Night in the Life of a Grammy Party GuestPart of: LA , Music
Breakfast: Kashi Go Lean Bar and chai tea w/ oat milk
Pants: red leather
Shoes: black stiletto boots
Shirt: black long-sleeved with deep v-neck and one large colorful butterfly
Accessories: large rectangular turquoise ring and garnet earrings
I was going to go to the BMG party, but arrived a half hour before my friends. Door chick wouldn’t let me in until my friend on the list was there. There were a few great parties, and I’m not one to wait around. I walked a few long blocks to the William Morris Agency party at White Lotus hoping my feet wouldn’t die. I love my black stilettos- they are so sexy—pointy, but not too pointy, with a subtle leather lace-up corset thing in the back. They’re not cheesy, I swear. However, I can’t stand in them on tile or cement surfaces for long—and I have a high pain threshold.
I get a heinous neon-orange wrist band that says ACCESS and has three triangles on it. I stuff it in my purse, because it is ugly and dorky. (At BMG they had a soothing blue-red paper wristband.) I was happy they didn’t put it on me—I hate when people baby you like that.
Grab a free Absolut Mandarin and soda from the outside bar. Walk around outside and check out the beds. They’re classy beds with wrought iron canopies. I still think if you’re going to have beds in a restaurant-- they should be posh and decadent or why bother.
Sitting on the bed was like sitting on the guest room bed in your anal parents’ house. Well, that could actually be a turn-on, but you get the point. The linens were in colors like ecru, stone and linden. I walk past Art Alexis from Everclear with a generic model/actress/whatever chick. Where’s he been? Art looks the same and appears music video-esque when he shoves his tongue down MAW’s throat in a fabricated fashion.
I recognize my friend Kim from her angel tattoo on her arm. It’s one of the few tattoos I’ve ever seen that is absolutely stunning and arty. Kim and I haven’t seen each other in ages. Kim was a true friend of mine, not one of those I’m-your-friend-because-we-both-work-in-the-music-industry-therefor-we’re-cool friends. Now she’s married to Will. I always thought Will was very cool, so I’m happy for them.
DISCLAIMER: If you don’t work in the music industry these parties would be boring, unless you consider watching stars and not talking to anyone fun. Only the high-level executives, famous people and very select press get invited to these parties. Musicians and other famous people aren’t going to randomly talk to you if you don’t know someone who is friends with them or works with them.
Kim and I head to the bar for more drinks. Kim points across the room, “There’s Justin Guariani.” We both start laughing.
At the bar we meet Oliver H., a writer for People magazine. Oliver is quirky looking with glasses and boyish blonde hair. He lives in Silverlake. Oliver appears bored, is sipping red wine, and not socializing. Refer to above disclaimer.
Kim spots Karen from The Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs.
“I want to say hi to her,” Kim admits.
Kim is shy, but social.
“Go for it.”
We stand there for a minute. Karen seems to be talking with an inner circle of friends or industry admirers who are fawning over her—she obviously likes it. The bullshit fairy dust is oozing. I’m getting nauseas. Karen is wearing a sparkly white dress (modern-vintage?) that’s very rock star. She’s very petite with porcelain skin and a lovely complexion.
Kim makes her move, “I like your tattoo.” Karen’s tattoo on her bicep appears to be a bumble bee.
“Thanks,” says Karen.
We see the ubiquitous Capitol Records A/R girl, Laurel Stearns. She is hanging out with some of the Queens of the Stoneage band members. We say hi. I always end of seeing Laurel at random parties and backstage at shows. I still don’t think Laurel has a car, so she really is the music industry superhero.
I grab Kim and I some water (the entertainment industries fav—Fiji) from the bar, because I am feeling my two drinks. Kim and I know how to pace ourselves. I only had soup for dinner, because I had to fit into my size 0 leather pants. I am not a size 0 in most brands, but leather pants stretch, so you must buy them a size or two smaller than you are—make a note of that.
I have brief conversations with The Offspring’s new drummer and his beautiful girlfriend. They could be married, I don’t remember. Drummer and I are both night owls and like to sleep in.
I meet a lot of nice people—including music industry lawyers. I know it’s hard to believe there are cool lawyers. This one flambé lawyer says he loves my pants. Billy Bob’s manager, Ted Gardner is nice. I’m not sure if he is only his music manager.
Kim and I sit on the bed for a break, and I put a pillow under my calves so my feet can rest. A guy I recognize sits next to us with a pretty girl. I can’t quite place him. I hope he isn’t famous.
One time I was at a dinner party, and my friend hadn’t mentioned it was going to be all famous people. Well, Chris Weitz and I were in the kitchen, and he introduced himself to me as “Chris”. So, I said he looked familiar, and he was like, “Oh, I was in a small independent film that no one saw called Chuck and Buck.” That was pretty funny. Normally I would never say that to someone, but it was really bugging me.
I’m walking around with Kim stuffing mini-tiramisus, cheesecakes and a few other assorted mini-desserts into my mouth.
“I wish there was still food,” Kim laments.
“I know, now I’m hungry,” I say.
I turn around to survey the crowd and notice Favorite Musician Guy. You all know I don’t get starstruck, and this was no exception, but I was like, I can’t believe there is a musician here who I really admire—a talented writer and performer. And I’ve appreciated his music for years. Oh, and he’s quite sexy.
I turn to Kim, “Isn’t that so-and-so?”
Kim isn’t paying attention. I say it again, but there’s still no recognition. I am trying to figure it out, because I’m not the best at recognizing people. I decide I’m 90% sure it’s him. We end up on the bed again (Kim and I) and I surreptitiously glance at him.
We see Frank Black and assorted Pixies members and then end up by Favorite Musician Guy, so I introduce myself. Even after introducing herself, Kim doesn’t recognize him, which I find hilarious.
Not everyone would recognize him, but I assumed she would. Okay, that’s where Favorite Musician Guy’s story stops. I didn’t sleep with him or anything, so get your mind out of the gutter. Anyway, I never kiss and tell. I’ve never even dated a musician—haven’t met any I wanted to.
Kim and I move in to check out Snoop Dog and his crew’s performance. I can’t believe I’m dancing fifteen feet away from him. I’m so happy that I’m at a small venue and not at LACMA. This party was the right choice. Kim and I dance and talk to another cool chick.
Kim and I are in the bathroom. I am waiting to use the sink while a group of five bimbos are saying something about the VIP area—a tiny lounge that was pointless on a night like this. But it was good for reigning in the bimbos, so I didn’t have to look at them. This one girl in a heinous frilly rose-colored dress lifts it so you can see her underwear—gross!!! She is just fucked-up and doesn’t know what she’s doing. Finally the bathroom attendant makes the girls move so others can user the sink. Kim and I exchange a look.
Talk, talk, talk and say goodbyes after resting my feet one last time. The guy I thought I knew recognizes me, too. We used to work at the same major record label—aha. Other sightings—drummer from Faith No More and Dale from The Melvins.