Monday evening, we were knee deep in pink Juciness, shoulder to shoulder with Amy Adams and that red headed woman from The Office. Tuesday evening, we were eating little delights by Wolfgang Puck, people watching Raquel Welch and Cheryl Tiegs, secluded up in the hills of Bel Air. Last night, Wednesday evening, we had a decadent meditation on Mexican cuisine in Hollywood, helicopters circling the event space, visions of lowbrow delight blasting as sexy creatures lurked about the event space: it was divine.
All the embellishments in the last sentence is to fluffily say that we didn’t have a Vanity Fair Oscar Week event to attend last night and it was National Margarita Day, so we stayed home in our apartment in Hollywood, which is not far from the Kodak Theatre, where helicopters were circling above for whatever reason, and we worked on posts for today in sweatpants, while watching episodes of Hoarders on Netflix as we petted dogs and drank homemade margaritas.
It was a quiet, much needed off-night, where we caught up on e-mails and followed all of the activity of the private dinner by Vanity Fair at the Chateau Marmont on Twitter. We wondered what Colin and Livia Firth, the hosts of last night’s OxFam benefitting party, would have thought about poor Arline’s six-foot-three husband who has to sleep in a car because her hoard has gotten so bad. We saw that Emily Blunt, John Krazinski, and Emile Hirsch were having cocktails by the pool, to which I lifted my margarita to them, as I stared at my not-heated apartment complex pool that you would get fined for having a cocktail around. As Kristin Davis arrived, I took a bite from the taco salad I made to food accessorize with the margaritas we were having, the green of her dress matching the green of the sliced avocados I had gotten at Ralph’s on my bike minutes earlier. “Does Kristin shop at Ralph’s?” I asked myself, “No, surely that is a Samantha thing to do.”
After some time of following the event, we realized that we, too, were the hotel guests who wandered into the party by mistake, distracted by the allure of celebrities and flashbulbs and the possibility of Lilo having some impromptu photo shoot on a balcony with Uncle Terry. We quickly signed off of Twitter after thinking about maybe creating an Oscar inspired cocktail list or fishing places to go to watch the Oscars or even creating a drinking game based on the Oscars for everyone’s enjoyment on our night off.
Then we realized Guest Of A Guest already made a cocktail list, Huffington Post already created a list of where us peons should watch the Oscars and Guest Of A Guest did as well, and The Vine made an incredibly thorough drinking game we couldn’t rival, even if we tried.
But, none of them shared that the Metro Red Line would not be stopping at Hollywood and Highland on Sunday, which we noticed on the train earlier that evening as we trained back from Pasadena. Thus, let it be known that you cannot stop at the Hollywood and Highland Metro station this Sunday because it will be closed for the Academy Awards. Also, just so everyone knows, Arline’s husband is doing fine and no longer sleeps in a car because Arline cleaned her house.