeah, it felt just like the Viper Room on every other time I’d been there. Let’s remember, this was a launch party. I was looking for celebrities. Hell, I was looking for food. Neither were to be had. Granted, it was an open bar, but eh, I’m just too old to care about unlimited alcohol, especially when I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. What a let down.

Saturday we celebrated a good friend’s birthday at her favorite restaurant, Lawry’s in Beverly Hills. Prime rib, hell, legendary prime rib – yum! Eh, it was okay. It was a bit too cool for my tastes and it was smothered in au jus, mashed potatoes and creamed corn. I’ve had better experiences in less crowded restaurants where I wasn’t rushed to eat my (pricey) meal. But the important part, the company was great!

After our rushed dinner we headed back to our friend’s house and sat out on the (heated) deck to enjoy a couple of drinks (I mentioned this is Los Angeles, right?) while we decide where to head out next. As phase two of the Grammy weekend experience, we head out over to the Bel Age hotel bar (where we ended last night after dinner as well) to be regaled with stories from the White House and international trips by the birthday girl and her co-worker.

From there she gets called to attend the Roots’ private party at the Key Club. By now it’s midnight or so and I’m exhausted. The poor pupster hasn’t yet eaten dinner and it’s been 8 or 9 hours since he was last let out. But our names were put on the list, so we head on over. We go through the “celebrity entrance,” pick up our snazzy, VIP wrist bands and head on up to the lounge. Man, it is insanely crowded and every where you stand you’re in someone’s way. This is SO not my scene. So again I’m thinking, private, crowded, It-people filled party, with free alcohol. And again I’m thinking, free alcohol does not always a good time make. Once more this weekend, I’m thinking “damn, I’m too old to care about shit like this any more.”

We leave shortly after, dragging the birthday girl with us. I felt bad to cut her night out short, but again, I was just thinking about the poor little pupster, and the fact that I wasn’t having fun. On the home she asks us if we want to go to the William Morris, post-Grammy party tonight. She tells us it will be a fun time. And while I’m tempted (I love to at least see the celebs) to at least stop by tonight, I really have no desire to get all dolled up and head out for yet another late night just for some free drinks. Do you see a pattern here?

The only thing I’m dying to get out of this Grammy weekend is to see the Police perform tonight and to get those Police tour dates tomorrow! Otherwise, I’m really just feeling too old to even care about all this crap. So yeah, feel free to call me Ms. Little Old Fuddy Duddy.