Collapsing in downtown Los Angeles and Jonathan Richman.

I'm not even kidding, that awards show was rough on a purely self-centered tip (I don't know why I bother qualifying that; blogs are generally self-centered. This is a BLOG, which is pretty much the Princess Diaries. I haven't read that, I'm more of an Ann M. Martin devotee). So I am walking down the stairs at the Nokia Theatre in these rad four inch heels (workin it out in a three dollar dress, I have to say), and I feel my ankle collapse from under me. I had been holding a small plate of potstickers, and of course they went flying everywhere! My body followed my ankle and I ended up on the ground, humiliated. One of the interns, Adam, was walking next to me, and did his best to help catch me but to no avail. I hope that woman from Rock of Love didn't see me. So my brain is reeling, and the first thing I think to do is clean up the potstickers on the ground. I start furiously looking for them, and Adam crouches down and tells me "don't worry about the potstickers, just GET UP" because there are tons of people around us. We find seats and sit down. My shins are starting to bruise, I'm red and not feeling awesome at all, and I don't need to be there. Man, am I ever not going to be klutzy?

Did I tell you about my dream? It was a few weeks ago. I don't remember what happened in the dream, but that Jonathan Richman song "Pablo Picasso" was repeating in my head. The lyrics were different though--they were "Jonathan Richman never got called an asshole", over and over again. I like to take that refrain pretty literally.

Thinking about going back at the end of February for Animal Collective to get my art school freak on. We don't need another hero.

1 comment:

sarah marie p said...

Um. I want some of that breakfast. And no, Jonathan never got called an asshole. And I love that you mentioned Ann Mm Martin ... and called your blog the Princess Diaries. You rock. I think you rocked dropping those potstickers! Ummm I want a potsticker now.