Wednesday, December 8, 2010

The D-List

I would like to preface this story with something I told a couple friends yesterday about the incident. I honestly believe that my life is a joke, and I whole heartedly hope that everyone else finds it as funny as I do. That being said, I can't believe the, I will say it- LEGENDARY events that transpired less than 48 hours ago.

I spent the day innocently working a lunch shift in the bar. While working, a man sits down at the bar and has a couple beers. We have a few polite exchanges. Finishing my shift, I decide to occupy the seat next to him and have a quick dinner and post-work drink. Now, normally I would think someone like him was a douche. The 'tan' in the North West is a dead giveaway for out-of-towners or people who spray tan. He was entirely too tan, his teeth too white, and his gloves had the tips of the fingers cut off. However, conversation proves pretty interesting, and he displays a surprising lack of doucheness. We chat about various things, but the one thing I notice is that he is extremely vague about what kind of work he does- "I was working in Italy..." "One time I had a job in Bulgaria..." These sort of open ended phrases that leave me feeling like he did something important or high paying. We get about 2 beers in (him at maybe 5), he leaves for the bathroom, and my friend Leslie comes up to me. "Do you know who you're talking to?"
"No... why?" We had just shaken hands and introduced ourselves. In the interest of not getting him into any trouble, and because while questionable, I do still cling to some of my morals- I am changing his name. Just imagine any generic D-List celebrity, if you can think of any.
"That's fucking generic celebrity name!!!"
"Who's that?" She goes on to explain the various things he has done with his life, and other coworkers chime in on stuff, all of which are too old for me to have any memory of. Because he's 40 something. And I'm 20 something. There's a brief to-do about the situation unfolding and servers scatter away from me as he returns to his seat. "Well, I guess it's on." I think to myself. I try to remain cool headed- I usually get so star struck I one time met Sean Astin on an airplane and to this day I can't remember what we talked about. Yes, I was sober. We continue talking and it's apparent that he has taken some sort of odd interest in me. It dawns on me that at around beer number 3, my max limit for 'intoxication level before blackout meter' is quickly approaching. Little things start happening, like the fact that every time I go to the bathroom there is another beer waiting behind my half full beer. I look at the beer, look at him, and he says to me, "This night could be legendary."

And it was.

I spent a total of probably close to 6 hours having a really fun conversation and learning about the different acting jobs he's had, traveling, writing, and gushing about my newly purchased drum set. My new celebrity friend orders a plate of nachos, and he delicately (sarcasm) picks at them while still wearing his fingerless gloves. At one point he offered a server changing the music $100 dollars to play a song that had just been unintentionally skipped. Where did he get all this money? I mean, he's famous and has a short list of credentials, but to have that kind of money to throw around? I guess fame pays more than I thought. I wish I had just blatantly asked him for money, he probably would have given me some.

At the fifth beer the night no longer had an unpredictable ending.

In real life, this would never have been something I would have done. And by real life, I mean I would have never hooked up with an older, married father of two. But I had to- this was generic celebrity name. I did it for Rock Bottom. I did it for Portland.  I did it for females everywhere who grew up in the 1990's. Never in a million years would I think that I was hot enough for a celebrity. Although, I guess if you're kind of a washed out actor with an apparent drinking and moral problem, I might be just about as good as anything, unshaven legs and all. The night gets splotchy, but my EPIC story remains the same. Apparently this whore is good enough for the D-List. At about 2:30am, I take my leave from Generic A-List Hotel to a taxi. But not without a goodbye gift to myself of a tiny glass bottle of vodka from the mini bar. He tells me he will pay for my cab, and asks me "Is $40 enough? $60?" Now, my house is a mere $12 cab ride away, and I pause for a moment to think about this offer. Hmm. Morals only slightly intact, "$40 should be fine." In retrospect, I don't think there would have been anything wrong with taking another $20 from him, but you live and learn.

The next morning, I recall what events took place the night before, and promptly Google search generic celebrity name because I still literally have no idea who he is. And am immediately embarrassed when I read his list of work on IMDB. However, Youtubing him has proved absolutely hilarious when I discovered his line of generic fast food chain commercials. I also realize that one of my earrings is now inhabiting the floor of his hotel room, and I've got a nasty cold, to boot. A slight bit of shameful solace that he now has to film his generic TV pilot probably sick. So I get to walk away with $20, a bottle of vodka, and a LEGENDARY story, where as he now has to film sick, a few dollars short, and the knowledge that he just cheated on his wife. I would like to reiterate- at the beginning of the beers I had zero foresight to where the night would go. I would never intentionally hook up with someone knowing they were married. But this was generic celebrity name, and like I said- I had to.

And that kids, is how I get to say for the rest of my life that I hooked up with generic celebrity name, I story that I will most likely tell my children one day as I order that third martini. I never thought I would be one of those girls that chase fame, but when the opportunity presented itself...


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