That’s Stella

On Friday night I attended one of the Museum of Moving Images spring events at The Times Center in Times Square. My creative hero - Michel Gondry - was being interviewed by the curator of the museum. He’s directed music videos for Bjork, Beck, The Rolling Stones and heaps of other musicians. He directed one of my favorite movies - Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. And he’s directed amazing advertisements for Smirnoff, Levi’s and Air France. I know this might sound strange, but I feel particularly connected to him because the work he creates so closely resembles my vivid dreams that I’m just in awe when I see his work. A couple of months ago I was actually drinking next to him at Lit Bar in the East Village, but by the time I grew balls to speak to him, he had left with this leggy, young woman! The talk was great - he was very funny and charming, completely unpretentious and I was blown away.

I arrived early and waited in the foyer. There was a few of us in there, and this guy and I end up randomly talking. I feel like this happens all the time in New York. I tell my NY friends about it and they’re always amazed so maybe it’s just me? Tell me if I’m wrong, but conversations with random strangers in Australia is pretty rare.

Anyway, of course this guy is in film, he’s pretty hot, a cross between a hipster and a typical creative, sporting a beard, jeans, band t-shirt and blazer with sneakers. Oui oui, typical. However, he’s really lovely and so easy to talk to and didn’t bombard me with name dropping of other directors. I love film, but I am by no means an expert and get an urge to punch people in the face who make others feel bad about not knowing no-name directors.

We end up sitting together during the talk. After the talk, he asks me out for coffee. Coffee turns into dinner. Dinner turns into drinks in the West Village. And I end up home at 4am on a Saturday morning.

During the whole time we were drinking, I kept thinking I should really fancy this guy. We liked the same bands. We liked the same films. We had a lot in common. He was really nice and yet, I felt nothing. Hell, he was really good looking. And zip. No feelings. I wondered what would happen if we made out, and I had visions of a really boring and unpassionate, awkward kiss. Yuck. Then I started thinking what elements I would need to add for me to be interested in Film Boy. Firstly, he’d need to be older - at least 5 years older. And here’s the sick part - I thought if he was more aloof - a bit more of an asshole - not so friendly - I probably wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off him. WTF is wrong with me!

So let me just make it clear - there was no action on Friday night. Nor was there any action on Saturday night when he asked me out.

He called me on Saturday afternoon and asked if I wanted to go out for drinks that night. We decided to meet at my place and decide where to go from there. Whilst I was waiting for him to arrive, I got a call from LA Man. It was very strange timing. We actually hadn’t spoken since the expensive dinner. He said he was on a long drive back from a business conference and was driving through the desert at night and wanted to chat. But we were on the phone for less than 10 minutes when Film Boy arrived and I had to cut it short.

Film Boy and I headed to the East Village and drank two bottles of wine between us. It was a really cruisy night, but I’m thinking of setting him up with a friend of mine! Haha. I’m passing on the love!

I feel comfortable telling you about this now that the experience is in my past. I’m bringing it up now because I just told my best friend about it whilst I was sitting in my favorite cafe and couldn’t stop cracking up reminiscing.

So far, I’ve only cried once on this trip.

No, it wasn’t because I was missing my mom and dad. Nor was it because I missed my darling puppy back at home. And it wasn’t because I missed my closest friends. Or the comfort of my own bed. Or the full access to my wardrobe.

After LA, we spent time with my Travel Buddies relatives in their magnificent house in Oregon. This place was AMAZING. It was close to the city and well, when they adopted me as part of the family and said I was welcome to stay anytime, I was smitten. But our stay there was very short. We moved onto another relatives house in Washington. But let me just tell you, it wasn’t SEATTLE, Washington, but out in freakin’ country Washington. Oh. My. Gosh.

I’m allergic to the country. I causes me to suffer from severe anxiety and temporary insanity. I experience insomnia (the silence and unfamiliar sounds keeps me up at night) and the isolation makes me feel like I’m living The Shining-esque experience. Who could really blame Jack Nicholson for going mad and wanting to murder his wife and cute as a button kid?

When we arrived at Aunt Mirna’s house, I put on a brave face and tried to be charming, but as soon as we were shown our room, I sat on the bed and cried. Boy Travel Buddy tried to comfort me, but I told him I was homesick and missed LA man (this was partly true - I did miss LA man because he was in LA and LA is a big CITY). I didn’t tell him the truth - that I was freaking the fuck out about being so far away from civilisation.

I also have a major fear of all insects so combine the fact that we were in the middle of freakin nowhere and our room was infested with LADYBUGS (everywhere), it made it very difficult to get to sleep each night.

After my first night, I realised that by putting a glass of root beer under a switched on lamp, by the next morning, it had attracted 10-15 ladybugs and they were floating (read: drowned) in a sea of r00t beer goodness.

Hell. I’d like to say I was sad. But, I don’t care how cute ladybugs apparently are, they are still insects and can crawl into your bodily orifices and cause havoc.

I love listening to Alexis Weissenberg “Suite Bergmanesque - 3″ when I’m roaming particularly busy streets of NYC. It makes the crowds of tourists and slow moving footpath traffic a little more bearable.