Voxleo: DiplomatiCat, I.B.I.
Inspired By Ire, Impelled By Ideal … "Never a TAME Lion"
I am really going to have to start paying more attention to pop culture happenings so I can make a list of celebrity encounters. Even for someone born and bred around Holyweird, I’ve had more than a couple of fair shares worth- at the rate I’m going I think I might have a shot at something on the record books. Be easier to tell, though, and I’d have kept better records too, if I’d actually known who the people I met actually were when I met them. I wonder how many more famous people I can be totally oblivious about when I am sitting on their lap?
So I just did some fact checking and cross referencing with my memory and Google when something occurred to me whilst reminiscing about what we affectionately had called our “Betty Ford Weekend in Vegas,” which was a working trip with a few of the gals from the club, getting well paid along with our expenses, to do a private bachelor party show and have a good time hanging out with the girls. That was how it was pitched to me, anyway, so I did what I always do and put on my comfy clothes for the trip and brought the glamor along in a bag for when we were on the clock.
So imagine my surprise when the limo comes to take me away looking all frumpy and Diana Prince and inside are my gals and three very good looking – VERY good looking, mind you – well heeled men whose job it was to be taking care of the entertainment for the party (i.e. – us). I suddenly realized I was out of my league, and whatever my gals might have said, or even thought, it would appear that we were at least on display now if not already on the clock, and that I had to find a way to spin into Wonder Woman at my earliest convenience or be feeling very out of place.
I spent some of the day baking in the desert sun after cautiously sampling some E for the first time and found that either it or the heat did not agree with me as much as a nice bit of the good green herb and a quiet bath would do me, so after faking it tll I could make it with the smiles and the booze and all the talk and flirt and meeting the bachelor, Marshall, who it seemed like I was expected to be impressed with -this oddly white nerdy looking guy calling himself “Slim Shady” and I didn’t get it at all. So around 2pm I bailed out of the weird world of these people who were used to having money which were all talking about stuff that was like some giant inside joke I wasn’t privy too. Not that they were trying to make me feel like that, it was their scene and I just wasn’t into that much coke and booze.
I felt so out of place and felt kinda faint, so I decided to get some food in me, quit the pool and the heat and sought refuge in the AC at the mall with my friend Rob who also happened to be in Vegas that weekend. I had him help me shop at Wet Seal so I could try to put Wonder Woman in some suitable for walking around stuff since I had only packed for Diana Prince. I guess “Girls Weekend” means a different thing to me. Fair enough, but I had been caught unprepared by a mile and needed to do some damage control to get back in the boots. Thank Jesus, who Rob strongly resembles, that Rob was there or I don’t know how I’d have managed to slip down the side alley and do my spinny-flashy-transformy thing.
But I did it, thanks to him. I felt much better by that evenings festivities of dinner and dancing, and I looked good doing it. Stuck with tequila and a bit of herb and was on my A game – it was a nice hybrid weekend of Angela/Ai-ling once I readjusted to the correct understanding of the situation. And even when I got an uncomfortable contact coke buzz from swapping some spit with the well-heeled gent that I had at first been horror-struck about being in my glasses and pj pants when he was introduced, I was confident that it was the drug and not me being swept up that was making my heart pound uncomfortably and was confident enough in my awesomeness to retreat back to the hotel for a quiet bath. I will say that I also had a lovely foot massage along with it from the hot guy who felt responsible for my discomfort, (though I am surely responsible for some of his as I went to bed alone) and in the end happy to have not been a total embarrassment to their version of Girls Weekend and had some proper fun. And no worse for wear in the morning either, (which is more than I can say for the rest of that sorry lot dragging in at dawn…)
Shorty after this is when I ended up hanging out with my guy now (I had designs on the other until I learned he had a girlfriend, cuz , hot and heeled or not, Homey don’t play dat…And I feel very sorry for the girl who may not know the truth of what she’s got there; he was slick, that one, but he has good taste so she probably deserves better.) At any rate, it was he who first introduced me to Tupac Shakur and reeducated me in my prejudicial categorization of rap as Crap. So of course, then at the time, it still had not dawned on me, and it was at least a year or two later when the possibility finally did occur to me but I never took the time to confirm or deny.
And then last night I was playing Eminem’s “Criminal” on youtube because of a conversational reference Chad had made a couple days back . I’d wanted to make sure it was the right song since we listened to that entire album quite a bit back in the day when I was learning how to hear stuff I hadn’t heard in it before, and I was enjoying and appreciating the wit of it all over again. It had been a while, but it still makes me grin as I think about what he says. Because whatever the absurdity that he was spewing, that goofy white guy had a gift for gabbing some outrageous shit, and before Chad, I just didn’t get it at first. And then– Hey! Wait a minute… o.O
This time I checked it out. I had to know if it was. Googled the time frame of his marriage and divorce (x2) from Kim. Checked out the calender of that Betty Ford Vegas trip where that guy’s father-in-law to be was such a pig at the bachelor party for Marshall…. could it have been? … Marshall… goofy nerdy little white guy that I didn’t really get what was up with the rapper attitude and calling himself “Slim Shady” that one of the gals had thought was so cute that she hooked up with the bachelor (he wasn’t married YET, right?) and…
(Marshall Mathers = MM = Eminem = SLIM SHADY=ZOMFG!)