Around this time last year we got invited to go to the MTV movie awards in Los Angeles. They offered to put us up in a suite at the Beverly Hills Hotel, so even though I was 47 months pregnant I jumped at the opportunity.
We were picked up from the airport in a tricked out Escalade complete with refreshments and candy bribes for the shortest of us. Upon arrival at the hotel I was offered a prenatal massage – yes, please and thank you – then Karis, refreshed after a cat nap, took up residence in the pool.
That night we had to go to a cocktail hour and dinner at a trendy place down the strip. Jesse was being schmoozed by MTV’s new business guy so we had to participate in all of the planned schmooze enabling events. The next morning we had a few free hours so we went over to visit Miss Ella Beans. I was so excited to see the lovely people I consider my LA family. About 10 minutes in to the visit I started getting very uncomfortable. I was experiencing incredibly painful stomach cramps – so painful that I actually TURNED DOWN my planned lunch of In-N-Out. THAT’S how painful it was. I left the Beans family, apologizing profusely for being such a groaning lump. (I’m usually a very low maintenance pregnant woman) We made it back to the hotel just in time for me to stagger my way to the salon to get my hair and make up done.
The hotel salon was a joke. It was full of excited mid-westerners fluttering around in amazement at having their hair and make up done by professionals. I sat in a chair trying to hide my inner agony and praying I wasn’t going in to labor.
The stylist warred with my hair for a few moments before proclaiming, “Well, this is the best I can do with this.” “This” being my overly pregnant, hormone laden hair. I smiled a ‘thank you’ that probably looked more like a wince due to my continued pain. I was then sent off to the make up lady. She furiously applied shadow to my eyelids and rushed me out the door, her station remaining a well oiled make up applying machine.
I ducked in to a quiet bathroom on my way back to my room. I took a good look at myself in the mirror and let myself indulge in an emotional hormone moment. I looked like a prom goer circa 1987. I had the raccoon eyes and the Bon Jovi tribute hair. I was a mess. I waddled over to a fainting bench and plopped my swollen body down. A few minutes in to my pity party I realized my cramping had subsided. I jumped up. wiped off approximately half of my raccoon mask and returned to my room to get dressed and see about calming the wrath that was my hair.
Dani was going to stay with Chi chi while we were at the award show, so she was there to witness and appreciate the talents of the salon professionals. She took this picture of us in the hallway before we left.
We were bussed to the theater which was at Universal Studios. There was currently a fire on one of the stages so most of the roads were blocked off. We had a quick thinking bus driver who lied to the road block cops, claiming we were guests at the hotel around the corner – we got through.
Once we arrived Jesse, myself and our host John, made our way to the edge of the crowd that was waiting in the smokey heat. When we were fully surrounded by other attendees the security guards started announcing that cameras were not allowed beyond this point. Crap. I had a camera on me and no where to stash it. I started nudging past people, going against the flow of traffic in an attempt to buy myself some time to figure out how to handle the camera situation because Kristy is *NOT* a rule breaker. This only succeeded in drawing more attention to myself and a security guard that could easily get employed as a body double for Michael Clark Duncan came over to see what was going on. Smooth as silk our host John – who seriously missed his calling as a used car salesman – grabbed my elbow in a show of support and proclaimed, “I’ve got a pregnant lady here! She’s not doing well in the heat. I think she’s going to pass out!”
Everyone within ear shot immediately looked our way. John’s story was only made more believable by my instant nuclear blush. The security guys went into crisis aversion mode and bulldozed us through the throngs of impatient people. The crowd rushed by in a blur but I could hear snide comments and a few abrasive women saying, “I’M pregnant too. Where’s MY escort?”
Michael Clark Duncan did a quick scan of my purse and solved the camera crises by simply taking my battery. (Incidentally he left me with my Flip – courtesy of my MTV swag bag – I guess he assumed nobody would bother with two forms of documentation equipment.)
The show was pretty much what you would expect. Tom Cruise is eerily good looking in person. Johnny Depp was painfully awkward and refused to sit in the audience. The Pussy Cat Dolls are truly skanky and I swear I saw the crew spraying lysol on the stage after their number.
When the show was over we all headed out to the after party. MTV had a large area set up outside with food and cabanas. To get to the party area you had to go through a set of doors that were being manned by security guards. They weren’t letting anyone through yet. A grey haired man was in front of me and I could hear him saying, “You’ve got to be kidding me. Do you know who I am?” The guards still wouldn’t let him in and in a self important huff he jerked back to storm over to another set of doors. In the process he knocked full in to me and my belly. It was Jon Voight. He was an ass. He didn’t have the common decency to make sure the person (me) he just plowed in to was ok. (But didn’t we all really already know that about him? Point Angelina.)
The party was pretty low key. Paris Hilton held court in a cabana with a camera crew – always a wall flower, that one. Rainn Wilson was charming and delightful. Rumer Willis was covering it as a story for some entertainment show… The real excitement of the evening was watching just how big my feet managed to swell! I was wearing kitten heels and by the time we had grazed through the catered tables and were preparing to head back to our hotel, my feet were TWICE their normal size and couldn’t fit into my shoes.
As a nice end all to the evening, car salesman John even managed to get my battery back from Michael Clark Duncan!
* * * * *
The next morning as we waited for our ride to the airport I watched the other MTV schmoozee’s board their shuttle bus and I was selfishly pleased that we needed a private car due to our car seat requirement. When our driver arrived he turned out to be a stiff, elder, Asian man. Our first driver had been fun and energetic, but this guy was like a scary teacher in charge of detention. I saw my carefully constructed plan to get the driver to stop at In-N-Out wavering before my eyes.
Me: (Knowing full well there was)”Um, excuse me sir. Is there an In-N-Out on the way to the airport?”
Angry Driver: “Yes.”
Me: “Uh… Would it be ok if we popped through the drive thru?”
Angry Driver: “No. I’m not supposed to veer off course. I have a strict schedule.”
Me: “Are you sure? It’s on the street to the airport – not even an extra turn.” (So much for me not knowing the answer to my first question, huh?)
Angry Driver: “I really can’t veer-” Just then his eyes met mine through the rear view mirror. He must have seen the crushing despair on my face and the tears welling in my eyes as I fought to keep my composure. Here I was, IN California, passing within 10 FEET of the mecca that is In-N-Out, and I wasn’t going to be allowed to pleasure my pregnant tastebuds with the manna of a #2 with onion! “Uh, ok.”
Me: [GASP] “Really?!”
Angry Driver With A Heart Of Gold:”Yeah. ok. We can stop.”
Me: “Oh, thankyouthankyouthankyou!!!”
And so ended our mini vaca to the MTV Movie Awards.