Count The Times I Mention Lamb Chops

Recently we went to an industry awards show called the Key Arts, which recognizes the best in movie advertising - posters, trailers, displays, etc – the whole shebang is hosted by The Hollywood Reporter and held at the Kodak Theater, which is where they have the Academy Awards. I guess there must have been some celebrities there, because they had a red carpet with some paparazzi hovering around, but they made us walk around it, behind a partition. Huh! Imagine that! I mean, hello it's not like anyone can even PROVE that I was ever really stalking Oprah. Afterwards followed a big party with a huge, gluttonous buffet (whose highlight for me was a pan piled high with steaming grilled lamb chops and a monstrous vat of creamy risotto) and lots of beverages of the alcoholic variety. Not that I only went to stuff my maw, but sakes alive they had HUGE PANS OF GRILLED LAMB CHOPS! If this doesn't excite you I don't even want to know your name.

I used to hate going to this soiree since I inevitably would run into one of my loathsome former bosses/clients/co-workers that I had been avoiding like a bad rash, and who I never liked when we were working together, and who I liked even less at a social event once they had been pumped full of martinis. Even more repugnant is all the schmoozing and ass-kissing taking place, these being the two most popular activities at these events besides pumping yourself full of martinis and gorging on yummy hot lamb chops. A few years ago Rigel was in the unfortunate position of having to engage in mindless banter with one such dork in need of ass-kissing client-type, a crumb of a man who was widely disdained. They chatted for awhile, and as Rigel was walking away he perfunctorily offered him his business card, and the asshat said, "I don't take anything that isn't a purchase order." Oh, okay! The last we heard he was washing Tony Danza's cars.

I bucked up and gave in a couple of years ago, after Rigel won an award and I wasn't there. People were calling me the next morning telling me what a funny acceptance speech he had given, and why wasn't I there, and what a unsupportive, selfish wife I was. I am a stand-by-your-man type of gal so I started going after that.

Unfortunately Rigel didn't win this year, but at least I was there this time to stroke his arm and tell him, "Honey, it's an honor just to be nominated" but he was yelling "DIE you fucking judges, DIE!" so I'm not sure he heard me. After he calmed down we spent the rest of the show booing and hissing at all his competitors and I even tried to trip one chick on her way down to accept her award - we were trying to be good sports but she just looked so smug and all.

The thing I love most about being in the Kodak Theater is the thrill I get every time I go to the restroom, step onto that expensive tile, stare at the rows of shiny stainless steel doors and think, "Halle Berry was IN THE HOUSE." Yes, that's right - and J-Lo parked her booty in one of these stalls and DID HER BUSINESS. And Nicole Kidman - she was here, but did she go? It's hard to imagine her uptight self plunking her pale hiney down to make wee. And don't get me started on Oprah! To think that she may have held court upon the very same throne which I now found myself on gave me pause. So many stars! So few stalls! The scenarios are endless, and I pondered them as I sat and reflected on the rich history embedded in the cool white porcelain beneath me.

Archive File: Married | This Life | Eating

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