How I Became Famous in Hollywood Call Me Lorena White Power Investment Tips Get a Grip on Garbage (Denver Post, 5/28/99) Humor Home Contact	How I Became Famous In Hollywood If you're anything like me, you would generally prefer to watch the quiet beauty of paint drying than sit through a made-for-TV awards show like the Annual Emmy Awards Live from Hollywood. But you have to understand that for me, Emmy Night is always a reminder of the year I went to the Emmys and, believe it or not, actually became famous. So, in honor of this month's Awards presentation, I have decided, like any respectable celebrity, to sell my story to the press. It all started when I was single and living in Los Angeles. A friend of a friend set me up on a blind date. Now I know what you're thinking: Why would anyone go on a blind date? Well, in this case it was because this particular blind date had two tickets to go to the Emmy Awards. He was one of those guys who seems basically OK, but for some reason, suspiciously, is perpetually single. Let's just say if you went man shopping at the Man Outlet Mall, you might find him for sale there among the irregulars and factory seconds. Although I accepted this invitation mostly out of curiosity, I admit I was secretly hoping to be discovered. I imagined some big important TV producer with a little pony tail in the middle of the back of his head, wearing a sports jacket over a black T-shirt, pointing at me and shouting, "Get me that girl!" You know, the way big TV producers always do. In any case, we went to the Awards with another couple. At intermission, I found out they had, and we did not have, tickets to the Governor's Ball. This is a black-tie event held for the stars, immediately following the awards, where trendy buffet food and adult beverages flow. At some point during the evening, the other couple discreetly told me that it was fairly easy to walk into this ball without a ticket. They had in fact done so themselves the previous year. You just had to act cool, they said. I shot a glance over to my date, whose factory outlet qualities were currently on display as he returned from yet another food and drink run. One plate was balanced under his chin, and was now depositing steamed shrimp into his jacket, while the contents of two plastic drink cups sloshed rhythmically onto his shoes. To be fair, I will admit that I had an advantage here. It is an unwritten law that at any formal social affair, a woman in a strapless dress can get away with just about anything short of actually opening fire on the other guests. Conversely, a man in a blue business suit cannot. So I breezed into the Ball as if I were wearing glass slippers, and had arrived in a glittering carriage that my fairy godmother made out of pumpkins, while my date was stopped at the door and turned away. He disappeared for a good thirty minutes, humiliated and vowing that he would get tickets to the ball next year if he had to bargain with Satan to do so. Eventually, I rescued him using ticket stubs that the other couple lent me. Though—just between you and me—I did consider calling the Man Outlet Mall to send over a replacement instead. In any case, for a lot of people, this would probably have been enough fun for one evening. But my date, the only man there dressed in anything but a black tuxedo, was not yet finished. He stood with the other couple and me, surrounded by large round tables where other guests were starting to eat, and proceeded to expound vociferously upon the details of his experience trying to sneak into the ball. An experience that in his mind was the most humiliating in the history of men since Dan Quayle misspelled "potato" in public. His voice got louder and his gestures more dramatic. Heads turned. Soap stars looked up from their salad plates. People from bad TV movies, one-hour dramas and mini-series, not to mention sitcom stars, all stared. The entire Hollywood television industry now knew that MY DATE HAD SNEAKED INTO THE BALL UNSUCCESSFULLY, AND WAS HUMILIATED ABOUT IT. And that is how I became famous in Hollywood. I still haven't heard from any TV producers, but I did have call waiting put on my phone line, just in case. © Copyright Barbara Powell, 1995-2002.