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2018 Sundance Film Festival

No good happens after 1 a.m.

Repeat after me: no good happens after 1 a.m. WHEN WILL I LEARN??? I pinched a nerve so badly I can’t turn my neck. At all. I look like one of those freaky wooden dolls where you push a lever and their bodies and necks turn with their heads while the lips move. I am creeping myself out. That and I have a zit. Which pisses me off as my mother told me when I was 14 that I’d stop getting zits when I turned 18. But then again she also told me I could get pregnant by sitting on an unprotected toilet seat, so there you go. And I’m not even touching my liver right now, which is not speaking to me anytime soon. I have tried to tell it that the vodka redbulls I downed last night were the only way to deal with the claustrophobic crush of people, but my liver is having none of it.

I blame the fact that I was up for close to 24 hours on my ailments. My crazy pal Gigi (who’s here shilling Organicare skin stuff and lash allure – which supposedly makes your lashes grow. Ack. So much for no graft. Heh.) came in town and took over my life. I went to go see her at the gifting suite she’s working out of which is crammed with products like very large Lia Sophia jewelry, Diesel, some dodgy stuff called Muscle Milk (SERIOUSLY! NOT JOKING! I thought they were talking about a gay-porn documentary … but no. it’s an actual drink. I even got suckered into trying to help put together the Muscle Milk fridge. But I have so far resisted trying said Muscle Milk). I ended up yammering through my allotted nap time. Big mistake. Huge.

So we met my boss out here, Christopher, Gigi and her boss Lisa for a late, 9:30 dinner at Talisker on Main (ed note: good food, bad lighting – and life is all about timing and lighting). Before shipping off to the Village at the Yard for the HOWL premiere. Now meanwhile, please understand, we are in the middle of a fricking blizzard here. So we get dropped off by a Somalian cabbie and no one is being let in. We’re stuck out in the cold with a crowd that’s growing larger by the minute, under a heat lamp which is basically useless and we start to resemble small snowmen. James Franco and his crew walk past us, into the party as a woman next to me shrieks, “There’s the STARRRR! Ooooooh!!!!! What’s his name? James Fark? Funk? Frak? He’s the star!” Thankfully, my pal Sasa found us and got us in or I would have died from pneumonia and shame. So we get in and it is stuffed. Thankfully, I spent 10 years as a gossip columnist and thus, know how to sidle up to a packed bar and get served within seconds – which has a lot to do with being five feet three inches and permanently clutching a tenner in my hand for the underpaid bartender. Well, that and a tight shirt. Which Gigi kindly provided.

So as not to embarrass anyone with details, I’ll just give a quick run down

  • HBO doc exec Sara Bernstein there with her boyfriend, Morgan Spurlock, who’s a judge here. They were with Ondi Timoner.
  • James Franco reminds me of Thomas Jane – that guy in the episode of Arrested Development in which Portia de Rossi falls for a homeless guy who is really an actor playing a homeless guy.
  • James Franco must get a LOT of action.
  • There was only one bathroom for like 200 people.
  • There were several couples and clearly close friends “socializing” in said bathroom, making the wait interminable.
  • I had words with one couple who socialized for a particularly long time.
  • There are a lot of people here with ill-advised tattoos.
  • Overheard, “No execs or celebs are coming this year, even though there’s like major rainstorms in LA right now.”
  • Also overheard, “I think we’ve met before… No really. We have. I like your butt.”
  • I lost my new hat and the Wookie was doused in booze. Don’t ask.
  • High Altitude Flatulence is not a myth.
  • Just because it’s cold out doesn’t mean you don’t have to shower. Even if you pile on clean clothes over the old ones
  • I can still smell you.

Against my better judgment, I let Christopher and Lisa go home and took off with Gigi, Greg Link and Sasa for Tao – Noah Tepperberg’s club at the Lift. I got home at 2 a.m. But am proud that I did make it to the Sebastian Junger doc, RESTREPO, this morning. More on that later. It would be highly inappropriate to talk about that movie in this blog post. Trust.