I'm not sure if you guys know this, but I was involved in a pseudo scandal a few years back. Oh yes, even before Hell's Kitchen knew about Chef Bonnie, trouble was a-brewin. I even made Perez Hilton. (for those of you who don't know, that used to be a really big deal).
The Scandal? A sex tape with Pete Wentz - Fallout Boy's sexy bass player/now ex-husband to Ashlee Simpson. Can you believe it???
Don't. Because it's not true. Well, it did actually make a few very minor headlines, but the act itself was entirely untrue. You're probably thinking, how would I even come across Pete Wentz in my actual real life? Well, friends, the answer is because I used to live in Hollywood. And shit like that just seems to happen sometimes.
I was in culinary school at the time. I was in my pastry course and had made arrangements with my buddy Jeff that I would give him all of my glorious baked bounty if he would show up at the end of class everyday. (Otherwise I'd go home and sit in my empty bathtub or under my desk and eat everything myself - Jeff apparently only made it as far as his car...but that's a different story - huh Jeff??)
Anyway, so one day Jeff shows up with this guy he's friends with and doing some writing together. We will call him Nate. So we get to chatting as I had my freshly baked brownies to Jeff's hot little hands. And it turns out Nate has written a short film and is going to direct it and and asks if I "know of anyone who might be interested?" Ok so I used to act, I used to loooooove performing in front of anyone who would watch. But I put a heavy lid on that box once I realized it wasn't what I wanted to do anymore. Hence, going to culinary school. The lid came down on the acting box when I was sitting in acting class one Monday afternoon and my wonderful acting teacher made a profound statement:
You should only be an actor if you want to get up and perform everyday knowing you may never make a single penny out of your craft.
Oh HELL no! - was my knee-jerk reaction. And I suddenly realized: I wanted red carpet, and parties and fashion and paparazzi and all that shit that seems to be a bi-product of showbusiness. Oh yeah, and MONEY. But I didn't want to do what it took to get here, I realized. Acting for film and tv is hard fucking work. Stopping and starting and stopping and starting and getting up at 4 am for makeup and then standing around all day with nothing to do til they get to the one stupid scene you're actually in. Yuck. Not for me. AND not to mention you just feel fat and ugly and not funny all the time after you show up to an audition and stand next to the most beautiful and funny women you'll ever see. Nope.
As soon as I had this realization, I quit. I hung my jazz hands up in the closet and began to ponder what was to become of my menial existence on this planet.
Whatever, this is a lot of back story and I haven't really gotten to the real story.
So, cut back to Nate asking me if I knew someone interested in being in a short film. With Pete Wentz. He did actually say that. I had no idea who Pete Wentz even was. I had the feeling Nate wanted me to volunteer so I did. And I auditioned. And I got the part.
So we do this movie, Pete Wentz and me. And there is a really graphic sex scene. And I realize that when actors say how uncomfortable sex scenes are - they mean it. SO embarassing and awkward and uncomfortable.
BUT when the film was finished, a piece of it got "leaked" to the press to make it look like it was a real sex tape. But it wasn't. But people got curious and started to download it. So it worked.
Anyway, my point wasn't really to tell you about the sex tape scandal, my point was to tell you about hanging out with Pete Wentz, one night in particular. And let this be said once: Pete Wentz never hooked up, nor got it on, nor did anything intimate in any way. Except for what was filmed. But we did hang out together a few times after it was all over.
The time I want to tell you about was when he texted me to tell me he was "having some people over" at his house and wanted to know if I could come. Duh. Of course I'll be going. For sheer curiosity, if nothing else. And I began to envision myself sitting around a dining table drinking wine with a bunch of rockstars...they would find me witty and entertaining yet intelligent. I would awe them with my understated fashion sense. We would make more dinner plans and I would end up in some gossip magazine going shopping with one of them....
I dig through my wine rack to find a suitable bottle of red wine. We will definitely be eating, so what better gift to bring than a bottle of wine? Especially a nice one, right?
So it takes me like 2 hours to find Pete's house. It's back in the hills on some virtually unnamed narrow road and I'm automatically starting to worry about where I'm going to park my car...
Oh. Wait. Isn't that....valet? I find myself in a long line of cars outside of my destination waiting to be parked by men in uniform. Erm...I thought the invite hinted at a small gathering... Oh well! The more the merrier! You'd think this would have triggered my brain into thinking, gee I don't think they'll need your ONE bottle of red. But it didn't. And once my keys were handed over to the nice man parking my car (the shittiest car in the line, mind you, my pathetic 1996 Corolla sandwiched in between Rangerovers and Mercedes and all sorts of expensive crap!) , I made sure I had my trusty little gift in tow and marched towards the door...that was wide open...and as I entered this massive house I came face first with about a gazillion people, a dj, a full bar, and an entire catering crew.
What the fuck was I supposed to do with my wine now? I can't just carry it around with me the whole night and look like a boozer! When I saw Pete I handed it to him, knowing this was going to make me look like a complete and utter idiot. I think he thought I had taken it from the bar and just handed it to him in some weird drunken gesture.
I did meet a few other famous peeps, drank with a few famous peeps, drank with a few normal peeps, and got into a long supportive conversation with one of Pete's guy friends going through a breakup. Who then tried to hit on me. Ok, time to go.
Driving home, I had a lot on my mind; I had entered a different world for a few brief hours. One I'm glad I got to see, because it made me realize that I was never meant to be famous. Or like, that famous. I'd never want to throw a party that big and consider it "having a few people over" - in fact, I don't ever want to throw a party that big at my house! I want to throw parties where it's totally appreciated if someone brings a bottle of wine or 2. That were hand-selected with love and care.
Not that there is anything wrong with that life. It's just a different life. And not for me. I'm too much of a dork to be that famous.