Because of the years I spent abusing my liver at The Palms in Vegas, I tend to shy away from events where the old me has no other choice but to resurface.
Last night seemed to erase all the years I've spent trying to rebuild and rediscover who I really am with just one little sentence, "Hey do you guys want to go to the Bar210 opening at the Beverly Hilton?"
Does a hooker lower her prices around 5am? Uh duh.
So after fighting a mass crowd of beautiful people, (well mostly women wearing cheap fabrics in the form of tight dresses that screamed "star fucker" as they walked by), we were finally inside.
My first pass through the club left me less than impressed. I admit it, I'm jaded. I lived in Vegas for Christsakes so flame throwing women (who were smoking cigarettes at the same time?) are not over the top for me.
So I'm on my way back to our table and I see someone I know. My chubby short Asian friend named Jin. I call out to him as he's walking by and he doesn't turn around. Well, it's loud in there, it's a club you know, so I screamed again "JIN!" Still nothing. Weird. So I finally catch up to him and say, "Hey!" with a huge smile on my face. He looks me up and down and says (curtly) "What." And then I realize that I have the wrong person and I just simply say, "Oh, I'm sorry I thought you were someone else." In which this man responds with a huge eyeroll, then dramatically grabs the hand of the girl he is walking around with and huffs away. "Good lord people in LA are testy" I think and I go back to my table. And during this walk back it starts to dawn on me in an increasingly uncomfortable way, like the feeling that you may have left the iron on when you left the house this morning...that wasn't Jin, that was Lloyd from Entourage. Of course it was. And now I look like the starfucker except for him I am the wrong sex and I am definitely NOT wearing cheap fabrics.
Oh this embarassment only gets better.
While trying popcorn that was infused with truffle salt and liquid nitrogen, (you literally look like you are shooting smoke out of your mouth when you are eating it) we bump into Marcel Vigneron, you know Top Chef saka-douche who now has transplanted himself into the Los Angeles Dining Scene. He and my husband worked together a few years ago so they began talking which led us into the kitchen where we were given samples of the food that he had prepared for this huge event. Honestly, it looked fantastic. The popcorn thing was really cool and he is a talented chef. He hands us a cone with some lumpy stuff inside and says it's "blah blah blah with avocados". I am no longer thinking clearly, (if I ever really do is actually debatable) so I smile, say thank you and take a bite. Again, it dawns on me that he has just said the word "avocado" and I immediately spit out the bite onto my hand. This reaction causes a still eerily calm moment in the kitchen where Marcel looks at me with his huge blue eyes and says nothing. I realize what has just happened and I begin to tell him the truth, that I am allergic to avocados and that's why I spit it out, but he turns around and gets us something else to taste instead. Apparently, the saka-douche is actually me.
During the next two hours, I get drunk, I see Corey Feldman with a crazier hairstyle than I thought possible and holding hands with a (gasp) girl wearing a cheap, short, tight, dress. I smoke what seems like thousands of cigarettes, talk to people about god knows what when a girl in a red dress with ruffles approaches me.
Her: "I saw you in the kitchen talking to Marcel"
Me: "Yeah, the food was really great"
Her: (verbatim) "Marcel is my man"
Me: (too drunk to realize what is happening) "Oh that's great good for you"
Her: "How do you know him?"
Me: (thinking, why does she seem so pissed off all the sudden?) "My husband used to work with him."
I don't have any idea what she said after that because I turned around and right at that moment and spotted Eric Cubachee (why is everyone in Hollywood so short?) of Launch My Line. I happen to be a fan of Galina Sobolev, (we sell her stuff all the time on the website I work for) so I left the "I gotta man" conversation and made a bee line for the designer.
This time, I didn't make an ass of myself, I pulled it together and had a normal, professional conversation. Afterwards I promptly grabbed my husband and high tailed it outta there before I lost the contents of my stomach in the middle of the party.
I guess you can take the girl out of Vegas but you can't take the Vegas lifestyle out of the girl. Needless to say, I am no longer interested in feeling less than adequate in a room full of people who have something to prove. I'll stick to hanging around on the beach during the day instead. Well, until Lloyd shows up.
No comments:
Post a Comment