That One Time I Sort Of Danced With Prince At Coachella

My favorite Prince memory is also my favorite Coachella memory, which I guess is sort of fitting given the timing of this dire f*cking tragedy. It was 2008 and he was playing the main stage. I had never seen him live before, and I wanted to get right up in the action – but, you know, the kind of action that includes breathing room and excludes sweaty men/stepped on toes.

Our wristbands included side stage access but only for the smaller stages. I decided to do what I do best in situations where I want something I’m not supposed to have and feign rapturously excited ignorance. (It probably helped that the rapturous excitement part was one hundred percent real.) My friend and I skipped toward the backstage entrance, locking eyes with the security guy, shooting him the biggest smiles this side of the Mississippi, and throwing our hands up in the air to show him our (completely inadequate) wristbands. I made it through, but my friend got held back.

In any other situation, I would have turned back and gone with her – partly out of solidarity and partly because our group had no meet-up plan and my phone was deader than dead. But this was Prince. I worked my way to a prime spot side stage and swayed blissfully, the dorkiest grin plastered across my face, for almost two hours. At one point, he had the control panel turn off the lights, "We're jammin' tonight." I have never been so smitten/starstruck by such a tiny, tiny man. (Or anyone, really.) I've always been a total fangirl about his music, but seeing him in person was everything I thought it would be and more. The charisma. The smoke/mist. The white suit with silver studs. Sweet holy Jesus. 

The friend who tried to sneak backstage with me never made it back to the rest of our group, so they had no idea where either of us were. My BFF was crying, realizing she might never see me again/I might be lost to the polo fields forever, until another friend pointed up to the Main Stage screens, “I found her.” One of Prince’s guys had brought a few of us females out onstage to dance (poorly, but enthusiastically).  I’m not going to say my life peaked right then, but there hasn’t been a more epic moment yet.

Because Coachella in those days was a magical place full of magical human beings, where everything just sort of magically worked out, I made a couple friends backstage. One of whom took pictures he promised to send me - he never did but the offer really perked up my inner historian at the time, who couldn't believe I was having this insane experience with no way to document it. (It’s fine, these memories have somehow managed to survive where all others have perished. I can live with that.) Another of these newfound homies offered to give me a ride to the T-Mobile party I knew my friends would end up at in exchange for me getting him in. His name was Jake. At no point was I even mildly concerned about being alone in a car with a stranger, trucking out to some remote part of the desert. (If we both love Prince, we both must be decent human beings, right?! My BFF remains unconvinced on this point to this day.)

RIP Old-school Coachella, but mostly…RIP Prince, you ethereal, sparkly, purple-y, unbelievably engaging, otherworldly creative genius, you. Thank you for everything you've given us to survive on/dance to/belt out/sob over/look to for inspiration time and time and time again. 

Buzz Killers

I went to get my passport renewed today. Things got a little uncomfortable. Mostly because I’m fairly certain the woman behind the counter was actually trying to not like me. I also may have brought a touch too much perk to the occasion. 

Which reminded me of this special little story:

One time, I was at dinner with ilivedwithironyandsurvived and her all-business-all-day father (ABADF), when I decided to cut the pre-meal-arrival silence with a few anecdotes from my errand-filled day. As I trotted them through a play-by-play of my adventures, from grocery store to post office with a quick pop into the bank and a stop at the shoe repair, ABADF…just…stared. Body unmoving, expression quizzical. 

…Right.

I decided to shake that off and forge ahead, attention obviously now focused toward the other side of the table. At the close of my rapturous tales, ilivedwithironyandsurvived and I were doubled up with laughter when ABADF raised his palm just slightly to halt the amusement. Amusement immediately complied. There was a lengthy pause as he considered his words. My eyes widened in anxious anticipation, ilivedwithironyandsurvived's found themselves staring down at a suddenly enthralling plate setting. SOMUCHQUIET.

And then he spoke. Slowly and carefully.

ABADF: So you really enjoy that, huh? 

Apparently, my good-natured glee had sort of bubbled out along with my words.

Me: What do you mean?

ABADF: Those mundane tasks. Those endlessly annoying things people actually pay other people to do for them. You enjoy…that.

Silence. Another lengthy pause. I swallowed loudly.

Me: I mean, it sounds less entertaining when you put it like that, but kind of, I guess.

I then attempted to explain how I love the fact that you never know exactly what you’re going to get in those places - how it’s sort of a smorgasbord of characters, personalities and personal histories, and how that can lead to really interesting interactions/or hilarious stories. And then I floundered for a few minutes at the end, just for good measure.

ABADF nodded to himself for a moment, chewing on my earnest zeal while frowning into his chin.

…

ABADF: Fascinating.

…

I didn’t share any more stories that night.

A Wrinkle (I Shall Get) In Time

The Scene: My favorite local cafe. I'm sitting out on the front patio, attempting to write, when an older gentleman waves/clears his throat several times to get my attention. The same attention I was purposefully diverting.

Concerned Older Man: May I - I was just noticing...

Ugh here he goes. He's going to shower me with compliments. Really, dude, I'm not really in the mood to discuss my most positive attributes. But thank you for your kind intentions.

COM: I was just noticing...you sort of scrunch up right here, right in the brow. (He's manipulating his own forehead into unattractive wrinkles as he says this.) Have you checked your eyes? I'm only saying this because you are quite beautiful now, but in time...

Welp.  That took a turn. Also, f*ck you. Me and my unconscious expressions were feeling quite spectacular before you and your patriarchal patronizing came along. 

Me: Ha yeah, I do that all the time when I'm thinking.

Should I tell him that, incidentally, what I was thinking at the time was that it was really creepy/awkward that he selected the one seat on the patio directly facing me, when every other seat was open? Like, I literally jotted it down on my notepad under the tab, "Weird Things Creepy Euro Dudes Do."

COM: No but really, it may just be your eyes - have you had them checked?

WHY ARE YOU SO CONCERNED ABOUT THIS, SIR.

Me: Yeah, no, I'm nearsighted, but that's not really an issue with the forehead thing. I've done it since I was a kid. 

Also, why am I explaining myself to you.

COM: Ah, so you really are aware. (Awkward sputtering. More forehead motioning. Frustrated sigh.) Well, I guess you've been lucky so far. But...well...never mind. Good day.

No one has ever looked so disappointed in me. And I recently ran into my first grade teacher who once (over)optimistically told my mother I was going to be the first female President.

...

Mere milliseconds after this man exits, I get a(n) (unsolicited) BBM from my mother:

My Mother: Dr. Klemperer recommends this...Whole Foods...

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Welp. Looks like I'll be stopping off to spend that Whole Paycheck later on tonight. Over-and-out, Universe. You woman-hater, you. 

High on Housewifery

Upon absorbing the fact that my entire purchase consists of Adderall and cleaning supplies:

Me: I have a really big night ahead of me. Pretty excited. 

The pharmacist's fingers stop doing whatever it is that they do on that little machine of his.

Moment of eye contact. Longer moment of silence.

...

Me: I'm just kidding. I just realized this totally looks like the Desperate Housewives thing where she gets all cracked out on her kid's Adderall and cleans everything in sight and, like, bakes lots of cookies and stuff. 

Awkward laughter on my end. Another lengthy moment of deep, deep silence on his. Uncomfortable shifting from all three people in line behind me. 

...

Pharmacist: Do you have a Rewards card with us?

...

Yes I do. Thank you so much for asking.

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Love, Sex, & Onesies

INT. THE BEDROOM ifyaknowwhatimean

Him: Wait. What are you wearing?

Her: My favorite onesie?!

Him: Yeah. Take that off.

Her: You don’t like my onesie?

Him: No.

Her: But it’s so adorable!

Him: I don’t think that’s what you’re going for in here.

Her: Oh, you’d be surprised.

…

Silence.

…

A few to eight hours later…

Him: Are you wearing that terrible thing again?

Her: My totally adorable onesie?

Him: Yes.

Her: Yep! And don’t you worry, I have a wide and varied selection of the sort. I even have a snap-front one with sleeves and legs and the whole bit.

Him: I’m sleeping with a seven-year-old.

Her: Hey, some men go to jail for this sort of thing. You get it risk-free!

…

…

…

I think HER won. 

USC Students Are Smart

As we were shuttling over to set the other day, one of the PA’s revealed, mid-convo, that she was a USC student.

"You’re at SC?! I went to SC." I get really excited when I have things in common with other people. 

"Really? No way! What year were you?" 

Oy. Luckily, I was on set as a journalist and not as an actress, so I felt less too-old-for-my-chosen-career in admitting my actual graduation year. 

"I was class of ‘06."

Pause. Eye contact. “Ohhhhh.”

Awkward pause. Laughter.

The chick driving the van interjected to remark on the meaningful tone behind that ‘oh’. I nodded in agreement, still laughing in self-deprecation. “I know, right. I get it. I’m old.”

The PA’s eyes grew wide in emphatic sincerity, “No, you just look so young!”

…

Well played, PA. Well played.

(And yes, I will be alternating low side-ponies and high braided ponies for the rest of my twenties. Great success.)

It's All Downhill From Here

Last week in Atlanta, we made a group decision to hit up the local AMC for a little matinee action. Movie of choice: This is the End. 

Little did I know, I was about to experience one of those rare, life-defining moments.

A couple points to clarify:

1. This is the End carries an R rating

2. An R rating requires attendees be at least 17 years of age, or be in the pseudo-care of an assenting adult. (Duh.)

You can probably guess what happened next.

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I. Got. Carded. 

Not only did I get carded, but as the girl behind the counter scrutinized my ID, her face shifted into that whole, left-eyebrow-raise-slight-chin-wrinkle-mini-surprised-smirk thing, "I wasn’t expecting to see that age.” 

Because she thought I was under 17. She thought I was in high school. She thought I was frolicking about in that blessed skin-glowing-hormone-raging-hands-holding-other-hands-at-football-games* stage of life. 

I’m going to choose to revel in this moment for the next 17 years or so. 

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I got carded at the theater bar, too, just in case you were curious. 

I really, really love Atlanta. 

*Or so I hear.