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.
While trusting your guts almost always proves the right move, every now and then your guts do you wrong. During a TwitCam with Liv Boeree I promised to reveal my most embarrassing moment....or more like most embarrassing series of events. Liv is going to Cannes this week, which is where the series of unfortunate events begins. Yes, amongst all the glamor and class that is the Cannes Film Festival, I found myself at 20 years old rubbing shoulders with the Hollywood elite.
All in all the experience was incredible. But there were some, ahem, situations. I befriended many people including a very poetic (and kind of ridiculous to me) Spanish film director. He came to my condo one evening and told me he had to leave suddenly and asked me to escort him to the train station. During the Cannes Film Festival there are photographers everywhere, just on the street. So, instead of running to the train station with Javier in my PJs, I decided to toss on a dress and head out the door. In my haste, I forgot some key elements....the key under garment elements.
On my way back from the train station I ran into some Aussies who invited me to the very chic party going on across from the Palais. Only the biggest and most baller events can afford the real estate directly across from the Palais. I protested that I needed to go home and get ready. Eventually it came down to this: either come in now with us, or more than likely don't get let in later. Ya only live once right? Now, if i remember correctly this was a party for the movie Kill Bill 2. As I strolled over the grab my first champagne I spotted several huge names; of course Uma, and Quentin, Michael Moore (LOL), Brad Pitt, and then BOOM, Orlando Bloom. Now, at this particular juncture in 2011 Orlando Bloom is like an after thought. But in 2004, he had just starred in Lord of the Rings and Pirates of the Caribbean. I think he was there because they were screening Troy which also brought along Jen and Brad (YES!!!). Ultimately for me though, in 2004, Orlando was the hottest of the hot. Obviously once I had made him my mate, I would be skyrocketed to success and fame and fortune. So clearly this would all happen with no make up on and no panties on either for that matter.
Let me digress for a moment and share with you that I had recently had a cast taken off my leg. In a drunken debacle I had shattered my heel (one of the strongest bones in the human body) and had on a bright pink cast for what seemed like FOREVER. Luckily though, I was a bi-ped just in time for Cannes. Although I have to admit that leg had become a little atrophied. It was actually hilarious because it was about half the size of my other leg. I was banking on the fact that people were too obsessed with themselves to notice. And I think I was right. Yet, it would catch up with me.
So there I am sipping champagne at the roof top bar. I had several. My thoughts become blurry with glee, 'OMG(which was an expression I actually didn't use then), how did I get so lucky? I belong with these people. Happy. Happy. Joy. Joy.' I figured since there were so many incredible people on the roof, there must be an equal amalgamation of stars to be had on the main floor. I headed for the tiny, every so tiny, spiral staircase that connected the roof to the main floor. It was very modern and steel and did I mention tiny? I'm sure you have already done the math. Champagne+Sarah+mismatched legs+tiny stairs=disaster. Well, my brilliant readers, you are right. About half way down the stair case, which all the anorexic models managed to navigate, I began to tumble. It was so loud on the steel, and of course with me squealing the whole way down. A crowd formed around the stairs from the roof where I came from, and on the main floor where I was hastily careening.
At the bottom of the stairs, I sat (if you could call it that) for a few moments collecting myself and imagining ways to play this off. When I looked straight above me to roof top gatherers...who was peering down??? Mr. Orlando Boom. Or should I say the future Mr. Sarah Grant. While I gazed adoringly up at him I heard some whispers. Everyone in that type situation talks trash about each other. I think it is the only way to have something to say to the constant barrage of total strangers. So, at first it didn't freak me out. When suddenly I realized there was a definite breeze in my nether regions.
BALLS. BALLS. BALLS. Orlando Bloom wasn't looking at me. He couldn't miss the spread eagle show at the bottom of the stairs. Hell, the show was free! Of course I stood up calmly and collected myself. And then ran as fast as my high heels could carry me to the privacy of my apartment. Switch to new inner monologue, 'You are not A-list. You are the Vagina Monologues minus the witty one liners. You were better off when you were driving around those carts at the grocery store because you clearly can't walk. Go back where you belong working on B movies."
I wish I could say that is the end of that story. But I haven't even gotten into what my guts have to do with all of this. I am debating about how much to divulge at this moment. I may have to cover that in my next post. I'm also struggling with my iphoto. Cannes photos to come once I figure it out.