Saturday, 1/5/13: The Night Me and Will Smith Didn’t Get Married

Saturday was rather eventful for this antisocial recluse who usually spends her weekends drowning alone in bottles of wine. Hey, by the way, everyone who asks why I’m single? There’s your answer.


My lovely friend invited me to go see Django Unchained with her and a group of her friends, which in actuality ended up being a 3rd wheel situation when her man friend was the only other person to show up. Luckily I am nonplussed by turns of events such as this, because I am quite familiar with being the dateless ogre sitting next to the cool kids. So anyways, this white girl and her two black friends go in to see a movie about slavery together. Awkward situation at the movie store? No, friends, no, we all laughed and cringed at the appropriate times and no unfortunate race wars broke out in the aisles. Movie was top notch by the way. I especially enjoyed watching Jamie Foxx make Quentin Tarantino’s bloated visage go boom. But the night doesn’t end there. Oh fuck no it doesn’t.

If you know me you know there’s a lot of stuff that I hate. People, places and things, mostly. So you will be shocked to know that I decided all willy nilly (foreshadowing: a concept I understand) to accompany my movie date (sans man friend) to her friend’s going away party at a bar in Studio City. STUDIO CITY. Do you know what it’s like to schlep to Studio City from West LA? That’s like, oh my god, totally the valley. And I barely knew the person whose party it was! And I wasn’t going to know anyone there besides my friend and one other friend who may or may be there! And ho boy, do I loathe forced socialization with strangers. But I decided to throw caution to the wind and go, cuz hey, maybe my future husband likes bars in Studio City? He might. And we’d break up cuz he goes to bars in Studio City, but whatever. Who am I to piss in the face of fate, right?

So I arrive before my movie date and she assures me the other friend is inside, so I decide to do something that Amanda never does. Walk. Into a bar. ALONE. THE HORRORS! I know, it was like I was possessed by the spirit of a fucking superhero. Hold your applause til the end, please.


K, so I park and walk my happy ass to the front of this “Xen Lounge” like it’s some little….STUDIO CITY BAR, assuming it’s some hole in the wall dimly lit nightmare with barely anyone inside. Seemingly confirming my suspicions, there’s no obnoxious Hollywood-style line, and I find it weird when the bouncer asks me who I’m with. Uh….ya know, myself? And all these invisible people behind me, too. I hope you have room for us. I choose not to say this aloud and instead offer, “Well I’m here for So and So’s party, I guess?” And he eyes me and is all, “Ahh, okay Amanda.” Bitch knows my name?! Oh right, I gave him my ID 2 seconds ago.

“Isn’t that awful,” I continue, smartly. “I don’t even know her last name.” “You can do no wrong, Amanda,” he assures me. Infuckingdeed, Mr. Bouncer man. I’m glad you have already picked up on this. I will hold you fondly in my heart for at least the next few minutes.

So I go in and realize I am 1 of approximately 8 white people in the establishment. “Is this how black people feel all the time in most scenarios?” I quietly muse. I muse it quietly because again, I am 1 of 8 white people in the whole vicinity. So I glow my way through the crowd and try to find a familiar face, any familiar face at all, because my movie date friend has not arrived yet. And I am a girl alone walking through a bar looking lost, which is obviously the BEST way to exist in a bar. Christ. I stand by a bar stool for a second and I give myself a pat on the back for that whole channeling of a superhero that I obviously did to be living out this situation at this very moment. In my mind. I don’t want to stand out any more than I already do, ya know? At this point I see other friend and beeline to stand awkwardly next to her and her friends. I do this for most of the night, really. I’ve always been really great at standing awkwardly next to people who are comfortable with people, places and things. As I previously mentioned, I am not one of those people. So yes, bitch be rambling again. Let’s get to the part where I fail to marry Will Smith.

Suddenly! Someone utters the words, “Will Smith is in there.” And then. I felt the world spin off of its axis. Will Smith isn’t a PERSON who goes to BARS. In STUDIO CITY. Or anywhere! He isn’t seen amongst the peons! He’s THE FRESH FUCKING PRINCE. By this point my movie date had arrived, and I waste no time in saying to her and my other friend (I have no more than two friends in life at most times), “Let’s go inside, right now, and find him.” And by golly, they were all the way down with that. It took about 5 seconds to spot Mr. Smith, because the inside of the place is the size of a shoebox. (A really nice shoebox!).

“WILL! HOLY SHIT, MR FRESH PRINCE? I STILL KNOW EVERY WORD TO GETTIN JIGGY WITH IT. AND I CAN PROVE IT,” I screamed through the crowd. I was forcibly removed moments later.

Just kidding, I stared slack jawed in his general direction for the next many minutes, undressing his face with my eyes. Seriously, though, I was just trying to see his fucking face clearly. He kept turning around and, like, living. It was really screwing with my viewing abilities. As others around me resumed their night by pouring alcohol into their gullets and slamming into each other, as people in bars are wont to do, I kept my eyes trained on the man, the myth, the legend: Mr. Will Smith. He was wearing a um, beanie? Something? I don’t know, some sort of cloth hat. I don’t know fashion, shut your balls. SO yeah, he was wearing that, and some kind of sweater thing and jeans. I think the sweater was blue. He looked shorter than I imagined. And also less ear sticking outness than I thought. Is this description doing it for ya? It’s almost like you were also there!

Mr. Prince was posing for pictures with some blondies. Haha, that cad! Although I could have remained frozen gazing upon his likeness for all of eternity, my bladder told me it was time to hightail it to the fuckin ladies’ before shit got really ugly up in there, so I pulled myself away from my one-participant staring contest and my friend and I got in line for toilet time. And then Meagan Good rolls up and tries to cut the line and open the door.


Meagan Good, you’re lucky you’re stunningly gorgeous, girl. Otherwise I might have quietly fumed while you totally butted me in line. We told her that um yes, we are in line? And she fell back behind us with her impossibly beautiful friend like a good little celebrity. And I mean, I’m not bragging or anything, but then I stood in the bathroom line with Meagan Good for the next several minutes. It was at this point that I asked myself if this was real life. It was, guys. It was. Will Smith AND Meagan Good. Studio City. Blue beanie hat things. 1 in 8. Walked in bar alone. Django. 2013, yo. New shit. NEW SHIT.

So I went to the bathroom and when I emerged, waited there for my friend to also use the bathroom. As I stood there by the door to the bathroom (attractively), Will Smith comes through the crowd all by himself. Yeah, he totally walked right by me. What? Literally, he was 2 inches from my hands, and I didn’t even grab his junk or anything. So if I accomplish nothing else this year, there’s always that. Or is that considered a failure? Sigh.

Then he left the bar and forgot to propose to me, mostly because he’s already married. No other reason than that. I could feel the connection between us when he didn’t look me in the eye as he walked past.

Anyways, I’m still single.


(For the curious 2 of you who read this, I later found out the reason this was such a celeb hotspot is because Duane Martin, actor and Will Smith’s bestie/possible “MAN FRIEND”, owns the joint. And it’s kind of out of the spotlight of Hollywood, so they can be a little more incognito there, I guess? BOOM GOES DA DYN-O-MITE)



2 Responses to “Saturday, 1/5/13: The Night Me and Will Smith Didn’t Get Married”

  1. Nick says:

    Wow, first McCaffreys, then Xen Lounge in Studio City. Sometimes those are the best coices.

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