Sunday, February 05, 2006

Redemption is a dish best served with a pomegranate martini

Or, in my case, six. Six pomegranate martinis.

So, remember the Chipotlame incident, the one that marked the official advent of the Total Erin Spazzfest™? I thought I'd never get over the shame. OK, that's a bit of an exaggeration, but I did think, "Whelp. There goes my one chance to dazzle a former* reality show star."

Lucky for me, though, that thought involved concepts related to impressing boys and having some degree of Game, so, naturally, I was wrong.

I scored an invite (via my freelancing job) to my first Swanky Chicago Party, hosted by this webzine to celebrate the launch of this T.V. show. Given the proximity to work and the lure of free drinks, I couldn't not go, so I put on my Trixie boots and clip-clopped my way to Salthaus. It's one of those restaurants with floor-to-ceiling windows and lots of little furniture and little tealight candles and little hors d'oeuvres served on little minimalist white plates. It was very hip, and everyone there was very shiny** and I felt very much like Carrie Effing Bradshaw, except with cheaper shoes and a cuter Stanford.

The Brunette Ryan Seacrest was there, as were some other Important Chicago People, whom my much-more-in-the-know date recognized imediately and whom I had never heard of. Apparently, Real World Jamie is considered a Marginally Important Chicago Person, so he too was invited to this Swanky Chicago Party.

After seeing him near the stairs, I did some quick social math: Real World Jamie + free pomegranate martinis ÷ Trixie boots = Second Chance to make a First Impression!

I was nervous, of course; I wasn't the only girl there in sequins and Trixie boots, after all. But my date scored me the perfect talking-to-Jamie wingman: Nick had a very European, bangs-involved haircut, some well-placed bling, and a curiosity about the whereabouts of New Orleans castmate Danny.***

We were very not-obvious about making eye contact, and eventually Jamie came over to talk to us. Even after Nick got the Danny report and dropped out, I was doing really well: we talked about Chicago and Northwestern, and our jobs ("jobs," since he "just wrapped filming on The Gauntlet 2 and is now marketing something called the UberTap that has to do with beer.) I found out he reads my magazine and thinks it's great, which rocks because either a.) he reads my magazine and thinks it's great or b.) he's never heard of my magazine but wants me to think he thinks it's great. I think. We talked about The Gauntlet, and I'm pretty sure he told me the outcome, even though there are still new episodes coming out. He brought me another (!) drink, and we talked about the Windy City Rollers, and I think I must have made some cute-dumb comment about how I'd actually really like to wear a plaid skirt and ripped fishnets and roller skates and kick other chicks' asses in the Derby ring, because at the end of the night, Jamie came back over to me and said, "You know, you really should try out for the Windy City Rollers." Um... thanks?

Anyway, aside from that potential debacle that didn't actually backfire, I was golden. I even resisted the urge to be all, "HEY! Remember that time I totally lost my shit at Chipotle and threw a hissy right in front of you? You don't remember? Oh, well, I guess it was just a big deal to me and all the people who read my blog, then." I'm pretty proud of that little fact.

* I suppose a better word would be "occasional."
** Chicago shiny is very different from Dallas shiny, I've decided.
*** I, too, wouldn't have minded more of a Danny update. There's always been something a little Timberlakian about him.