Musings on Poker and Other Stuff
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.