Breakfast At Tiffany's




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Enchante' Madam Huffington

Part of: LA , Literati , Television

Breakfast: pumpkin scone and an iced chai soy latte from Starbucks

The weather was gorgeous, so I was happy I didn’t need to bring a wrap. Arianna Huffington’s Brentwood digs were rather cozy—and large. After grabbing two Chardonnays outside, BoiFromTroy and I went into the salon where there was a large table of books. We chatted with State Senator Richard Alarcón and Joy Chen.

Senator Alarcón asked us, “Are you partners?”

I was taken aback for a moment, before I realized he meant: were we dating?

“We’re friends,” I said after a pause.

I really do try hard not to date attractive gay men, but Boi is special.

I spied Larry David and wondered if this would be the night when I finally got up the nerve to talk to him.

We ran into Mickey Kaus outside while we were going for drink break round #1. Me: one sparkling water (by accident). Boi: one flat water.

I was trying to take it easy since the previous night I’d had wine and 3 Absolut Mandarin & Sodas—total—at The Hotel Café, Beauty Bar and El Centro. (It was another Kate, Tiffany and a famous friend Hollywood night, but you’ll have to read about it in my book.)

“Nice boots,” Mickey said to Boi.

I need to start checking out men’s shoes again. The other night, even Successful Business Man commented on some guy’s shoes, and SBM is not fashion conscious.

Boi tells us there is a rumor going around that I have big breasts. A Republican who doesn’t know me started it—figures. Boi and Mickey didn’t look at my breasts.

I later confided in Boi that I’m a 34B, which is average size. “You can look. They’re not big.” Boi again had no interest in my breasts.
We were introduced to LA Times film critic, Kenny Turan. I didn’t catch his name at first. Boi had him as a teacher at USC and didn’t say much when Kenny asked if he had liked the class. I wrote a post a while back directed toward Kenneth regarding one of his LA Times pieces. Boi and I needed more alcohol.

Drinking two fresh mojitos, Boi quipped, “These plastic glasses are really wasteful.”

The caterers had rows of pre-poured drinks to avoid an unsightly bar line. Boi was trying to be a snooty Republican. I debated shoving him in the pool.

Instead, I grabbed a couple of delicious brie quesadilla hors d’oeuvres. There were also tasty vegetable samosas. I didn’t partake in the shrimp since I had learned that God doesn’t like shrimp via Boi’s blog.

We chatted with a Silverlake girl and her friend. I wasn’t the best on names and wasn’t planning on blogging this, so forgive me. Anyway, she was a cool chick but said she’d rather be at home with her cat. Silverlake Girl’s very social father had dragged her out. He was nowhere in sight.

I overheard LA Times columnist, Patt Morrison, cheerfully telling Mickey Kaus that she loves his Slate voicemail messages that are aired on Day to Day. That was apropos since I had heard one just the other day, and it was funny. Pat was wearing some really nice chunky coral-colored jewelry.

Also seen in the house: Marc Cooper, Kevin Roderick, Carla Hall and Sharan Street.

The party was truckin’ on and I still hadn’t met Larry David or Gore Vidal. I forgot about that. Reading on the invite that Gore Vidal’s book was one of the books being celebrated had made me go into politicostruck (Oh, I should put a trademark symbol there!) mode. That’s never happened before.

Back inside, Boi and I squeezed past Jane Fonda in the packed living room. Being less than a foot away from Jane Fonda made my night. She looked amazing in a killer white suit (not pleather, Boi), and her face moves. Jane, you are so fabulous! Boi was in awe, too. I went to high school with Jane’s son,Troy Garity. I didn’t know him, but he was rumored as being a ladies’ man. I believe Troy is a few years older than I.

Arianna, doting on her daughter, was also a nice moment. If my mom had done that to me at her age, I would’ve been embarrassed. It’s nice to see tender mom/daughter stuff. Like mother, her daughter did look lovely—fiery red with sorbet colors, still innocent.

Miraculously, there was a seat on the plush green velvety sofa across the way from Larry, Laurie David, and Gore Vidal. I was reminded of George on Seinfeld falling in love with his date’s velvet couches, then dumping her when he realized that her guy roommate actually owned the couches.

I sat next to an attractive older man, Albert. He’s a bi-coastal lawyer/producer or producer/lawyer. His lady friend was also attractive, and I secretly wondered if she was Patricia Vidal (not related to Gore Vidal) undercover when she mysteriously revealed she has several US residences and is always on the go. “My kids are all grown up, and I don’t have a husband, so I’m free. I don’t have to take care of anyone anymore.”

Hmmm……do I really want to have kids and/or a husband?

I scoped out the Larry David situation. All the “you’re so great, blah, blah. blah...” people had left. It was down to a girl in her 30’s (though she looked like she was in her late 20’s from my current perspective) who would not stop talking to Larry David. I didn’t want to be rude and interrupt, so I waited and waited and waited. It became obvious that they knew each other. I bet she has famous parents or worked with him. I still didn’t know what I was going to say to Larry—“You’re so g-r-e-a-t…”

Our beautiful hostess, Arianna, was talking to Gore Vidal. One of her daughters was precariously balancing her elbow on a plush pillow on the coffee table. I tried to figure out how that position could be comfortable, but gave up. People were still swarming around Gore.

I was mad. I didn’t bring cash to buy Gore’s book and have him sign it. This always seemed to be the case at book parties. I would have to spank myself later.

Silverlake Girl showed up and pointed out her father, who looked young and virile though he had to be in his late 60’s or even 70’s. I wanted his anti-aging pill.

Finally I introduced myself to The Davids. (Remember that I have that rule about not writing about my conversation with celebrities.) I will share two quotes.

I asked Laurie if it was true that she has a compound in Santa Monica Canyon. Someone had told me that the other day. I thought they lived in Hancock Park, but I have no idea. I probably was getting them confused with Jason Alexander.

“No, we have a large house, but definitely not a compound, and not in Santa Monica Canyon.” Laurie and I had a lovely conversation. She’s gorgeous.

I briefly chatted with Larry who does not like to be written about. I asked him what he thought about The New Yorker piece on him that I thought was cleverly written.

He made a “whatever” face. “I didn’t like the title.”

The title was: ANGRY MIDDLE-AGED MAN--Is Larry David funnier than everyone else, or just more annoying?

It seemed like it had been slapped on last minute by an unimaginative or jealous individual and certainly did not catch Larry David’s je ne sais pas or genius.

I felt like I was watching an episode of “Curb Your Enthusiasm.” Larry has all the same mannerisms in real life and wears the same clothes. He looks good in periwinkle.

Unfortunately, The Davids did not fall in love with me and decide to make me their new best friend, who, of course, would eventually warrant a guest star appearance on “Curb” —WTF?

Luckily I got a long stemmed white rose from a secret admirer when I got into my car. Boi was jealous.

"Curious" writes me:

Hey your last entry was quite enjoyable. I'm not familiar with all those people but it's sounds like a huge intrigue. I laughed when you alluded to your friend and his disinterest in your breasts, then subsequent revelation of your measurements. I've been with my gf for over 2 years now and I still don't have a clue about bra sizes. I just know hers are 'average' too. Do you ever grow tired of going to these little rendezvous and parties? Are the celebrities you meet genuinely nice, warm-hearted people or are they a bit pompous and supercilious?


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