In Hollywood over the past few weeks it has been time for the annual Outfest film festival. A large venue for gay and lesbian film makers to showcase their films. We usually try to attend serveral films in order to "be among our people" as I'm fond of saying.
So the other night, tickets in hand, we jump into the Porsche, put the top down and roar down Sunset Blvd. on our way to the DGA (Director's Guild of America) for a women's film. We dressed up a little, I put on some dangly earrings and my best sandals and we were ready. We were standing in line waiting to get into the theatre and an Outfest worker informs us we were in the wrong line. We were in the priority seating line. Well, harummpf. I join Outfest every year but see no real value in paying over $ 300 for priority seating and the few other perks you get.
So Dena climbs over the velvet rope (I suppose that should have been our first clue) and I follow. Except, I get my foot caught on the rope and BOOM, down I go. Faceplant on the carpet, velvet rope all over me, what a sight I made. Dena was yards ahead of me racing to get into the "regular people" line so she thought I was right behind her. As I struggled to get up, my hands burning from carpet burns and more importantly, my pride majorly hurt Dena rushes over. As she cooes over me making sure I'm ok this outfest fellow says, "since you're obviously in pain you should probably come sit in the theatre". I sacrificed my pride for priority seating. Not too bad of a trade I suppose.
We enjoyed wonderful seats at a mediocre movie seating among the rich, powerful and highly cultured lesbians.
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