Here I was, a regular middle-class gay dude from Cleveland, Ohio, at an honest-to-gosh Hollywood Pool Party during the Memorial Day weekend up in the hills at the home of a huge, HUGE, HYOOOGE movie starlet. Yes, you know her. Yes, she’s A-list. No, I’m not going to reveal who it was for a few reasons:
â€¢ I was an invited guest, and it would be rude to name names and dish all her private info for all twenty people who read this to see,
â€¢ She wasn’t even there. I mean, how fucking cool and Hollywood is it to throw a huge pool bash at your home and then not even bother to attend. That is so hot.
â€¢ And I want to be invited back next year.
I thought about getting all Ted Casablanca on your ass and dropping a few obscure blind item-type references so you could put it all together and figure out who it was, but that still struck me as being a little rude. Besides, the point of this story isn’t to talk about the starlet – it’s to talk about all the Ã¼bergay Hollywood homos that ran roughshod all over her property for about eight hours last Saturday.
Let’s backtrack a bit. I came to be invited to this to-do because a good friend is a friend of the starlet’s former personal assistant who in turn is now tricking with her current P.A. How very L.A. Networking, people, networking! When I first got the call to go, I actually considered turning down the invite, feeling in my gut that I wouldn’t fit in with the fast-track celeb gushers. Besides, it started early on a Saturday afternoon, and that’s prime chest and tris time. But, in the interest of keeping fresh material flowing for the blog, I decided to bite the bullet and suffer. Aw, who am I kidding? I had to see this spread for myself.
When we arrived up the hills and through the (open) gated driveway to the house, the first thing that struck me was that it wasn’t an enormous mansion, but rather a quite nice, normal, large-sized, two-story home, with a smallish backyard and a spectacular view of downtown Los Angeles and most of the city. Next to the main house was a figure-eight shaped pool, with a diving board on one end and a volleyball net on the other. The pool separated the main house from the slightly smaller guesthouse, where the starlet’s P.A. lives (rent free, the lovely fucker).
Speaking of which, the starlet’s P.A. and former P.A. couldn’t have been nicer hosts. They are both great guys, funny, articulate and friendly. Which is why I had such trouble understanding why they were friends with most of their invitees. Ah, the other party guests…so many stories, but we’ll focus on three people in particular, who we dubbed Holy Diver (after the kick ass Dio song, of course), Kaballah Ken and, of course, Chrissy Snow. That’s where we’ll pick up next time. It’s worth the wait, promise.