Another Gripping Saga in my Gripping Saga Series. I met Peter Sarsgaard that same night as well. Both interactions were... Very.
It was a very exciting time in my life. I was 22 and at the peak of peak peakness.
Things were extra exciting cos I’d had a huge crush on this super hot guy who came into the Blockbuster I was managing, and after some misuse of personal information and a questionable Voodoo spell one of my employees showed me; I landed him and made him mine.
My Actor/Model Boyfriend.
My White Whale.
White Whale had been in the movie K-19: The Widowmaker and wanted me to come to the wrap party with him. I was ecstatic! I’d met a few celebrities in the past and was pretty unphased by the whole Star Thing; I was far more excited about getting dressed up and going out as arm candy/with arm candy. I went out and bought a little black dress and a new pair of shoes- strappy black units with a plexiglass wedge. I went to the esthetician the week of the party to get waxed, sanded, buffed and primed. The day of, I got a manicure and and pedicure in candy apple red, then had one of our friends do my hair and makeup.
The two of us were pretty Zoolanderish and disordered about our appearances and he often came with me to get facials, manis/pedis, scrubs and to get waxed. We both turned heads wherever we went and would sometimes see which of us could get more numbers, drinks or whatever; it was always close. But deep down; I was scared he was out of my league. I was always waiting for him to decide I wasn’t hot enough or blonde enough for his taste and give me the keys to the curb. Consequently, I felt the need to always go balls to the wall in the looks department to compensate for my perceived disparity in our looks, and to stave off the: “You’re Actually a Kibblemuncher GhostOfCourtneyStoddensBoobs and I’m Outtie 5000!” talk I imagined he would inevitably have to have with me if he ever saw what I “really looked like” if I let myself go even the tiniest bit.
As happy as I was to be with him, it was also quite stressful in its own way. When we looked back and talked about it recently; he said he was always worried I was too Ridiculously Goodlooking for him and that he was often insecure when we went out. He said I was always so put together and it was weird that he never, ever saw me wear jeans the whole time we were together. Always a dress or skirt with heels. We both appreciate how fabulous we both were now what we’re older and slightly less fabulous. Hindsight always being 20 something years old and all.
The dress was made jersey knit silk and looked almost identical to this one. Same sleeves, neckline and length, but a little more drape over the cutouts; they weren’t gaping open like these ones are and the whole thing was just a titch less tight. I like sleeves on dresses for some parties (they covered all my tattoos back then.) One of my friends borrowed the dress and shoes to wear to a wedding and I never got them back (I haaaaaaaaaaaaaate when people borrow things and just never give them back.) It can be hard finding a just below the knee dress that looks good, for me at least.
Shoes were something like these. They had less of a platform and were a little thinner in the straps in the front.
I used my red leather envelope handbag. Almost identical to this one, but mine had a plain wrist strap of the same leather at one end. Better than having something other than my hunky chunka man meat hanging off my shoulder or in my hand/wedged into my armpit all night.
The party was held at The Academy For Spherical Arts. It really was a gorgeous space and a shame it closed down a couple years ago.
It was a stellar party. We were all over the place, talking to everyone and trying out the hors d’oeuvres in between drinks and glasses of water. We were self conscious enough to pace ourselves with the booze and no matter how fat we both thought we were: Not to starve ourselves if we were going to be drinking and whatnot. (Lots of not was whatted at the parties we went to. Less calories and less chance of getting blackout drunk and doing something stupid the whatnot way. We were quite naughty.)
I was just coming out of one of the back rooms from freshening up when I literally bumped into Peter Sarsgaard. Like, pulled the door closed, turned around and *boof!* walked straight into him the first step I took. I’m graceful, like an ox. He wanted to know if that was a bathroom I was just coming out of. I stepped back and straightened my frock as I looked up, recognized him and said “no” kinda flatly. I chin pointed behind him, down the hall and said “The bathrooms. They’re down that way.”
He said “Oh, okay. Thanks.” then asked me if we’d met before, did I work on the movie? I said “No, I’m here with someone who was in it.” He said “Oh, I thought you looked familiar is all. I’m Peter, nice to meet you.” I replied “I know who you are” and it came of snotty. He sort of cocked his head and said “Really? I thought you said we’d never met?” but jokey like; obvious sorta famous person is sorta obvious. Not in a dick way.
Thats when I realized how silly I was being. I giggled a little and said “I’m so sorry, I’m being a massive gearbox. I’ve had a couple cocktails and I’m reacting to your character from Boys Don’t Cry. I mean, I know you’re not really him and you were just playing a part and all. But dude, you were such a horrible asshole in that movie it made me hate your fucking face.” I clapped my hands over my mouth and said “Ohmygod! I’m sorry! That came out all wrong!” He laughed and said “Don’t worry, I’m going to take that as a compliment for a job well done. What else can I say?”
I let my hands drop and felt my face turning 50 shades of red; I must have looked like a constipated, sandblasted tomato. Where else could we go from there? He said it was nice meeting me and maybe he’d see me at the bar later on. Then took his leave down the hall to the mens room and I made my way back to my date.
I was glad I bought the strappy sandals. At least when I opened my mouth and jammed my foot into it- I could taste the lotion from my pedicure... Peppermint.
Mortification had never been more refreshing.
When I rejoined WW I told him about the whole thing and we had a good laugh about how I was the antithesis of a gushing fan. We found some friends, scored a table in the seating area and tipped our glasses.
We waited for a server to come, but none passed. WW was deep in conversation with the other fella, so I had limited options at hand to have someone freshen my drink. After a little deliberation I decided to make the trip myself. I dropped my bag into WWs lap and rose to meet my destiny.
I strutted confidently through the open centre of the room, made my way through the a few groups of people gathered around the pool tables and sidled up to the bar to order three drinks; two for him, one for me. When I got them, I balanced two of the heavy old fashioned tumblers in my left hand and picked the third up in my right hand. No problem. I’ve done this a million times!
I turned and started to make my way back through the revelers. Shoulders back, chin up, look serene... But sexily serene.
Everything was going swimmingly... Until I stepped on an ice cube.
I heard the ice crunch as the thin plexiglass heel landed on it straight and true. My left ankle turned outward at a very unnatural angle on remnants of the little frozen hazard. I wondered for a split second if it was the sound of bone breaking and I was just too fancy to feel it. My weight; unevenly distributed on points not meant for bearing weight, shifted awkwardly and caused my knee to buckle... Unable to flail my arms with my hands full- I went down like an old, one legged man trying to do the Hokey Pokey.
Arms and legs akimbo: I hit the ground with a thump. I made a bleating noise that was drowned out as the glasses shattered and spewed their contents upward and outward.
My Instant Damage Assessment: Legs and feet took the worst of the splash. Dress and face escaped unscathed. Thank the Lords of Kobol for that. Once I was confident I looked okay (which was the most crucial aspect of this unfortunate happening); I quickly scanned for glass in my knees and hands. Nope and nope. By some miracle I’d managed to not shred myself to ribbons. I might still make Prima Ballerina yet y’all! Then, like a newborn deer preparing to stand for the first time, I proceeded with a clumsy attempt to regain my footing.
I glanced up from my quasi Zoolander DVD Cover Pose-cum-Eveningwear Burpee Maneuver and I saw Him...
Harrison. Motherfucking. Ford.
He’d been standing about 10 feet away and talking to a small group of people. He’d turned around to see what the commotion was and there I was: Resplendent in black, tastefully made up, not anywhere near low and nonplussed about mess I had made. He was gingerly moving towards me with his hands outstretched like he was going to help me up.
Harrison Ford was going to lift me up!
Now, I’ve never been one to get Star Struck or anything. I’d met a few famous people in my time and they turn out to be... People. But still; Its kinda hard not to be a little sheepish when its Han Solo coming to your rescue. Haaaaaaaan Soooooolo!
Harrison was about a step away from me when two (Assholes! Pricks! Fuckers!) kindly young men grabbed me under my arms and about my waist, lifted me up and held me steady as I picked my way clear of the glass and booze (courteous bastards!) I wanted to shrug them off so Indiana Jones could be the one to rescue me- but realized that would be the height of rude. I thanked them and assured them I was okay when they inquired.
To my delight (and dismay) Harrison Ford was still standing there looking at me. It felt like the whole thing took hours, but it had happened in seconds really. He asked if I was okay and I managed to muster an awkward smile while I nodded affirmative.
Then, with nary a thought given, I blurted out: “I’m fine thanks...Really! My pride took the brunt of it...*nervous titter* I’m not super drunk or anything! I stepped on an ice cube. On the hardwood. Its these shoes; I just got them.” and pointed lamely at my vodka moistened shoes as I turned to show them off in a Sears catalogue Shoe Pose.
*sarcastic thumb up* Smoov move GhostOfCourtneyStoddensBoobs. Reeeeeeal good opener there. *double sarcastic thumbs up*
He glanced at the shoes, grinned and said “Those are great shoes. I’m glad you’re okay. You have a good night. And watch out for ice cubes!” He gave me a finger point to emphasize the ice cubes sentiment and was still grinning as he turned back to the group hed been standing with.
GOCSB Mission Control (the shrill voice in my head) stated my status as: Mortification Complete as the imaginary wail of air raid sirens blared in my head over the ringing in my ears.
I made haste for the restroom and cleaned off my feet and shoes in the sink and tried not to laugh hysterically or cry (both would ruin my makeup.)
When I got back to the seats, WW wasn’t there. I took my seat and made small talk with the couple. When WW came back he told me to come with him, he wanted to introduce me to someone. We walked hand in hand and passed the scene of the crime where servers were sweeping and mopping up the evidence of my little adventure. Lo and behold: He wanted to introduce me to Mr Ford. Of course he did.
It wasn’t nearly as bad as I anticipated. WW presented me as his girlfriend and Harrison laughed and said “Oh GOCSB and I go way back! What is it? Almost ten minutes now? Its nice to meet you GOCSB.” and offered me his hand. Which I shook and refused to wash for the remainder of the evening (those things piloted the Millenium Falcon!) WW looked confused but went along with the whole thing. We spoke briefly about the city and the filming schedule, then bid Harrison a good evening and returned to the table.
I nervously gave WW the recap of my little trip (I was worried he was going to get mad at me for embarrassing him, but he wasn’t upset in the slightest.)
Thank fuck I didn’t run into Liam Neeson. After the progressively worse encounters I had with the first two stars; I’m convinced it likely would have ended in all consuming fire or flooding.