Every time I decide I'm going to recommit to this blog, I get something new thrown in my lap...dear readers, it has been a busy and frustrating summer for Yours Truly. I threw my sister's bridal shower, traveled back and forth to New York and Las Vegas several times (Dad moved there in March), and got slammed at work. It got to a point where my suitcases just sat on my bedroom floor; storing them at the top of my closet would have been a waste of time, considering how often I was out of town. Well, here I am back in LA, back to normal until my sister's wedding in October. I got my maid of honor dress this weekend:
Pretty, no? Chocolate brown should look lovely with my red hair. Little Sis's color scheme is brown and amber; an October wedding is a beautiful choice in upstate New York. The leaves will be turning and the pictures will no doubt be gorgeous. My friend Sarah is getting married not far from my sister almost two weeks later. Between the air fares, wardrobe, hotels and wedding gifts, I am going to be one very tired and very broke woman by the end of next month.
I have missed my blog, and I owe you all a story, so here's one.
I have a friend I'll call Elle, who is a very talented actress and sometime film producer. Earlier this summer, I was looking for something to do on a Friday night. Elle invited me out to a party that was being thrown at the home of a producer that she had worked with early on in her career.
"I know you hate this industry schmoozing stuff," she said, "but there'll be a free open bar and I really should go. I could make a few good connections there. It's something to do, anyway."
I was happy to tag along, although I do indeed hate "industry schmoozing stuff." It is next to impossible to have a normal conversation at one of these parties; everyone has a project to hawk, and the first question that anybody asks you is, "Are you an actor/director/writer/producer?" If you are not one of those things, and the person with whom you are speaking figures out that you can do nothing to further his/her career or latest project, they stop pretending to have any interest in the conversation. Readers, I have had people walk away from me in midsentence
at some of these shindigs. I mean that literally - they spot somebody that they worked with, or someone they've been waiting to meet, and off they go. Of course, not everybody acts that way, and when they do, it's not personal. They're all vying for their next paychecks, or trying to break into the business; entertainment isn't a 9 to 5 industry. I have the luxury of knowing that I'm getting paid every Friday, so instead of getting angry, I just get another free cocktail and flirt with the bartender, who is always an attractive, in-between-jobs actor.
My friend Elle is a very hardworking woman who dances (hip-hop, not exotic), and tutors kids to pay bills in between acting gigs. She has a new production company, and produced and starred in a film that's winning awards on the festival circuit. We met through a mutual friend, and I adore her. She's a genuinely talented, interesting chick without a narcissistic bone in her body - that's a rare thing in LA. I'd hang out with her in a laundromat, so I put on my happy face and headed to the party.
The house was a duplex in Hollywood; its architecture reminded me of Lynn Bracken's house in LA Confidential.
The front lawn was lined with tiki torches. Bar service (and the requisite cute actor/bartenders) had been set up in both the front and back. People milled about near the backyard pool. The front yard was packed with the usual suspects, chatting about their latest screenplay or acting gig. Elle introduced me to a couple of friendly people that she had worked with in the past. Not wanting to be a third wheel in every conversation, I would make intermittent trips to the bar.
I was waiting for a vodka cranberry when a pretty woman, about 30, worked her way to the corner of the bar. "Three beers, please." It was Rosario Dawson, getting drinks for her nonfamous companions. That's a down girl.
Elle had finished her latest conversation, and joined me to get a drink. She spotted Rosario. "You look familiar," she said. "Are you a poet?"
Rosario laughed. "Umm...not professionally. I do sometimes write, though."
"I could swear I've seen you at a poetry reading," said Elle. "You look so familiar to me."
"Nope," Rosario smiled back. "No poetry readings. Not lately." We got our drinks and she took off, beers in hand.
"That was Rosario Dawson," I said. "I didn't want to say anything while she was standing right there."
Elle looked at me blankly."Sin City?"
I offered. "Rent?"
It sank in. "Oh, god,
now I feel like an idiot."
"I don't think she cares. She seems cool," I said, sipping my drink. "Take me through the house; I want to check it out."
We walked through the house, hung out and chatted by the pool a bit, then walked back around to the front. Elle spotted somebody, and the next thing I knew, I was being introduced to a quite famous twentysomething former sitcom actor. I won't give his real name, because this story is about to get a tad embarrassing, and Elle has worked with this guy. I'll call him Ned; he's a fairly successful film actor now, having co-starred in one of last summer's biggest blockbusters. He seemed to have worked up a nice buzz, and had a pretty, petite Eurasian girl as his date.
We shook hands. "What's up."
"Hey. Nice to meet you," I said.
"I worked with Ned back in the day. One of my first gigs," Elle explained.
Ned nodded. "Back in the day." He gave me a closer look. "Have we met?"
"Nope." I had actually seen Ted at a different house party years ago, when I first moved to LA; but we didn't talk at all, or even make eye contact. I basically spotted him walking through the crowded living room. He was one of my first celebrity sightings. No way would he have remembered me from that party.
"I'm sure I know you," he said. "You look so familiar."
"We haven't met," I smiled. Eurasian Chick was starting to stare me down.
A light went on in Ned's eyes. "Did you and I, uh...?"
Oh, my god. Was he asking me whether we'd banged at some point? In front of his date?
He was. Elle laughed uncomfortably.
"Um, no," I said, laughing it off. "I think I'd remember that. I'm sure you
would remember it."
If Eurasian Chick could have shot lazer beams from her eyes, I would have been vaporized instantly.
Note to the ladies - if the guy that you're on a date with is asking random partygoers whether or not he's had drunken anonymous sexytime with them, he is probably not serious about you.
"Aw, c'mon," Ned countered. "Did we have a 'thing'?"
I turned to Elle. "I must not be as good in bed as I thought - he's forgotten." She laughed. "No," I said with mock seriousness, "we did not have a 'thing'."
"No?" Ned looked unconvinced. His date looked like she was going to spontaneously combust.
"No." Elle and I laughed it off and worked our way back into the crowd. She was ready to leave, and the local cops had been to the house more than once that night; the party was probably going to have to be shut down anyway.
"Want to say goodbye to Rosario?" I teased. We actually did wind up talking to her for a while, and she is incredibly cool. Ned stopped to say hello to her as we were all chatting.
I wonder if they had a "thing"?