Sometimes, this blog is just too much for one person to maintain. All you, my faithful readers, ever do is take, take, take. Therefore, I am beginning a series of guest bloggers. Let’s kick off this new jam with my dear acquaintance HG3, who has agreed to share the fascinating story of his birthday dinner last night (see cookie cake post below). Take it away, HG3:
In honor of my jumping headfirst into the dreaded “mid-thirties,” my beloved assistant/life coach/candy advisor/life partner DF had been thoughtful enough to make advanced reservations at La Esquina. For all of you rubes who don’t take the time to study US Weekly on a regular basis, La Esquina is a fancy Mexican restaurant that has somehow managed to maintain its trendiness and celebrity clientele despite being open for over a year now.
During our seemingly endless cab ride down to SoHo, we went past a brightly lit street that we soon realized was the set of an Ugly Betty episode. Although I pressed my greasy face up against the cab window in hopes of catching just a glimpse of frumpy icon America Ferrera (or even my alleged doppelganger/archenemy Michael Urie), I managed to only see a blur of lights and a hint of a crafts services table.
When we finally got to the restaurant, we were quickly whisked through the dimly lit basement dining room. Both of our eyes scanned the room, desperate for any famous faces. Alas, there were none. No Beyonce [Ed. note – thank god!] and Jay Z. No Maniston and Mayer. Not even Kelly Ripa and her munchkin husband. Maybe our Ugly Betty drive-by was our glamour highlight of the night? Oh well, we thought. At least we have each other. And margaritas. Or was it the other way around?
As I began to gulp down my second Hibiscus Rose Margarita while waiting for my Camarones (“shrimps” for those of you who don’t speak Mexican), DF suddenly broke away from tap-tapping on his newly omnipresent blackberry with a fire in his eyes. Now, DF has never been the most astute celeb spotter. I’m usually left with that job. However, last night he truly earned his keep. With a burning intensity, he leaned in for a whisper. Half expecting the twenty-first century version of “Rosebud,” I pricked up my eyes and gave him my full attention.
He spoke just five words” “Gossip G in the corner.”
It was then that I knew some of the cultural icons known as the Gossip Girl cast must be in our midst. I oh-so-casually turned to my right and saw the slightly annoying Ed Westwick (Chuck Bass) sitting with his arm around the lovely Jessica Szohr (the poor girl who lives in Crooklyn – always forget her name). I immediately turned back for another sip of my margarita so as to not seem so obvious with my gawking. Unable to avert my eyes much longer, I glanced over at the table again and was met with the new surprise of eternally cute Chace Crawford sitting on the other side of the Gossip G table with a baseball hat pulled down to obscure his identity (as if rolling around town with two other members of the cast doesn’t blow his cover).
Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I have to admit that I have seen many members of the Gossip G cast around town. But always alone. This was like witnessing the Holy Trinity (who really needs Blair or Serena?). And they were surrounded by a group of hangers-on that were all self-consciously dressed very “un-self-consciously.” It was like being in a real live episode!
Although I tried to time my bathroom break to one of the cast members’, the closest I came to a run-in was with two of their table-mates – a tall, plain Jane version of Blake Lively with flat hair and a short, mousy looking girl in a stupid jumper dress. Did I mention that the two of them were going into a single occupancy bathroom together? We all know what that means.
Safely ensconced back at the table with my third margarita, I was savagely struck with my birthday A-HA moment. These people who I was obsessing over are all at least ten years younger than me and they play characters who are literally half my age. My temporarily dormant existential crisis came crashing down on me like Little J’s dreams of fashion super-stardom.
I need to get a life. And a job. And another margarita.
Excellent. I offer but a few thoughts/additions:
- I must admit that I love Chuck Bass, and think HG3 does too.
- I don’t think Jessica Szohr (Vanessa) is lovely. I think she’s annoying and I’d choose Blair or Serena any day.
- I would have taken a picture… screw it. Who cares if you look like a tourist. At the bare minimum, a cell-phone pic.
- What HG3 neglected to tell you was that he was texting me the whole time this was going on. How very “gossip girl” of him us!
- I never realized how much HG3 resembles Michael Urie (or is it the other way around?) but now I feel stoopid for not noticing sooner.
Thank you, HG3, for having the birthday of my dreams… and for sharing it here with me.