The one where I don't go to a frat party

I had an appointment in the morning with a Polish waxing lady. It was painful. Horribly painful. ‘You’re too tense… it’ll hurt more…’ and it bloody did. Aargh.

Then… off to Tam’s place. She’s moving out of her friend’s place. A sad day. We’re packing up, I put all the stuff in the car and say goodbye to the hot tub and the tivo I’d yet to take advantage of…

Lunch at Marmalade, where Tam's mate works. Amazing food. And then… Tam's new place but we stopped off in Target. Sheets to buy. Amazingly cheap. I’ve always wanted to furnish a place in the US or have an excuse to spend money in household stores in America and now I can! Even though I’ve no money but you get the drift. American stores just hold a fascination for me. Perhaps because the pound was always stronger than the dollar (not the case now, boo hoo) but also because their stuff seems more innovative. Leave me in Bed Bath and Beyond and that's me out for hours just looking at the utensils.

By now… it’s 3.50pm. I’m due at Zuma at 5pm. All 36 miles away from where we are so I head off to see what Mr X’s got in store.

It’s grim weather (for LA). Slightly gray skies, rain and people are so affected. Compared to home it’s nothing. Nothing. But… tomorrow’s BBQ at Matthew Rhys’s has been cancelled due to the weather. A shame. I wanted to meet the man behind the legend. I’ve heard he’s just incredibly sexy in the flesh, just amazing. I wanted to see for myself. Still, I have to try and remember that I’m not on holiday. I live here. I’ve got time to meet the people I’m meant to be meeting.

4.30pm. I’m at Mr X’s. No sign of him. One of his buff mates is there (yay) but he’s neck deep in ‘Michael Collins’ (boo). No sign of Mr X. 5.30pm. Mr X arrives… I’m curious, why pull me out here on a Saturday? I load some music onto his blackberry for him, go through a few emails, pick up some big wig agent’s glasses (they’ll send a messenger for them), put pictures from his blackberry onto his computer and deliver a script his brother wanted him to read. Oh.... the agent's glasses. BIG drama. I've been getting daily phonecalls from the agent's assistant. Panicking. He has to have those glasses. Has to. And I know that every day the big shot agent has been going to the assistant: "If you don't get my glasses back you're fired". That's how it works. A panic industry. Induce fear. Fear gets people motivated. Apparently. Survival of the fittest and the thickest skin. However, it just makes me fuck up. Anyway. I've got the glasses. Some agent's assistant at CAA is about to fall in love with me.

8.15pm. I’ve been circling around the Ventura/Sherman Oaks area for 20 minutes trying to find Tam’s house. The fucking GPS has sent me to the wrong place. There are three Allott Avenues it seems. I’m going crazy. I arrive and we’re getting ready to go out. But her friend is late.

There are three parties tonight. A) One in Woodland Hills (back in the direction of Zuma). Sounds like a big frat party, but fun. Tam’s outfit looks incredible. Bodice and all. But the party's back another 15 miles. We'd need to leave now. B) Chris Hart’s assistant. This poor cow doesn’t even have a name. She’s (or even he) is just known as Chris Hart’s assistant. He’s an agent at CAA. About 300 people have been invited. It’s in Brentwood. I feel bad going to a party of someone who doesn’t even have a name. However. That's what people do. I don't even want to know Chris Hart... but this party is meant to be big. Deep down, by now, I don't really care. C) Benicio Del Toro’s party. Eileen sent a text, they’re going to his party. I’ve been told he has a surprisingly small penis. I don’t know why this upsets me. But it does. This is stuff I shouldn't know. And... I've not seen it so perhaps it's just one of those urban myths. I hope so. It would be nice to find out... So. These are the choices. Normal. Hollywood wank or Hollywood wankee.

It’s not 10pm. Amy’s really late. I’m really shattered. Amy turns up in her cutesy airhostess outfit, Tam’s wearing a corset and a tutu and I’m in jeans and a t-shirt. I decide to go home. I just can’t be bothered anymore. Hollywood will be there another day. I'm exhausted. I know that in Hollywood, 10pm is not late to head to a party… but it is these days for me. I get tired. I like getting up in the morning and looking at the sun.

10.30pm. Andy NL sends a text. He’s in a bar, firefly, on Ventura. Too late. I’m already on the 101 coming up to Highland. 10.33pm. Eileen’s at the Benicio party. It’s at the Social. I don’t even know where that is. I remember Tam telling me it’s a bit cunt soupy. I point out I’m in jeans and a t-shirt. Eileen recommends going home to change but… I know… the moment I get in… that’s it. I’m on the bed. And sure enough it proved to be.

I’m home. I’m looking after myself. I know the psychic (yes I saw a psychic, she told me that LA was the place for me and the next day I got the job off from Mr X so it all looked like it was meant to be) told me to ‘get out there’ to meet my husband but not tonight.