DiCaprio, Pitt and Clooney.
I have connections to some of the nominees this evening. In 1994—-DiCaprio critiqued my book of arty doodles while I was slaving as a Coat Check girl at a popular nightclub in New York City. I sat there, probably smoking a cigarette. It was then that you could basically give open heart surgery, with a cigarette dangling out of your mouth. I waited as he gave his opinion on which doodle looked like I had spent time on it and which one looked like I phoned it in. He was a tad snarky, but seemed pretty cool and I liked him because he had been quite endearing in What’s Eating Gilbert Grape. I think I referred to him as a kid, but in reality he was probably only two years or so younger than me. He didn’t tip well, but he was cute. I still send him doodles every Christmas.
My second and probably most highly discussed meeting with a star, took place in 1999 in Los Angeles. I had been living there about a year, performing in bad theater, selling antique furniture on Melrose and taking the bus with the other hookers in West Hollywood. Things weren’t too bad. I was always tan, fully bleached blonde and I drank lattes at Fred Segal. Overall, it was a satisfying experience living there, if you like living as if you’re dying. With a great tan, of course.
Cut to —-going to a Birthday party at The Beverly Hills Hotel. I was invited by a friend of mine, who just happened to know The Pitt. Ya know, sometimes ya just happen to know people. I attended the soiree with one of my best friends and her husband. We tried to pretend we weren’t scanning the room for Pitt, when we arrived. But deep down, our little starry eyed hearts were fluttering. We headed to the food right away, got a drink and then sat on the couch. “Wait, who is that drunk guy sweating?” “Is that Judd Nelson?” I asked. It wasn’t exactly Pitt, but I loved The Breakfast Club, so things were looking alright. At least for a goof. After about an hour, our little hearts were breaking, as we realized The Pitt might not actually be showing up. When suddenly, with a full chicken crostini suffocating my gullet, I muttered my typical deep voiced, “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god” The Pitt had arrived. He was in a suit. A good suit.
We subtly watched every move he made, until he made his way outside. This is where the degenerate smoker in me came in handy. It was time to casually saunter outside and smoke about a carton, somewhere near The Pitt. I’ll cut to the chase. Before ya know it, I was standing with three people. My friend, her husband and The Pitt! We were all talking. And we were laughing! Yes, Virginia—even famous actors laugh! Everything was just as it should be. Life was good. The Pitt was smart, cool and normal, with a sense of humor. It was at this time, that someone busted out the “stuff’. I am not saying I smoked the “stuff” with anyone with the last name, Pitt. I will leave it up to you to decide. But it all goes down in the books as a pretty feel good moment in time.
The last connection I have is not as full of rainbows and kittens as the prior two. But I needed to tie it all together. As they say everything comes in threes. In terms of my connection to Clooney—Well. I used to live in Weehawken, NJ. Clooney was in a minor motorcycle accident, in fact, of all places—-Weehawken! (exciting things happen there too) So there ya go, folks. That’s it. Enjoy the award shows.
Next on Random stories of stars———the time my friend and I were given cigars by Adam Sandler.
