Last week I was on the televisions and Nielson Ratings told me millions of people saw me say something stupid about how tall people are best for mating with other tall people.
Though on air for less than four minutes and, pretty awkward for all of those four minutes, you better believe I seized the opportunity to weave an elaborate web of “I’m too famous for this” jokes into my life. Regardless of my creepy smile.
My Boss: “Mina can you please help Cole carry the craft service food upstairs?”
Me: “No, television superstars don’t do groceries.”
Mom: “Your father just got out of surgery. You need to call him and ask him how he feels.”
Me: “Have his people call my people.”
Trader Joe’s Cashier: “That will be five dollars ma’am.”
Me: “Whatever happen to FREE SWAG?!”
Bettis: “We need to take another picture. Your eyes weren’t open.”
Me: “I’m too famous to open my own eyes.”
These jokes didn’t go over so well. Anyone who heard me just kinda looked at me quizzically, as if they were trying to figure out if I was serious or not. And I am seriously offended by this, you guys.
The truth of the matter is I didn’t move to Hollywood to be on camera and I never aspired to do so. I was a nervous wreck leading up to the taping and I genuinely worried that I would poop my pants before going on stage or even when on stage. Uncontrollable and in public.
Why? Well if you know me you know I have a certain penchance for speaking rather bluntly. This is not some blaise “I do what I want and I say what I want” attitude.
I have no filter.
It just comes out.
Brain to mouth, minus the thinking “is this is okay to say?” part.
So the idea that hundreds of thousands if not MILLIONS of people might watch me speak scares the shit out of me.
BUT thank miracle-baby-Jesus for the kind producers who realized I needed heavy editing. I actually DID end up talking about a former employer but they cut that part and I live another day in Hollywood.
Still, the whole idea of television fame (even just four minutes of television fame) is a strange one and I have mixed emotions about the whole experience.
That’s why I am grateful I had the opportunity to get away from Hollywood and the Hollywood/Wonderland mindset for the weekend…
A dear friend of mine who I lived with for a bit during college got married in the middle of nowhere Alabama.
This friend is BEAUTIFUL. She is one of those girls that you want to hate because she is so freaking gorgeous and cool but you can’t because she also just happens to be nice and is actually a good friend.
AND OF COURSE she just happened to be getting married to the dude version of herself. As in he is also gorgeous and has it all going on.
Fast forward real quick to the wedding. The preacher talked about how the couple will take a lot of pictures over the course of their lifetime chronicling their love story and all of those pictures will look like they belong in a catalog. So beautiful. So effortless.
Before the wedding I also made note of their catalog good looks and became incredibly jealous. So of course, I think to myself, how do I find a catalog husband?
But THEN I think to myself, wait I can’t have a catalog husband!! He can’t be more attractive than me, duh, and I am no catalog wife. So I need a husband that is like half-way to a catalog husband. One that you would see in the Penny Saver Coupon section of the Sunday newspaper.
Enter my next great idea. My bride friend/former roommate’s future husband is a catalog husband so maybe he has some relatives that have half or maybe even a quarter of his good looks!
So when I RSVP I should DEFINITELY also mention that she can totally feel free to set me up with said good looking relatives, right?! Besides I’m riding solo to this wedding so a dancing partner would be nice.
I title the RSVP email ‘Queen Wilhelmina of Humble Hollywood RSVPs’ and begin…
Yes, I am bringing my ass all the way to Alabamuuuur. Wouldn’t miss it for the world, fairy cat. Will be toting one XXXXXXX as well as one XXXXXX with me. West Coast frands whhhhaaaat up.
However, NOT bringing a plus one. I am single. That being said, feel free to introduce me to your soon to be husbands’ male relatives. Im pretty positive anyone with his bloodline is guaranteed to be at least a quarter or even half as good looking as him…therefore, I willingly volunteer myself. You’re welcome.
He can expect a slightly liquored up version of myself…and probably a DFMO
Otherwise, I promise to behaves myself at the wedding.
I think its pretty clear from this letter that all I want is genuine and meaningful relationship not without the unspoken passion and deep seeded love of a match similar to Pacey and Joey’s of Dawson Creek fame (pre-Scientology alien abduction of Katie Holmes).
Yeah right. I’m in it for the DFMO. I’d be willing to go tribute to tribute for hottest potential catalog husband.
Only problem? The email was sent to a shared email account. Meaning some generic RSVP account and not my friend’s email address. I didn’t realize that until about 5 seconds after pressing send…of course.
Enter nervous breakdown. Within those five seconds I had already convinced myself that the email would be read by my friend’s wedding planners and or relatives and or future husband and or even his (potentially) hot relatives to whom I mentioned in the email. Per usual my imagination runs rampant and I immediately think of all these people sitting around a table talking about uninviting the slut.
Enter shitting my pants again.
All because I don’t think before I speak and apparently not before I email either.
I was so worried that whoever got the email wouldn’t get my sense of humor (not unlike those who didn’t get my fame jokes).
So NOW post-television experience but pre-slut of the wedding experience I’m not feeling to good about life.
Enter best frands. Because what are friends for, ya’ll?
I was just being a nervous nancy for nothing.
I hope you guys have the kind of friends that I do. These are girls who lead busy lives like mine and we can sometimes accidentally go a few weeks without really talking-talking (on the phone or in person but, don’t worry, we are real good about liking one anothers’ fbook posts) then when we do finally get together its like we were never apart. Love them.
Once with said best friends they did a few things for/with me:
1. Refused to put up with my celebrity (read: brought me back down to Earth, told me my jokes weren’t funny)
2. Told me I wasn’t a slut and that our friend getting married would understand the email joke.
3. Made me forget all about dancing with or potentially DFMOing with any dude because we had bags of fun with each other.
4. Got away from the real world with me (if you can even call Hollywood the ‘real world’) and just relaxed…
All in all we had a great time celebrating our friend’s marriage and forgetting about our first world white girl problems for the weekend.
First of many weddings. Can’t wait for more with my gurlfrands.
And maybe I’ll manage to get at least one DFMO in there…
Now its back to my first world white girl problems. Namely the fact that my spring wardrobe does not work in this chilly weather.
Warm up, LA. Stat.