The Time I Realized I’m Not Old At All (& Blew Off Gavin Rossdale)
August 19, 2011 § 1 Comment
My stepmom spent a week going on and on about how it could be possible that I’m 27 and not freaking out that I’m an old, single, childless spinster or some crap like that to make me feel old when really she’s just jealous of my awesomeness. Still, when you see the look in her eyes and hear the excitement in her voice when she tries to bring you down like that… It’s really hard not to be at least microscopically hurt.
Then, I went to the Bush show at House of Blues in AC. It was awesome, but not the point. Some dude with a surrealist arrangement of facial hair approached me, probably because I was wearing a tight strapless dress and my motorcycle boots. He handed me some tickets to an after party at the Foundation Room. Why not? I had taken the next day off so I could enjoy myself.
So I headed to the Foundation Room where I was knocking back some drinks and dancing and exploring the place. The band showed up and Chris Traynor wandered over. He complimented my date’s curly mustache. He has his own too-long ‘stache. There was a crowd forming on one side of the room so I danced my way over (ever notice how alcohol seems to insert a crowd-magnet into your body? Just me?) and Gavin Rossdale was hanging out with the other band members behind one of those pretentious red velvet ropes you see at clubs no one is good enough to get into.
Anyway, I’m sipping at the ice on the bottom of my glass when Gavin Rossdale himself looks up from his entourage of men I don’t recognize. He looks at me- like right at me- like we hang out all the time or something. It was that casual. And then he just waves me in. The big bouncer guys who were holding out throngs of women clear this path for me, open the pretentious red velvet rope and let me right the hell in! Because Gavin effing Rossdale wanted to see me.
So I walk up to him and he leans in and says in his British accent, “Hey, how are you? I saw you standing there…” like he was just waiting for me to show up.
We chat for a few minutes- just the two of us- before I realize my friends are now detained at the pretentious red velvet rope, arguing with the bouncers. In fact my date is performing close-up magic tricks, I presume because he is a) totally polluted. The man is ruined for the evening (and the whole next day!) thanks to Jack Daniels and b) thinks the bouncers have the mentalities of 6 year olds at a birthday party.
I’m half in the bag myself, but still coherent enough to recognize the dark clouds of an impending horror story forming over us all- my date, my friends, the bouncers, myself and Gavin Rossdale. So I turn back to Gavin.
“Let me buy you guys a drink.”
Totally intending to go out to the bar, buy said drinks and rescue my little group in one graceful move.
Gavin says, “Sure. Let’s have a Cabo Wabo.”
Cabo Wabo. You got it, Gav. I make my way to the pretentious red velvet rope and tell my date to go get shots of Cabo Wabo for Gavin and I so that the bouncers will let him in with the shots. Whatever came out of that man’s mouth in response was complete gibberish. It was like trying to communicate with a cow that popped out of some nebula somewhere. I looked over my shoulder at Gavin- chatting with his entourage again. Then I imagined my date, squinty eye drunk, screaming in that language at Gavin Rossdale. I thought of him stumbling around the VIP lounge. I pictured him performing sloppy magic tricks for a room full of bad ass rock stars.
I grabbed my date and got him the hell out of there as fast as possible, which turned out to be the best idea because on the way out of the Showboat, he threw a temper tantrum and smashed giant chocolate chip cookies we’d somehow procured all over the parking lot because I wouldn’t let him drunkenly lose all his money playing Craps.
So Gavin, I am sorry I blew you off. It was sort of an emergency. I totally owe you a shot of Cabo Wabo next time I see you. I’ll even get tomato backers and show you how we do it Jersey.