03-03-2004 - 11:05 a.m. - the lord of the academy awards

sunday brought the fruition of my TORN oscar party dreams. I had a rock-out-with-your-cock-out good time. karen picked me up at LAX on saturday and the adventure had officially begun. karen is an impressive, yet true to her new york roots, aggressive driver. she manages to drive an SUV in a way that it flies like the wind and craftily maneuvers it's way into highly coveted gaps in traffic on la cienega, which is fabulous except that I didn't have any depends on me.

never having met an internet friend in real life before worried my mother more than it worried me. not everyone with aol is a 57 year-old psychopathic homicidal rapist, but mi madre seemed to have missed that memo. karen is a spunky, sassy, no bullshit, caring, hilarious and inspiring woman. the would-be poster child of the "tiny but mighty" club. between her courageous and humorous outlook on her lupus and the stoic strength she's helped me find with my hodgkin's, she's like an angel. with a really dirty mind and mouth.

unfortunately, our roommate at the summerfield suites was a slightly less enjoyable individual. upon first laying eyes on this poor girl, I knew I was in trouble. physically, a combination of mrs. tiggywinkle and steve buscemi in an anorexic middle-aged woman's body (at only 26), mousy mop of brown hobbit hair, complete with hairy brown wart protruding obscenely from the side of her nose. rebecca was frighteningly involved with lord of the rings internet culture and with every sentence she spoke her voice woud creep higher and higher in pitch and eventually crack into an ear-shattering honk. she was one of those trenchcoat mafia, magic card collecting, intellectual decathlon winning, weirdos that would ride in the back of the bus picking their noses and wiping their boogers on their hot topic "I have issues" t-shirts. this girl could be bill gates with a vagina if it weren't for her freakish obsession with tolkien. thank god for sci-fi.

instead of sitting in my hotel room waiting for the dorkmaster to return and try to get me to read some fan fiction and later join her cult, I decided to walk the streets of LA while karen was in topanga weilding her mighty geologist's axe. strolling down santa monica, hundreds of miles from home, soaking up the sun and anticipating the oscar bash, I was floored by a euphoric, intense feeling of freedom. it was so much more important to know that I can be independent than I could have ever imagined. it was a once in a lifetime opportunity to get out, make my own rules and hobknob with the hobbits, all thanks to karen. of course, along with the freedom there was a smidge of uncertainty, and a marked inability to muster up the courage to figure out public transportation on sunset ave.

as for the oscar party, my dress was divine (thank you ms. chelsey). my eyes were smoky, my lips were glossy, and my liver was ready to be pulverized. I started putting away the cosmopolitans by 4, was tanked and consequently broke by 7, and had to switch to the complimentary beer. the bartender was a 26 year-old aspiring model/actor/singer with a criminally beautiful face and a hot bod to match. his features were chiseled and strong, with olive coloring and curly black hair a la billy crudup and orlando bloom's love child. I hung off the bar, keeping my jaw off the floor as best I could, smitten by his unfathomable good looks. then he spoke.

this man was the most egotistical, self-obsessed, well-read idiot that I've perhaps ever encountered. he ever so quickly launched into his life's sob story, a drug addicted porn star father, a prostitute absentee mother, a failed first marriage due to his wife screwing eight of his friends, falling into a deep depression after his father's overdose, giving up on his acting career in favor of serving drinks in the garden of eden bar wearing nothing but a loincloth and a smile. what I hadn't expected next, was will the bartender inviting me home with him to have a threesome with him and his new wife, who is a dominatrix by night and coincidentally just loves blondes. welcome to LA.

after the lord of the rings: return of the king SWEPT the academy awards with 11 wins out of 11 nods, it was time for the celebrity cameo bonanza. I was well into my 387th celebratory drink and collapsed onto a lovely flight of steps near the stage to listen to john rhys davies salute the fans and apologize for not having orlando bloom's phone number. elijah wood popped up next to introduce his friends' cheerful yet crappy band, a world without sundays. AWWS assisted dominic monaghan singing a fucking brilliant cover of oasis's "supersonic", which was a lovely surprise and brought me right back to middle school, as I was probably hallucinating. the night wore on, but the singing and dancing hobbits persevered. billy boyd popped onstage to sing an irish folk song having to do with getting lucky with a lucky lady named jean. his girlfriend watched adoringly from the side stage as billy sang the crowd into a frenzy, and a likely early grave for any hard core pippin fans.

soon peter jackson had given a long yet heartwarming speech thanking every last person in new zealand, his first pet goat, fans, writers, producers, pee wee herman, and his 3rd grade math teacher. andy serkis was supposedly lurking around, but I completely missed that sighting. among the lord of the rings no-shows were viggo mortensen, liv tyler, and orlando bloom. I assume orlando had caught wind of my coming into a TORN ticket and opted to avoid certain castration/guilt tripping for having lied to a cancer patient. you can run but you can't hide, elfypants!

all in all, a brilliant and successful weekend, other than the fact that it ate my bank account. the only thing I couldn't asked for was 500 bucks to fall out of the sky to make it a little easier to snag a VIP pass. not even my wiliest feminine charms budged the sumo guards.

sharon, karen & moi!

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