I think we were the slutty girls you were talking about!
From Left to Right: Fisher Stevens, Danny McBride and Jon Gosselin
Sundance is getting more surreal by the day. Or I should say night. Last night involved Danny McBride and his band of North Carolina brothers, Fisher Stevens, a bad basketball game, a choking man, a quart of booze, two feet of snow and a run in with reality retards.
So Gigi – who has the most easily manipulated tear ducts I’ve ever seen in my life – picks me up and we go in search of a watering hole after deciding that the party for the appropriately and not so ironically named film DOUCHEBAG at the “Bing House” was perhaps going to be filled with, well, douchebags. We got booted from three places (apparently you cant waddle up to a bar in this town without having reservations – what? A bar? Park City is like a town in Bizarro-Land) until we stumbled upon the steakhouse in the same hotel that is housing the Ascap music series (please don’t press me for a name. My brain cells are fighting for survival right now). We sit down, get a drink and start watching the Knicks lose to the Lakers and the next thing I know, Fisher Stevens sits down next to us.
Now, I love me some Fisher. He dated a friend of mine for a couple of years – we don’t exactly keep in touch but he’s endearing. He reminds me of a rubber frog I had in my college dorm room. No, it wasn’t a sex toy. Anyhoo, he’s here doing something with Bing and says, “Man, I just left Haiti like eight weeks ago.” (PS: Haiti is very hot topic here. Random snippets of conversation I’ve eavesdropped on include, “OH my god, it’s just so horrible, it made me cry for like a week. Oh, are those diamonds on your watch or cubic zirconias?”, “I loved the celebrity telethon for Haiti. The performances were amazing and they all just care so much…”, “I’m thinking of doing a documentary on Haiti”, etc). Fisher is working on a doc about the UN peacekeepers – so I told him to read Paul Collier’s book, Wars, Guns and Votes. You know, that and some historical romance novels will put you to sleep in seconds!
By this time Gigi had paid our bartender Jeanette and we toodled off to the steak house across the street – where we ran into Danny McBride. Now, I have never done this before. Actors always make me feel a little dirty. Like I need to shower or something. BUT – Kenny Powers is the ironic exception. Seriously, Eastbound & Down made me start watching TV again. I fawned. I’m not proud. But dammit – the man deserves it. And PS: his friends/collaborators rocked my world. North Carolina should be proud. They bought me a shot. Then me, Gigi and Carol bought them shots (ed note: what is it with shots? What am I 25?), etc etc. and then across the room some guy starts choking on his steak. I was in the bathroom but came out right in time to have a chunk of filet mignon fly by my face as it freed itself from the man’s throat thanks to a handy Heimlich maneuver by Jay the studly waiter (“It’s what I was trained for. I’m an EMT.”)
Gigi, several glasses of wine in, ran over to the man (henceforth known as “Choke-man”) and started crying while rubbing his head. He’s now in love with her. I asked his bald friend if he was all right and baldy said, “Well, you could give me mouth to mouth…” I told him to talk to Gigi about that.
Paula Froelich and Gigi at the HOWL premiere party
Somehow we all end up at one table – Choke Man, Baldy, Gigi, Carol, me, Danny, his pals Jody, Darius, Matt, Mike… etc. and decide to keep the party going. I was supposed to go to the Stein Erickson lodge for a Sundance Channel IFC party – where Jon Hamm was holding court with my pal Evan Shapiro – but it was snowing so hard the roads were blocked. We trundled up and down main Street – Harry O’s was a mob scene and some poor dumdum in four inch heels, a mini skirt and a fluffy hat with bear’s ears kept slipping on the ice and onto her knees. We ended up at Tao. Again. I’m not getting into details. It was a long dirty night that rocked my world.
I knew it was time to go home when a bleary, red-eyed Jon Gosselin waddled over to me and said, “Hey – you got a smoke I can bum?” I mean. What a trainwreck. He was with some chick who looked like she was one IQ point away from drooling and a year off being jailbait. I almost grabbed him to say, “What are you doing? WHY ARE YOU HERE? And when you talk of ‘career’ what is this mystical thing?” But anyone who can ruin an image in 2 days or less and then go hire the triumvirate of idiots to rep/friend him probably wouldn’t listen anyway. My pal Scott walked me to a cab and I dove into bed face first. Choke Man (who kept quoting his new life-refrain: “I’m alive! I’m LIVING, man!”) “walked” Gigi home. Heh. Go life!
Post Script: I woke up to an email from my mother, who has apparently managed to find my blog on the good old interwebs, despite not ever knowing what channel CBS is on. She took exception to my blog yesterday, despite repeated instances of my memory being much better than hers.
Mom – who looks like a hotter version of Carla from Cheers – writes: “where in the world did you ever get the idea I said you could get pregnant by sitting on an unprotected toilet seat!!???? What I did say, was not to sit on an unprotected toilet seat because you could get crabs. It has happened.” So there you go. This from a woman who sometimes calls me her dog’s name.
Post Post Script: In the bathroom at Tao two girls recognized me from the blog! Despite the hair color difference. Who knew? One said, “I think we were the slutty girls you were talking about!” They actually weren’t – nor were they that bad. One woman in Tao had on a white sequined skin tight ballgown with Lucite heels. Fact!
Post Post Post Script: I think I accidentally dropped some tequila on some woman last night. I apologize. My Bad.