The Red Carpet Adventure

Oh the red carpet...that dreadful, mean little carpet has been alluding my grasps for YEARS. YEARS I SAY!!!

Here's the deal folks: I was invited by my bud Kenny to attend his red carpet event for the movie he produced, Rampart. I geeked. I got nervous. I spazzed the HECK out thinking about the event...what it could mean for my career...all that jazz. I was supposed to rub elbows with Robyn Wright and laugh uncomfortably at Woody's bad jokes...shake hands with the director and tell him I'd love to do lunch and discuss his upcoming projects, but none of that happened. Not even close. Here's the short, short version...the only version I can write safely. (Anything longer would result in me going Kim Kardashian on y' tapes...reality TV stints...downward spirals...just kidding. No I'm not. Yes I am...sort of.)

Got ready for event and felt nice and pretty. I didn't go overboard...just decided to show 'em I cared without looking like a cracked out starlet wannabe or my normal chuck wearing go-to. Middle ground...

Jersey and J took pictures of me before I left.

I sat in traffic for an hour and a half.

I missed the reception at the Roosevelt Hotel...the place I was supposed to grab my ticket.

I began a long drawn out process of texting Kenny and getting no responses.

After parking in a ghetto alley and walking two blocks up to the theater I was snubbed and snotted on by the Hollywood snobs manning the event. They didn't believe me that I was a guest...were supposed to have a list for the guests out, but decided they didn't want to do it...

Walking in my high ass heels was awesome!

The closest I got to the red carpet this time...I swear there's a anti-Tish force field on those things

Made it into the theater (how I don't know) and guessed the area I was supposed to sit in since I never heard from my boy or the people in charge.

Watched the movie for about 30 minutes or so...watched the sponsors beside me get up and leave and then shortly followed suit. I hate to thrash my boy's project, but he didn't write it or direct it so I feel I can be real with y'all. It was weird, uncomfortable acting by really good actors so that leads me to believe the script was boo boo. When the writing's bad nothing goes right...

There were really uncomfortable shots the director tried to get in...maybe his own shtick he tried to implement (ya gotta have a shtick after all) but his didn't turn out so wasn't as clever as Tarantino's classic trunk shot. He lost points for his bad attempt.

The dialog was offensive, unnecessary and impractical. The story didn't make sense...Lots of awesome girls were having sex with this dude who was neither charming nor handsome nor rich nor nada. That alone was offensive. (I hate flicks where guys can look like the ugly truck up and ran their ish OVA, but girls have to be these perfect goddesses in order to say they have hemorrhoids on national television.)

I walked out of a film y'all! Whoa....I NEVER do that.

I went home...Jersey was waiting up for me and I swear when I saw him on that couch with the "it'll be okay face" I just melted. I really took it as a sign that maybe Hollywood and the people that lurk there shouldn't be my cup of tea, but he wasn't having those thoughts.

So was a boo boo night, but man did it end swell.


  1. Awwww...I'm sorry! But it made for a really good story!!! lol!!! You will make it to that red carpet!

  2. xoxo

    Thanks for the faith lady!


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