missive from paradise
Aloha. It’s early here, but late where you are. Last night was my friend’s wedding out here on the beach in paradise land. Lovely, lovely ceremony at sunset. Tibetan lamas and orchid petals and then an organic vegan chocolate fondue fountain.
Had a terribly embarrassing run-in with a celebrity who shall remain nameless. I’m still stinging from it, actually. I’ll try to make it brief, but it might help my brain unsquinch to write about it: Turns out the wedding photographer is a friend of mine from way back. I made a joke about getting a picture of me with said celeb, who we’ll call Irving. Okay it was, as DC says, a “truth joke,” and really more along the lines of “make sure you get a picture of me with Irv.” Sort of a joke. Ha. Okay, but I didn’t think it would get set up like some great adventure attraction.
But sadly, the photog told him about me and then went to fetch me and then introduced us and I shook Irv’s soft, light hand. And I had already filled up on Jouet and Cristal at that point and he put him arm out and this is Maui, right, very huggy place. So I gently hugged him and noticed he wasn’t hugging back. Then I said, “You’re not doing the Maui hug thing, are you?” He said “No.” I said something like sorry I think, did the arm-around photo op thing. Picture was taken. I said, “Sorry to be such a cornball” to Irv. He said “No problem” and I promptly ran away.
Okay so we have an embarrassing, inappropriate photo, plus an accidental hug, plus a speedy getaway. I was reeling with the mistakenness of it all. Even though all I should be thinking about is the love I feel for my very happy in-love friend who just got married. I am, really, still bathing in it, but I’ve begun down a vicious shame spiral, so I tell a couple of guys I’ve been hanging with the story and they are unsympathetic and making fun of me. So I go to a group of women I know, tell them I’m freaking’ and tell them my story. They are sympathetic, tell me it’s not that bad that I just hugged and posed with an A-luster in violation of all rules of social civilian-celebrity etiquette.
So I’m feeling better, coming down. Even feeling like I’m comfy enough that I can do a smooth, mellow, unattached apology to Irv in a bit. Then we head in to the tent – the lovely orangey-lit glowing tent—to eat and there are no assigned seats. I say to one of these women, “I don’t know where to sit, this is like the school cafeteria.” And she says, “Why don’t you sit with Irv?” Which is funny, but Irv, in all his A-list glory, is standing right behind her and I look and it’s clear he has heard his name (since he was six inches away) and the rest. I do the mature thing. I roll my eyes at her so that he doesn’t think that I would condone this sort of thing and I escape to the very back of the room.
And for the rest of the night at this relatively small wedding, I avoid eye contact conspicuously. And I’m waiting for the bathroom a bit later and Irv comes out, eyes me nervously and gets away. So it looks, apparently, like I’m stalking him for reals. When really I never saw him go in and really had to pee.
Okay, I’m done. Thanks for listening. I woke this morning and went through some emails and remembered: I had cancer. I have a life. There are more important things than this. And I’m slowly coming back to earth, but ouch, sometimes it hurts to be a messy little human.
The lamas in the ceremony were advocating patience to overcome inevitable irritation with your partner during marriage. He said this as he threw orchids and petals at the couple. Patience. Patience for partner, patience for self. And the big, ancient undulating ocean behind them seemed to agree.
