This weekend Kate talked to a boy.
That’s right– you heard me. I talked to a boy. Please begin preparing– the end is clearly near.
Picture me wearing something flowing that made me look deceptively tall (um… ok, taller… fine… not quite as short). My bizarro world hair was perfectly cascading down my back. Even had that heaving bosom thing going on. Everything I said was witty and charming. I left the man completely besotted. I expect lavish gifts any day now.
Sheyah– or this story involves an electronic device and peril was certain.
I was helping a friend on his indie movie project (because this is LA, and that’s what we do here on the weekends ;p ), and I was in charge of wrangling actors who came in for their ADR work. These actors included a fine specimen of a man who had worked on the shoot for about 2 days the previous fall. And even though he only had 2 lines, I asked him to come in. Hey, I’m single, not stupid.
So, the whole group of us are hanging outside, and I’m chatting and trying to figure out how to covertly take a photo of fine figure of man (here on known as “FFM”) with my camera phone.
But for some reason, the universe decided to once again have its way with me. It refused to take the picture. No matter how many times I tried to press the little button on the little screen– nothing. Camera phone=male. Obviously.
Let’s face it– you can only really try to take a photo covertly so many times before
a) the subject becomes aware that he’s under scrutiny, and/or
b) everyone in the area wonders what’s wrong with the girl who keeps mumbling, lifting up her phone, hitting it and then cursing.
I bet it was a camera phone that brought down Mata Hari, too.
Grant it, a normal person might stop trying to take this photo after… oh… the 10th no go. Not I. With extraordinary perseverance of someone truly idiotic, I kept trying. My friend had never seen FFM, and I had to send her a text message with his lovely photo. It was my mission (because in reality, text messaging has become the “passing a note in gym class” of my 30’s).
I tried to play it off with the old “oh, it’s so great to see everyone, I just want to grab some photos of all of you”. And so moved by my sincere (uh.. yeah) efforts at capturing some would-be hallmark moments, out of the darkness (fine, afternoon sunshine) came the voice:
“maybe I can help”
uh…. help me? uh….
(ok, frantic weighing of options ensued. If he hits the wrong button, which is right next to the camera button, he will reveal all of my “he’s so cute” text message ramblings. Tremendous potential for embarrassment. If I said no, it would have looked odd, after all my fussing and fuming about it not working. Plus, if he gets it working, I can get a photo).
So, after weighing my options (and hearing the imaginary cries from people who read this blog), I let him fondle my camera phone. That’s right– the man I was trying to covertly photograph ended up helping me to fix the camera so that I could take his picture.
Did he ever know he was the object of my frantic machinations? Hard to tell, but just to be certain, I set him up with my friend. That should throw him off 😉
Yeah, alright, so it all didn’t go according to plan. But I did talk to a boy, so it goes into the success column. It’s practically a date in my world.
And if my friend ends up marrying him, I have an amusing story to tell at the reception.
Kate, clueless with a fondled camera phone, in LA.