Alleged "Nico's Wines Comedians" Invite a Magician to Club Tee Gee

Gambling-Addicted Bisexual Woman and Gambling-Addicted Beloved Man Have A Birthday Party Wherein A Magician Accuses Birthday Girl of "Fun Energy"

A few days before the party, Christine can’t figure out how to invite people to her joint birthday party with Sam on Partiful. I wonder: what about Sam? He’s just going to text people, Christine tells me– weaponized incompetence, we muse. “It’s funny that a lesbian and straight man with that jaw line can’t figure out how to use Partiful,” a friend tells me over the phone, who wishes to remain anonymous. (Partiful is a straight woman’s medium.)

For journalistic integrity, I will disclose that Christine, the birthday girl at Club Tee Gee, is my dear friend. When Christine competed in the World Series of Poker last year on a fluke, you could not enter a room in Los Angeles where her name was not being discussed. Her rollicking poker habit has won her the respect of every person I’ve ever met, plus she’s funny and a good hang, so endearing, so strange, so wise.

I don’t know a single person who doesn’t love Christine, or even feels indifferent towards her— the same can be said for Sam. Anyone who has spent time in the L.A. comedy scene knows how unlikely that is— a social scene fueled by invisible feuds and grudges playing out across black box theaters, group chats, and dive bars. Everyone is a villain to someone. This is not true for Sam and Christine, though, who do not piss people off, who have nothing to prove, who say their piece and go home— imagine!

The night before their birthday party, Alexa—another close friend and celebrated comedy genius in my book—drove me home from a film screening. In her huge new car, we were rhapsodizing how much we like Sam and think he’s genuine and funny—how many men can you say that about in this town? So few, really. I tell Sam about this, how two (famously hard-to-please) women were saying nice things about him behind his back. He’s elated. On several occasions, I’ve insisted Sam get dinner with me and my friends, and he’s always a good sport and even better dinner guest—we once closed out Little Dom’s theorizing about aliens and the pyramids three negronis deep, a subject Sam happens to be well-versed in but not in an off-putting Joe Rogan way. (On Sam, a friend says, “Sam is the only person I know who reads the actual news.”)

The bar birthday took place on the patio of Club Tee Gee on a crisp April Sunday afternoon—the kind of pleasant weather that stirs anticipation for the summer ahead. Christine had promised an appearance by a magician, an idea Sam cosigned as funny. The attendees were mainly from the eastside comedy scene, people who remember a time when Nico’s Wines was called Oeno Vino, who threaten to move to New York daily—people who had known Sam and Christine for the better portion of ten years and eagerly gathered to celebrate them, some even bearing flowers (for Christine).

Late in the afternoon, a magician named Riley performed for half an hour, delighting the comedians. (Christine found him online.) He made playing cards disappear and reappear, with appropriate self-deprecating, albeit charming remarks about his props: “This has been in my car forever.” At one point, he pried a card from my brain with a syringe, which naturally thrilled me. When I asked Riley for a comment about the party over Instagram DM, he stated: “Celebrating Christine's birthday with magic was a pleasure. Her fun energy is contagious! I did not know what to expect when I showed up, but everybody there was truly respectful and kind.”

“By the time I got there, the magician and cake were gone,” Sylvie tells me, disappointed. Marissa, with whom she was chatting, remarks that Christine is wearing a clear statement belt, which impresses her. “I didn’t talk to anyone but the people I knew,” says Marissa about the party. No foul here. That’s perfectly appropriate party conduct if you ask me.

A few hours into the party, I asked Sam what his roses and thorns of the last year were, and he replied, “Pass.” It was painful to feel the sting of refusal, but I’m realizing the only people who enthusiastically engage with that question are women and gay men.

Is there any party gossip? Not really. As with all parties, I suspect some people privately resent each other, but I’m not motivated to investigate this in any meaningful way. Besides, everyone here is my friend, sort of. Rachel’s rescue dog, Sadie, is making enemies, lunging at some bar patrons. Someone at the party hurt my feelings, which I won’t get into here— this Substack is free. My friend’s boyfriend, Danny, is wearing a weird shirt endorsing the Navy, despite having no connection to it, because he’s coming from somewhere and didn’t have time to change. {Redacated} commented that they wished there were more gay gays there. Where are they all? New York or watching White Lotus, I bet.

Sharilyn, the birthday girl’s partner, thinks the pride flag is ugly. “And you can quote me on that,” she adds. Sharilyn gave tarot card readings at the party, which were a hit before being usurped by the magic show.

Then, things took a turn for the worse. At the bar, Alexa ordered a beer, served in a glass with a crack, and requested another glass despite her Midwestern disposition that averts from confrontation. When she returned to the patio, Jon informed her that her beer looked flat. What else is new with her? Well, earlier that morning, Alexa hiked Vasquez Rock. (“Like from the movie Cars,” she repeats several times, despite failing to create a groundswell of interest about Vasquez Rock.)

“I got here tired,” Jon says. He’s been at a garage sale all day (okay?) In fact, he went to the same garage sale twice, which he’s raving about on the Club Tee Gee patio. He’s wearing a graphic t-shirt from the alleged garage sale that reads “Dadasauraus,” which I compliment. Hours later, Alex again compliments Jon as a man she sees twice a year, only at parties, but always remembers her name, and makes a point to be friendly. (Some friendly feedback I’ve gotten about this Substack is that it’s too praising of Jon.)

An hour after the party ended, a beloved podcast host was spotted walking into Club Tee Gee by a source close to the birthday girl. The party was over; he hadn’t realized. I texted him to let him know, and we vowed to hang out soon. What a bittersweet relief—I thought—to walk into a comedian’s birthday party and realize it was already over.