After we tucked Ms. Dottie Dog into her dog bed last night, we moseyed on from one dog house to another: Snoop Dogg at the Haus of Strauss. The event got started at 9PM and we rolled up a hair before, fully expecting there to be no one there. We texted our friend Ali to tell her we were running absurdly early to which she responded, “It’s on!” We showed up, expecting it to be dead as it was so early but, alas: Snoop himself had been there for an hour and a half already, playing tunes in the space with just his entourage, getting the party started before it formally began. It was out of control.

We slinked around the wall, trying to blend into the background, as it was literally just us and Snoop Dogg (and company) for a good twenty minutes. We were not star struck or shocked or intimidated: it was just insanity to be within ten feet of this rap and cultural icon, who was just playing old Michael Jackson, new rap records, and some of his own stuff. Our face was melting in unbelieveableness.

The event was to benefit his Snoop Youth Football League which was an easy theme for the event as he turned the space–the space next to the Water < Less installation–into his living room. The Lakers game was projected on the walls, there were footballs and jerseys scattered about, pretty girls were dancing for his attention, Snoop Youth jersied bartenders were serving up drinks, and his little VIP table sat next to his DJ booth with the funniest of items (which included an iced bottle of Moet Chandon, two bags of Fritos, two bags of Lays, some small Fiji Water bottles, a bottle of Hennessy, a few cans of Sunkist soda, some Starbusrts in a bowl, and a few small bottles of Gatorade).

After what seemed like seventeen hours of staring at Mr. Dogg and wondering how were a part of this situation, I looked at my watch to see that it was only 9:30PM. Around this point, the place really started to fill out with lots of cool looking people but no one we knew or anyone we were dying over–except Sky Ferreira. She walked in, as tiny as can be with a taller, curly haired man, and I think I literally let out a squeal and then clawed Bobby’s arm to whisper-yell into his ear, “OH MY FUCKING GOD THAT IS SKY FERREIRA.” Now, of course, I’ve encountered this party critter before at OH WOW but never within this small of space and with this few of people. She walked in, went to the bar outside, didn’t have a drink, and talked with her tall man friend. She was breathtakingly gorgeous, super tiny and quiet, unobtrusive in every way aside from her bleached hair, and was so very cute in her torn jean jacket, black mini-skirt, and boots. She eventually made her way over to do her “networking” formalities, waving hello to Snoop, watching (seemingly appalled) as drinks passed before her, and she came out looking like a chaste teenage princess.

At this point, I had clamily grabbed out two business cards, took off my overshirt to reveal the stripped tank top I was wearing, and handed Bobby my drink, as I had had enough courage to go over to her. Unfortunately, we were right by a speaker. When I put my hand on her *tiny* shoulder, handing her the cards, saying, “I love your work. We’d love to feature you on the site.” she stared blankly at me with a kind, confused smile as she probably heard “BAAAA BAAAA BAAA SHUEEEERK BEEERR BERRRRR BRRRRR STITE.” I started to restate what I said but realized my time had passed, the door had closed, and that trying to yell into her ear again would only make her not like me. I walked back to Bobby, relaying the account, and came to the sad realization that those business cards would live in the bottom of her pocket, the floor of the Haus, or top of a trashcan forever. Nevertheless, she quickly left after our run in so, on a positive note, my timing was perfect.

The party had now approached crazy state, with people everywhere and dancing and drinking to be had by everyone. Snoop’s entourage had started to reveal themselves quite amazingly, which included a man dressed in full pimp attire, a big guy with a necklace that said JACCPOT on it, Big Percy (who I had encountered while working at a production company and is very intimidating), and Uncle Junebug, who was the dance machine and getting all of the women. He, of course, is the super star seen above and the belle of the ball.

The night went on, seeing us greeted by our friends from dinner who we saw all Oscar Week at Vanity Fair parties, Jean from NotCot, a handful of friends from Levi’s, and–of course–Ms. Paris Hilton. The Hilt was very pretty and in a nice little black fur vest and snuck into the backyard with a tall man and a girl with a camera who just took photos of her (and was texting a person named “P” at the bar before Hilton arrived). She talked normally and seemed very smart but did have a distinct cough from cigarette smoking which was famously (and accurately!) lampooned on South Park. What was most remarkable about her was that we left the backyard to head back inside before leaving and noticed she had exited the back of the house, where she entered, to re-enter at the front of the house, making it known she had arrived, mostly so that Snoop knew she was there, as she then darted for the DJ booth, said hello, and stayed there for the night. What a calculated lady, that one.

As we wrapped things up and said our goodbyes, the scene became infiltrated with Ed Banger Record people, all lead by Pedro Winter, AKA Busy P. He makes an appearance descending the stairs in one of the photos. We exited the space and caught Ali on our way out, recounting all the madness and directing photographers to grab photos of Busy P and other related Ed Banger celebrities. It was an out-of-body experience that we were glowing about as a result of just so much going on: it was one of the best, weirdest, most fun parties we have ever been to in this city because it was so unexpected and so well done and so relaxed. It was an even playing field for everyone–and no one gave a shit about who you were. We weren’t even going to post about it but it was just too good to not share. Well done, Levi’s. Well done, Snoop. And, well done, Chick-Fil-A for staying open late because it was perfect for dinner at midnight.