Musings on Poker and Other Stuff
Okay, fine. So after some coercing, I am going to reveal the final chapter of my most embarrassing moment.
After leaving Cannes I traveled around Europe a bit. I was fixing to start my studies at Charles University in Prage, when I decided to make a last minute trip to Spain before academia really got cracking. There was going to be a big party for some film maker I knew on the beach in Barcelona. We had this incredible fresh seafood under these canopies on the beaches of the Mediterranean. There were several big names there including none other than MR ORLANDO BLOOM. Obviously this was my chance to redeem myself. After this wonderful, albeit unusual meal, there was going to be a cocktail party at a beach front home down the way. I decided this time I was going to class it up and leave no room for any errors of the nether regions. So I decided to sport a pair of tight black jeans, a fancy black bra, a tight white tank top, some heels and a black blazer (this will be important later). I headed into the cocktail party like I was the absolute nuts of Hollywood, or in this case, Barcelona. Absolutely determined to start my love affair with Orlando....or Landy which I would later call him in the throngs of our romance.
I grabbed a glass of wine like it was nobody's business and started trying to engage in some meaningful film conversation. Once the Bloom-master heard my intellectual side he was sure to fall head over heels. I mean not only was I an engaging beauty but, I was going to film school at NYU. What A-list celeb isn't just dying to pick up a film-school sophomore? As I laughed a little louder than usual to make sure he knew I was having such a great time I didn't even notice he was there, my stomach began to grumble. Was it possible that all this fresh seafood and wine was not mixing well in my tender 20 year old tummy? I decided to play it safe and head for the restroom. When I asked the host he informed me that they were doing some re-modeling on the upstairs bathroom and I should use the one down stairs. Then he pointed maybe 10 feet away. I squeezed my cheeks together and walked as poised as possible to the restroom that was in direct ear shot of everyone.
Once in the bathroom some sounds squeaked out and I realized that this was not going to transpire here. I Got up, washed my hands, and casually told everyone that I was a bit hot and that I was going to go for a walk on the beach. Had my outfit situation been a little different I may have just jumped in the ocean, handled my business and threw my dress or something back on like, 'oh I'm just so spontaneous.' The situation-if you will- was getting more and more dire by the moment. So, when I spotted a bit of foliage not too far from the house, I dropped my tight black pants and just let it out. What a sense of relief I felt, until two seconds later when I realized I had nothing to wipe with. Now, I've been in some situations where you just have to make it happen. Thus I called on my old sense of ingenuity. I took off my tank top. Cleaned myself off. And headed back to the party.
Actually a blazer and a bra can be a fashion statement. I said a little prayer that no one would notice. When I went back in, I grabbed some more vino and found that my friend was in the circle containing my dream boy. Perfect! I smoothly entered that conversation. I even managed to say a few witty things and get a laugh. Maybe fifteen minutes or so went by and I was gauging that I could probably seal the deal tonight. I noticed a bit of commotion over by the sliding glass door which opened to the beach.
OH, of course! The hosts' dogs had just returned from their play on the beach. And....DRUM ROLL PLEASE, what was the biggest one carrying in his mouth? My adorable white tank top which had just seen a disaster happen on the beach and was part of the clean up. No one said anything at that moment. But my face began to fill with blood and I could feel the stares of judgement and disdain. Needless to say, I did not hit a home run with Orlando. In fact, I couldn't even turn a single.
But single I did remain! And a little epilogue to my tale of woe. The following day my host in Spain had 'an emergency' meeting he had to take in France. Or maybe he just didn't want to be associated with the girl that pees from her bum. I'll never know. However, I got a tent and camped on the beach in Barcelona for the next few weeks which gave me ample time to replay the incident in my head over and over and over again.