This little exerpt is just one in a long line of stories about Queen. A friendship that no longer exists, and possibly one of the weirdest and most toxic ones I’ve ever had. Queen is the sister of my best friend, RedVelvet. Naturally, I befriended her, too. We’d been friends for about a year at that point and had both been looking for work when she got a “modeling deal”. (More on that in anther story.) This seemed to lead to charity events that she said she had to attend. I know, I know, just bear with me. Queen is what I would call a known liar, and not a very good one. I’d caught her in a few white lies and let them go, and it seems like when I did that, I let go of any common sense I might of had, but then again, that could have been the weed affecting my memory, since I had just ‘quit’. (Another story.) Long story short, Queen got this “mandatory invite” to go to this charity event, for One Voice. One Voice is driven to end the wars raging in the Congo and Sudan. This is a great cause.
Queen asks me if I would go along with her. She begins to tell me that a big name in fashion/photography/modeling will be there. I can’t even remember which category this person was in, nor can I remember the name rattled off. Not a promising sign. Almost immediately, she begins telling me how celebrities might be there, like my favorite band. I salivate to think. I follow the bassist on Twitter and figure if he’ll be there, he’ll be posting about it. I figure that the rest of the band still probably lives in Northern Cali (where they started from) and will likely, not be there. When I bring it up again, Queen changes her story and says that it will be all indie people. Like a retard, I say that the bassist goes to indie concerts and such, and may hear about it through them. She feeds into this line of thinking. Not once did I think, if only indie people are showing up, why the fuck is a big name in fashion/photography/modeling going to be there?! Behold, the power of good salesmanship.
On the night of the event, I get into my best clothes (as suggested ordered by Queen.) I do my make up and hair and we leave fo’ Hollyhood! Yay! At this point, I’d lived in Cali for 4 years and had NEVER been to Hollywood, so I’m pretty fuckin excited. We sing and do other retarded things that girls do together in the car (really, it’s fun.) and soon enough we’re in Hollywood. We see the stars on the Walk of Fame and I take a picture of Harry Houdini’s star, because I’m a big fan. Yes, I’m a big fan of a dead magician. Google him. I’ll wait. Michael Jackson’s star was decorated with flowers and candles, with street vendors not 10 feet away selling his overpriced merchandise. Dying is good business when you’re loved world wide. (Yes, I was sad when he died, but that doesn’t make that statement any less true.) The charity event is at the Roosevelt Hotel. This excites me. As per Queen’s usual, we park roughly 10 years away and walk at a breakneck pace. I don’t like this as my dress shoes hurt my feet when practically running. For whatever reason we had to be there an hour before. I figured she might be helping with the set up, or that F/P/M person will be there and she’ll introduce us as promised.
We arrive, and I’m totally blown away by the Roosevelt. It’s the most beautiful and elegant hotel I’ve ever seen. I mean, I’m po, so I don’t travel much. I’m also easily impressed, but that did raise my standards a bit. The event is in the pool area, and that’s just as nice. I then find out that the event is a pool party. I’m overdressed. I cannot see how this could be an oversight. Queen drove, and I expected her to drive back. I start to worry when she starts ordering drinks. I’m trying to go straight edge at this time, so I stick with water and lemon and am on Twitter tweeting like nobody’s business. Queen leaves to “validate parking” – whatever the fuck that is. Apparently it makes parking in a parking garage with a set rate cheaper. She leaves her phone, so when seven years have passed, I can’t text her and ask what the fuck is taking so long. I am nervous and no one is talking to me. What kind of charity event is this? I was told I’d be able to network and share my writings with others. I recognize no faces from the indie scene, probably because there were none there, because this charity is so unheard of. 15 years later, Queen returns and orders wine and has some snack for us, and proceeds to tell me a few tourists asked what movie she was in and wanted her autograph. I play along, though I’m thinking, Well, I guess it’s something to look like you star in Bollywood, and not look Indian.
I’ve been religiously checking Twitter, and no posts from bassist boy that he is in Hollyhood. We move to the pool. Queen says she’s going to talk to F/P/M lady and to watch her stuff. I’m bored and losing patience with her. This event is boring, everyone is in their own cliques, and this icon whom she promised to introduce me to is most likely either not here, or non existent. The waitresses are so retarded, that they leave the lemon peel in my water glass and don’t bring me a fresh one, as I ate the last one. The one by the pool seems to get it right, since the other one was too busy slutting it up for a guest. Maybe it was Tucker Max, and if so, it’s forgivable, but he didn’t look like Tucker Max, and I doubt he’d ever go to a charity event. I’m tweeting about how bored I am. I begin to wonder if all events suck this bad, and if Hollyhood lies about them in movies. (I know, I’m pathetic to let them fill my head.)
Queen is gone for another 6 years before finally returning. When we got there, she told me it was mandatory to donate, and I freaked. I’m unemployed and broke. How am I supposed to donate?! I know, I’m laughing, too. The event was “invitation only”, yet no one took our names at the front or when entering the pool area. It was all a sales pitch. She claimed she donated money for me and I thanked her, and we’d be getting t-shirts. Awesome. We left shortly after as we were both bored and I didn’t want to be in the hood til 2 am. She claimed sobriety, and for the most part, drove ok. We get back to her and RedVelvet’s apartment, and RedVelvet is there. She tells me that we should play a joke on her and say John Mayer was there – her favorite musician. I object at first, but soon begrudgingly go along with it. RedVelvet doesn’t give two squats. I eventually break it to her that we were kidding, which I’m sure she’d figure, because I didn’t say much.
I tell RedVelvet that the event was boring, and Queen defends them by telling us it was their first event. No shit. No fucking wonder no one of importance was there. It was an open event and they were probably asking for $5 donations, not the $35 donations as I was led to believe. Then Queen says all the celebrities were having a private dinner above the pool party. I thought, sure, in your mind they were. It was one of those light bulb moments, where I realized that everything about this event was a lie. I was kind of pissed to say in the least. I didn’t need to be sold. I would have gone with her anyway because I know she’s passionate about the situation in Africa. I was slightly pissed that she defended the event when the entire ride back, we bitched about how boring it was. Whatever. RedVelvet and I went in her room and compared stories. Turns out, Queen invited her to the event and promised John Mayer would be there. I rolled my eyes at the source of the “joke”. I eventually went home, pissed and disappointed with myself.
I never got a t-shirt.