Tuesday, October 17, 2006

I Moved Up a Row

Tonight, I attended the second episode of "Make Me a Supermodel: Extra." I wanted to get there early, so I would have a chance to sit in the front row, hoping to get more camera time and even get to talk to the hosts, either Anthony (ho-hum), or Jasmine(YEAH! She's hot. Hot but thin). My plans received a double stumbling block. First, there was a traffic jam coming home from work, so I got home much later than I planned on. Instead of leaving very early, I just left on time. The second stumbling block was another traffic jam going out of Bracknell, to the M3. All in all, I ended up just getting there on time, rather than early. At least I wasn't late.
I was the ninth person to sign in. There were free drinks, so I grabbed a bottle of Stella Artois, my favorite beer to drink in Europe. A very small bottle. For American readers who have never heard of Stella Artois, it's Belgian. My evil ex-wife, the Black Queen, started me drinking it, when we were dating. I miss her, but please don't tell her, as she's conceited enough, already. There were a bumch of people waiting to go in. I looked over the various people. An attractive "Black" woman, in her early thirties, made eye contact with me. She asked me if I was okay, so I tried to engage her in conversation. She had also been at Sunday's show. She wanted to know if I was working for the production. When I said no, she seemed to lose interest and turned away
Turning around, I spied a young blond with a woman in her forties. The older woman had very light-brown hair. I suspected she was the blond's mother. "Are you two related?"
"Yes," the older one replied.
"Are you sisters?" Cheezy, I know.
The older one, laughed and said, "I'm her Mum." Gee, I would have never guessed.
"I thought the minimum age to see the show was 16?"
"She's 20," Mum said, enjoying my cheezy flattery. Mum told me that daughter was auditioning to be in a girl band, next weekend. She asked if I was press.
"Not really," I admitted. "I write a blog, but it isn't big enough, yet, to get the attention of mainstream media."
"Maybe it is," Mum said. She indicated that I had a wristband. She and daughter didn't. Mum figured that people with wristbands were guaranteed entry, while people holding numbers, like her and daughter, were standing by for spare seats. Daughter asked if I was "American." When I said yes, she said I had a lovely accent. Daughter introduced herself as "Diane," and shook hands with me. I smiled and shook back. Diane then asked, "what did you say your name was, again?"
"Again? I neve told it to you in the first place," I observed. She confessed that she had made up the part about again. I told her my name. I kept them entertained, making witty comments while we waited. Then Mum mentioned that she had a "partner." I lost interest in Mum. Diane was 20, which might be a stretch.
I noticed that other people were being taken in to be seated in the studio. It turned out that the presenters had reserved spaces for friends. As more and more people went in, I was worried that I wasn't going to get in, even though I had a wristband. Then I worried that the staff might think Diane and her Mum were with me, thinking we needed three seats. I told one of the staff that I wasn't "with" them. Another staff member said he thought the three of us would be the last ones in. I hoped Mum and Diane also got in, as they were good company.
Finally, a crew member came out and said they needed one person. "I'm on my own," I said. Sorry girls. I was taken inside. They seated me one row in front of the back. I had moved up one row from Sunday. I had hoped that Diane and her mother would be let in, eventually, but they weren't. Next time, I must get there early.
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