Recently I got the chance to meet That Actor from this popular cable TV show. And I completely blew it.
Here’s how: vodka gimlet + two Moscow mules + approximately three shots of vodka + talking to That Actor = my own personal Titanic.
I watched his show occasionally but I mostly remembered him from this wonderful little indie movie he did when I was in college. I thought it would be a great idea to talk to him, never mind the fact that I was drunker than Ulysses S. Grant when he won the Civil War.
Neither of us knew who the guy was who the guy was who introduced us. Basically I grabbed this guy who was flirting with me and said, “INTRODUCE ME TO [THAT ACTOR] OVER THERE.” And he did, but for all I know he could have said, “Hi, I’m with the FBI, this crazy girl wants to kill you, I’m just going to need you to pretend to engage her so we can stand by ready with our guns.”
What did we talk about? I have no idea. I can barely remember. I know that I talked about Arby’s. Why? I have no fucking idea. I’ve never been to Arby’s. Maybe I have a secret deep passion for Arby’s and I’m hoping that one day I tell this to the right person who exclaims, “ME TOO!” and all will be well. Who the fuck knows.
I remember he told me that he liked my necklace. I said, “I think it would look good with your outfit,” and promptly pulled it off of my head. I then went to put it around his head and said, I swear to god, “I think your head is too big for this.” I told him I wanted to burn down the decorative swimming pool in front of us. I may have made a “That’s what she said” joke. I said, a few times, “Wait, can we start over? I’m Almie” and shook his hand (on the bright side, he sure didn’t forget my name by the end of the night….if that’s a bright side.) I told him, I’m not crazy. (Which is really great, that’s how you really convince people you’re not crazy, you know, by putting that idea into their heads in the first place. That’s like if a cute little ten-year-old-girl came up to you and said, “I’m not evil.” You would think, “Holy shit, this girl is evil.”) He said I didn’t need to say that. Then, to officially claim my place as the biggest loser of all time, I told him my story about how my friend interviewed him in college and how that should have been me and how he owes me an interview. He asked what for. I said, “My blog!” and gave him my card. He asked what my blog was about. I think I said, “Dating, living in LA, and feeling awkward kind of like this.” I joked about my card, saying that the “actress” description under my name was “theoretical.” He was a complete gentleman this entire time. I don’t know why he didn’t immediately get up and say, “Excuse me…I have to go stand over there…now” and leave. Maybe he thought I was entertaining in an R2-D2 kind of way. Like, oh look at it beeping! Look at its lights! Look at it spinning! Neat!
At one point someone tore him away for a press photo and he told me it was his boss and he would be back. My friend swooped in, said we had to go because she was tired, and I said OK and then teetered off to the bathroom. When I came back, the glaring brightness of the bathroom lights clashed with the darkness of the club and I couldn’t see a fucking thing. I put on my glasses. I think black glasses work really well with a little black dress and vintage necklace, and fuck whoever disagrees, I’m awesome. I wanted to say goodbye to That Actor, and at least I knew this time I could see him, and who knows when I would see him again.
I found him and said goodbye. He told me he didn’t recognize me with my glasses on. I think I may have shouted, “YEAH, GLASSES!” and high-fived him, but I can’t be sure. However I’m pretty sure that once again, for the love of God, I talked about Arby’s. He told me to get in touch with his people regarding the interview and I said something like, “Pssshh, you have my card, you get in touch with me.”
First impressions are everything. When guys meet me, in any situation, they either think I’m a manic pixie dreamgirl, like Annie Hall meets Ellen Paige meets every girl who works at a vintage store in Brooklyn, or they think I’m the manic crazy sullen girl who stands outside of 7-11s shouting at some guy named Brian or Jimmy. I can’t control that. But I think everyone needs to know that I am never that drunk. Earlier in the night I was absolutely charming. We all go a little mad sometimes. Actually, quoting a line from “Psycho” is probably not my best defense. Putting this on the internet may not be my best defense. But I think it’s a pretty great story about how really all we need to be is ourselves. We don’t need to get drunk. We are good the way we are. We have nothing to prove.
Though I have to say I’ve been dating This Guy right now who finds my drunken shenanigans “hilarious/adorable” so maybe it’s all about finding the person who not only accepts your awkwardness, but gives it a high-five.
Now please tell me your personal tales of drunken destruction.