So my publicist is this sweet 4 ft something tall woman with a smile the size of the sun and she was so busy promoting her client’s upcoming movies, I had fallen through the cracks a bit.  So, to make it up to me, she decides to take me to the MTV Movie Awards which if anybody knows, is a HUGE deal.  Even semi-celebrities got turned away from this event this year.  And the whole time, my manager is urging me in relentless fashion “don’t forget to take pictures”.  So here I am with this recently purchased Blackberry (with camera), access to the red carpet and nothing but time.  I’m there with my publicist, Damon Wayans Jr. and crew and I’m ready to rock.

As soon as I get there, I’m greeted by a tall modelesque light skinned Black beauty with green eyes in a Pink skirt…not a bad start.  So we hit it off and start arguing about Prince (don’t ask me why).  After some bad directions from people who apparently have no idea what is going on, we make it to the red carpet.  Commotion and chaos abounds as celebrities make their way down the red carpet isle of death. I feel vibration; it’s my manager for the umpteenth time reminding me to take pics (great timing actually).

Now, I should’ve had my camera ready, but I didn’t want to feel like a male groupie, so as Will Ferrell walks by I suddenly realize I should probably take my camera out, but it’s too late, he’s trying to get out of there as fast as he can while still holding a fake smile.  While I’m grieving about that, Meagan Fox and Paris walk by and once again I forget to have my camera ready.  Shit!  Then it dawned on me that if I take pictures of these people, it will be like I’m working for access Hollywood minus the paycheck so I finally decide “no pics with celebrities unless I’m in them.”  Then my favorite NFL player for my favorite team is standing right next to me, so I say “wudup” and we talk for a minute and it was cool shit (see Nnamdi Asomugha; Oakland Raiders).  Wikipedia please people! Then we do the man handshake/hug thing and its all good until I realize I forgot to take a picture with him.  Dammit! Keep in mind I’m already drunk. Lol.

Ok, here comes my publicist and her crew walking down the red carpet so now its time to head inside for the actual show. By the opening presentation, I’m ready for another round of drinks.  I gulp the zinfandel down, but my boredom is still in the building.  As soon as Mr. Marshall Mathers leaves the stage, me and friends decide the only thing that can cure the boredom is a little wacky tabacky.  So we smoke “a lil sumthn” and it does the trick; only now I’m drunk and high.

Now’s the after party which is really corporate and whatever, but there are plenty of hot women in mini-skirts walking around so after I duck away from my publicist to get some food, I decide to wander a bit.  When you’re high and drunk, time has no meaning, nor (apparently) do voicemails, text messages and phone calls from those you leave.  Two hours later and it finally occurs to me “what happened to my friends?” So I leave (well, mingle my way) towards my friends, but text message directions aren’t exactly GPS. 

Long story short, I never found my friends, they ended up leaving to another party and meeting all kinds of celebrities and industry people while I somehow found my way home with some random number in my coat pocket.  I was awakened at 5 in the morning by a very very angry publicist (who was not smiling this time).  They thought I had gotten kidnapped and wondered why I never let them know what was going on.  “Where were you” she kept saying.  In the middle of the night I looked at my phone and saw another 10 messages from my manager asking for me to send the pics; what pics?!

So I made no connections, had no pictures to show, pissed off everyone and on top of all of that, didn’t even get laid! Lol!  I dragged myself off of my mattress two hours later to head for my day job, feeling shitty all the way around.  Gotta love those movie awards!  There’s a moral to this story somewhere…I know it dammit!