SON OF A…
I know I should have learned my lesson with the whole George Clooney event fiasco. It was an important lesson—always read your junk mail because on occasion what looks like junk mail is actually an opportunity to stare glassy-eyed at someone dreamy… and then have bouncers remove you from the room because you’re making the talent uneasy. It’s every girl’s dream.
And I did, technically, learn that lesson. I did open the mail I got from Global Green USA. They were having their annual Millennium Awards. But I then made a thousand excuses to not go. It was a large donation. I would have been alone because I would have taken B to meet Leonardo (who was there, by the way), but she has a lot of things going on right now. All I could picture was me standing alone in the corner, nursing a single drink all night, not talking to anybody (but to myself in long, rambling muttered rants that would have scared the other donors) before the crushing weight of my folly took over, and I skittered out the door.
Yes, that is seriously the scenario I envisioned when I pictured myself at this event. So, I did what I always do—I put the invitation aside, and did my best Scarlett impression, “Fiddle Dee Dee, I’ll think about that tomorrow”, and never did. What I did not adequately picture was who would be there to entertain me while I hid in the corner behind a plant.
Please enjoy these pictures of David Duchovny at Global Green USA’s event last evening. The one I didn’t go to even though I had an invitation. The one that I could have gone to instead of watching the Cavs lose last night. The one that would have put me into a room with him rather than in an audience. The one that would have allowed me to approach him as an equal (or at least not as a crazed fan). The one that would have put me into proximity with a man who I actually have something to say to now (rather than all the other occasions where I just sort of stare at him blankly as the panic grows inside me, and then I run and hide when he says, “Hi”.)
Why do I do this? Why do I consistently shoot myself in the foot at every freakin’ opportunity? And maybe I wouldn’t have talked to David, but there were about 100,000 other very interesting, attractive, charitable people there (grant it, all of them probably had dates) who would have been very interesting to talk to—if for no other reason because we have upcoming charity events, and I’d like to get them involved. But NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. No, I couldn’t possibly do that. That would have been too easy (and by easy, I mean excruciatingly difficult, yet probably worth it).
SON OF A BITCH!
I suck. And not in an interesting way that men like.