They walked in and I immediately felt inadequate.
My hair (flat, needs a cut), my shirt (sexy in a calculated way, not nearly “too cool to care what I look like” enough), my shoes (last season, a bit scuffed at the toe), my body (size 6, as opposed to size OO)…it all seemed out of place amongst a backdrop of people so effortlessly beautiful and thin and put-together.
Oh, and famous. Very, very famous.
It all happened very quickly. One moment I was nursing a $12 glass of Sauvignon Blanc, waiting for a friend in town from LA to show up. The next I was sitting in a curtained-off VIP area with said friend and an Oscar nominee, a former child star, a rap guru and a current TV heartthrob, drinking booze there would be no tab for and eating food that other customers at the bar were told they couldn’t have (“kitchen’s closed”).
I was amongst people who I normally pay ($10 for a movie, $10 for an iTunes album download, $90 a month in cable) to see/hear do their jobs. People whose love lives I read about in US Weekly while getting a pedicure. People who make more for one job than I will make in a lifetime.
I’m no starfucker, but I have to admit I was kinda sorta basking in the glow that the young, rich and famous emit. For a moment, I felt kind of fabulous too. Fabulous by association, proximity.
I kept waiting for things to get normal. I kept waiting for the fabulous to fade so that I could proclaim to my friends “stars – they’re just like us!” But no. From the owner of the bar catering to our every whim, to the creepy stalker who was thrown out by security, to the model types hovering and flirting…if anything, it all became more and more surreal as the night progressed. 10 bottles of Cristal and confirmation of some Page Six blind items will do that, you know?
At the end of the night I said “goodbye” and “nice to meet you” and “thanks for everything” to Celebrities W,X,Y,Z and their respective posses and then went back home to my decidedly non-luxury apartment in my non-hip neighborhood and my non-celebrity boyfriend and my non-designer pajamas and you know what? They suit me, in all my non-fabulousness, just fine.
But I will admit, the Cristal? Was pretty good.
I need names!
Or at least hints?
This a great post, Clink. You are such a good writer.
how did you get the celeb hookup? your friend from la?
Alissa: I thought about posting “blind items” but they were so ridiculously obvious. If you email me (clinkny@gmail.com - this goes for any of you), I’ll tell you. I’ve never been any good at keeping secrets.
Jamy: Thank you! Funny, I feel the same way about your writing.
Erin: Yes, my friend from LA is a publicist. Though it would’ve been awesome if they just pointed across the bar at me and said “you - come with us!” But, no.
Ahhh! I need to know who they are! It’s killing me!
And love how you ended this post…if your writing is any indication, there’s definitely some fabulousness there somewhere.
I’m emailin you …. now.
I love that you don’t name names..please. So classy.
Yeah come on. Name drop already!
As long as it wasn’t Costner and his towel. Then I just don’t want to know.