Throwing my purse in my car and slamming the door, I collapsed on the steering wheel after a night of true horror. Sticking out of my bag was a golden, plastic, annoying fake-Oscar that read “Best Babysitter!” I feel this token best represents the experience I went through last night at the Roosevelt Hotel. An experience I will hopefully be able to remember for years and years to come. Hopefully… I can tell my children the tale of the love between one simple Canadian Dentist and one very small, extremely handsome (nope) tiny man, who’s been to Graman’s Chinese Theatre for a premiere
twice…. Fell in love. Because I was told. All the details. Multiple times. With the joke “and then we put a sex swing in the bed room, and things really got rockin’!” Over, and over again.
I’ve tried to begin this tale many, many a time. There is no way I’m going to be able to do justice to the experience I went though last night. One “hook” sentence began, “It all began when I got a phone call from a dark, ominous voice a couple days ago. My phone said “unknown number” and the voice began,
Is this Mackenzie? You are not expecting this call… and you have never met me…’” I was in beg, foggy, and immediately terrified. Honestly, it sounded like the “unknown number” was about to tell me someone I know had died, or someone I know was about to die. The voice was dark and intense, and took really long inhale/exhales before he told me,
“I hear you’re a babysitter... my name is DONALD GREENBURG.”Long, pause. Inhale/ exhale.
“My wife, child and I will be in town for a premiere I’M IN at GRAHMAN’S CHINESE THEATRE… and we were wondering if you could babysit…”
Oh. Oh, yeah okay sure.
And so the twisted tale begins…
Roosevelt Hotel
4:00pm. Saturday.
Donald meets me in the lobby. He’s wearing a see-through, grey, V-neck (duh, why would you not?) relatively meaty, and just a smidge taller than me. His hair is the definition of “quaffed.” I can tell by the way he shakes my hand and introduces himself that he’s positive I am 1. overwhelming impressed and 2. overwhelmingly attracted and to him.
After that, it took me an extremely long time to understand what was going on, because he kept doing that thing that people do who want to impress other people really badly… that thing where they only tell you a piece of information… or they tell you a detail but only mutter it so you can’t really hear what they’re saying… he kept doing that.
This is what I learned about Donald and his lover the first couple of hours of “babysitting:”
Donald and his fiancé, a Canadian dentist named Bretta he’d recently met who wears shiny purple eye shadow (you know how much I respect purple eye shadow), lined with SUPER sparkly green eyeliner, have an almost two-year-old daughter who looks like neither of them. They rented a hotel room at The Roosevelt so they could get a sitter for the night when they are just across the street at Graman’s Chinese Theatre for their movie premiere. HE’S in the movie, not dumb ol’ Bretta. You may know Donald from “Queer as Folk.” Or you may not. I’m really not sure what he has to do with the show… as I said before, he did that mumble thing AS we were introducing ourselves and he said something about it. I couldn’t tell if he was like… the star of the show or an extra once. I didn’t have the chance to ask, because he gave me a knowing nod after he said it, already understanding I had recognized him from the show.
You can go IMDB him, but it will be hard to find him, because his name isn’t Donald Greenburg. It’s way more douchy than that. Don’t worry, I’m not trying to protect his identity with a pseudonym, I just was never given it. Honestly. No idea what his name is. I think he assumed I already knew it.
“Oh! I saw a whole bunch of people outside Graman’s for the THING premiere! That’s so exciting for you!”
“Oh… no… I’m not in that. Our movie is in the far, left side theatre for the LA Horror Movie Fest. “Wrong Way Turn 4.” Maybe you’ve seen 1-3? No? They’re pretty scary… really fucked up shit… It will be out in the spring. On video. Supposed to make a ton of money. A lot of time when things go straight to video, they can make a lot more money than if they were in wide release.”
Ohhh.. note to self Mackenzie, don’t remember that fact. It’s retarded.
“Donald” also didn’t tell me that Before AND after the premiere, the ENTIRE cast will gather inside his tiny hotel room, to par-tay. With me there. To babysit a baby that is in a tiny-tiny hotel room with 30 other capable adults. Why am I here. The movie starts at 8:00. It is now 4:00.
And so we began.
I have 4 hours to hang out with these two lunatics and their startlingly under-developed little girl. Still don’t know whose loins this child came from. She didn’t seem to care much for the woman, but who could blame her?
I sat with the three of them by the pool downstairs as we sipped cocktails. Bretta insisted I “live it up a little” and “one won’t hurt, what do you want?”
“I’ll just have what you guys get.”
Donald orders us all his drink of choice, “Three coco-babies!”
Cut-to an hour later, when Bretta has loosened up a bit, and I decide she’s cool with me asking her everything about her life. We’re all on our third “coco-baby;” large halved-coconuts with umbrellas and all. Ah, the LA life. This is what we do here. They get it.
They’re actually looking to move here, which is exciting! Right now, Donald lives in Manhattan (duh) in a loft in Soho (no he doesn’t) while he works constantly in film and TV in NY. She, on the other hand, lives in Toronto with her 4 children (most in high school) and owns a dentistry that’s a PRETTY big deal in Toronto. Not like… a Wrong Way Turn 4 big deal… just a generally Canadian big deal. Wait a minute… where does this baby live? Who owns this baby!! Seriously, it is almost two, can barely walk, and doesn’t speak a word. This kid gonna have probleeeeeems.
We all three stare at the baby as it picks up a ketchup bottle, unscrews the lid- I flinch forward, about the dash to it to stop the inevitable spillage, when I realize neither parent cares. I relax back into my seat and join in as we watch the baby-toddler pour a bottle of ketchup on the Roosevelt pool’s sexy lounge cushions. Donald and Bretta stare like their watching Daytime TV. Beat.
“So, how’d you guys meet?”
“I cleaned his teeth in Canada.”
I could have figured that out.
“So, why were you up there, Donold?”
“I was opening up the most successful acting school in Canada.”
Yes. I'll barely have to do any work here...
“42,000 students. A lot of rooms.”
“There are so many rooms.” Thank you, Bretta.
“Yeah… I launched the career of Miley Sirus…” I don’t need to mention he’s describing all this nonchalantly, right? You already assume he’s lying on his back- shirt off- drinking his coco-baby, telling me these trifle moments in his life.
“Hold-the-phone! Miley Sirus! Wow!”
“Yeah, she’s not a good actor though. She can’t really handle certain types of text… I booked her though on “Hanna Montana. I will tell you, she’s no Nina Dobrev.”
Hmmm. No clue. Donald noticed my confusion.
(A la you idiot) “Um… ever watched a little show called Vampire Diaries?”
Yes! (No).
“Yeah, the girl on the show, I discovered her. She’s kind of my protégé. Booked her on that. She’s a big star now.”
“Wooowww. So… they just take classes?”
“No, I went from school to school selecting kids I thought were good enough to be at my acting school. Not everyone can be accepted.”
“Not everyone can be accepted.” Way to advance the story, Bretta.
I tried to picture this creepy, fake-tanned, little man going from Canadian middle school to Canadian middle school, asking to look at the viable actors of the classes. Then selecting and asking to spend after-school time coaching only the prettiest and sexiest little girls. I mean, that Vampire Diaries girl is a pedophile’s dream, right? Come on. She’s like a Kid’s Gap model in stripper outfits.
The next three hours were kind of a blur. And not because of the poorly librated coco-baby. At this point I STILL didn’t know what was going on and I literally didn’t interact with the child I was supposedly sitting for for the first five hours. I looked at it a couple times, pondered which developmental problems it probably had developed in it’s first year of life, and chatted with Bretta. Donald was busy making really cool, LA-lingo-riddled phone calls to what it sounded like was his mother, so I was left with Bretta.
It’s hard for me to describe her… she looks like she really WANTS to look like a Real Housewife of The Dentistry World, but there is something likable about her. Like small, blonde, “smokey” eyes that are more clown-y than sexy, big fake boobs, googly eyes… like a character Cristin Chenelworth would play. But less perky and more sad and docile.
I loved her and her “ future husband (?)” fighting about the hotel in-bar shit. I thought they might have money (maybe his is the most famous acting coach/star-finder in Canada? How would I know? Stop being such a stupid, fucking, bitch, Mackenzie. Hippie Tune is a Good SONG!!) but I heard them talking about how they can’t believe they got accidentally bumped up to this expensive room! And also, I don’t know if you know this about Bretta… but girl just loves chocolate. She’s a sassy girl that loves her chocolate, ya’ll! She ate a piece from the mini bar, and Donald flipped a bitch. But he was TRYING not to flip a bitch, because he was still trying to convince me they were PRETTY well off famous almost LA-ers. So he had me go down the creepy corner store to get her a Hershey’s bar. And a 24 pack of beer.
I had to wade through the lunatics on Hollywood Blvd dressed as Spiderman and God knows what else to get back to the equally, if not more, probably retarded adults.
PS. Has anyone been down to that super tourist area in a while? I hadn’t, and boy, it’s terrifying. There is always a spider man and a Marylyn Monroe… and then there is just a handful of people who are unspecific, scantily clad nut jobs. One girl was dressed up as a boob. She was just standing there as a boob? But now that I think about it… what better way is there to represent the film industry that a breast? It symbolizes both the inherent degradation and of women, and also the lack of intelligence thus reflected upon the notion of calling one a “boob.” Damn… that boob girl is a genius…
So I brought the Hershey’s and the bud light back to the tiny hotel room and lo and behold, the party I did not know was happening was about to begin. A giant man named Scott and a man in embarrassing 80’s shades were sitting in our room smoking cigarettes. I was introduced:
“This is Scott, the monster, and this is Eli, The Director. Fellas, this is the babysitter, Meagan.”
Hi, Meagan, they said absently, making sure I noticed they didn’t really care if they shook my hand or not. A simple wave would do! The director…oh, sweet Lord… was exactly what you picture if I said, “D movie Hollywood director:” buttoned down white collar shirt, curly blondish hair, high forehead, wore sunglasses the entire time, smoked cigarettes and crossed his legs in the type of way that’s like THIS is how okay I am with my sexuality. He kept rubbing his forehead like he was thinking hard about something… but wouldn’t say anything.
The guests went inside for about ten minutes in which The Director and I sat in complete silence. Why small talk with the help when you can have what looks to be piercingly intense thoughts about life by yourself? The filthy, filthy help.
I can skip over everyone arriving at our pre-party. It was utterly ridiculous and everyone acted in the exact way you would picture it. They were all actors. It was all men, save one woman, and a girl that was apparently the hot, teen. She was like… seventeen? And mixing drinks!! I could only imagine the “fake” hitting on that I was going to witness her receive. Then it did. And I didn’t have to imagine it. It was grosser than I imagined, but sadly, the little girl didn’t know any better. Sadly, this world was probably her norm.
The other woman, “the monster’s” girl friend, was just a stripper. Just picture a really big boned stripper. Donald like…
The pre-premiere party really got hoppin’ when about fifteen guest were congregating around their hotel bed, drinking the bud light I’d bought. No child has at my heel, only good ol’ Bretta, who followed me around the entire time. And only talked-at me about one subject. I’ll try to sum up quickly: She and Donald were going to buy a house in the LA Hills. But because they are so busy working all around the world, they’re going to rent it out when they’re out of town. But when B’s not in charge of a pretty-big-deal dentist office in Toronto, and when Donald isn’t scouting Canadian middle schools for the hottest twelve year old girls, or auditioning for such films as “Wrong Way Turn 4” in Soho… they will be living in their LA dream house. Bretta begins to describe it:
"So.. it’s like, the master bedroom, we’re going to make it in the shape of a triangle. You know, like how luxury rooms are triangles? "
Go on.
"And we don’t know, but I think we’re going to put a glass wall in the middle of the master bedroom, so you can kind of see into the bathroom, but it’s a little fuzzy? But the glass wall will also be at a little slant, so that room also looks triangle shape?"
“Like... a luxury bathroom?”
“Yeah! You know what I’m talking about!” Sweet. I try to walk away… “AND the bathroom will be really… we’re looking at pedestal type bath tubs, and something like, it’s a shower, but its also a little room, so you can be taking a shower, but there's like, also a ledge, To sit down on?”
Oh look… I think the baby is falling into the pool… guess I better… go-
“AND ALSO, we’re going to get one of those very posh toilets. You know, that’s cushioned, and has a bidet, which is very luxury right now. And a little dock installed into the toilet so you can plug your ipod.”
Oh Bretta, God must have spent a little less time on her…
As I was stuck by the mini-fridge with B-girl explaining construction to me, Donald would run into the room and go, “BRETTA, GUESS WHO IT IS!?!” Upon every. Single. Person’s. Arrival. The awkward boom mike guy would come in and wave to Bretta who he’d never met, uncomfortable given the grand entrance.
Finally, I spot the baby and she’s sitting peacefully with her dad. Well, not exactly peacefully. Oh no. Donald is is tapping her on the diaper to create a plastic-y drum beat, for his rention of
"Baby Got Back.” And ( I swear to God this is true) he sings the entire song. The entire song. The entire song. And this was not the first creepy Donald the Dad moment. Previously he’s said things like, “Yeah, shake it for the dudes!” He had an obsessive fasination with pretending he wants his baby to get “action” from the men at the pool. I was going to leave this one out for our younger readers, but I feel it illuminated Donald. As the diaper-head was running around naked, he definitely said, “Yeah! Nipples! Rub your nipples, babe!” To his baby. And I will stop there. Uh. Just when Donald was seeming like the likeable underdog…
I’m going to cut to the part where everyone finally fucking left for their movie screening. I was trying to tell everyone quietly, “Wow… it’s 8 o clock… your showing is at 8, isn’t it… hmm... looks like that’s kind of bad… seeing as you are everyone in it…” When people finally began to shuffle out, Donald flipped a b about his T-Shirt (V Neck, let’s not kid ourselves). He suddenly got very worried he wasn’t wearing the right T-shirt. Jesus, his clothes were disgusting. He put on this SHEER white, tiny V-neck that Bretta asked what was wrong with it, because there were tiny holes/rips on the shoulders, and Donald yelled, “Duh Bretta, they’re supposed to be there!! This is the Diesel Men’s Runway Line! You can only get it at that one store… you know… the most expensive one. It is only sold at the most expensive store!”
I tried to give Bretta a look like “yeesh, men!” She saw it and excitedly gave it back. Yes… we’re going to be best friends I hope I can give her my email address.
They left, I was given instructions for the child thing, Donald grabbed a flask of Jameson, making sure everyone saw him do it, (Donald… you salty dog…) and I was alone.
Now, anyone who knows me knows I love children. I was a full-time babysitter in Chicago for eons, and ate that shit up. Especially the age that whatever her name was…
Bretta 2? Dingleball? I forgot. Literally, two years old, couldn’t speak a word other than Da-da (couldn’t say ma-ma… sorry B-dubs…). Either way, I love kids. So it was out of character for me to let the baby lay on the tile floor, face down, for hours while I sat on the bed watching TV. Seriously, it laid face down on the tile (look at these tiles, Mackenzie… do you think they’d look good on like… a porch? Of a rented luxury home? Yes, Bretta, make that decision now. Go buy these fucking tiles for your Nevernevergonnahappenland spa home) the entire night. I tried to play with her and stuff but she just screamed! I’ve never seen a child act like this before. Like a solid, crying block on the ground that didn’t even crack a smile when I did an extremely funny pratt-fall. Devil child.
But thankfully, it fell asleep just before the celebrities came barreling home, so I had just enough time to scoop her up and lay her on the bed- asleep where a child should be. “The little angel has been asleep right here the whole time!” Not, I ignored your obviously somewhat retarded child as she morphed into a solid mass of bound-up poop, and screamed for two hours.
After they’d settled in I began smacking my hands together and rubbing them and saying “welp!” The official signal for it’s time to go. But no, I stayed for another hour. A fucking hour! I had to be re-introduced to everyone and then listen to them fucking talk at me. “This is Meagan, the help.” And no one was nice! They were all this repulsive breed of actors that I never see, so I forget they are the norm out here. All really gross looking but still “hot.” Like I’m sure they look very “hot” in their headshot pictures, but in person they just look a little burnt and sweaty?
Let’s see, the “Monster” had to talk to me for a long time, and made sure I knew he was not happy about it. He gave me his card, which is a picture of him jumping off a mountain. “I also wrote and performed the music video for the movie. It will be on the DVD.” And I will watch it.
Donald came up, more like flew through the air, and made some jokes at us. It was a very precise science, Donald’s joke telling. I watched it like Nicolette Leung’s uncle would watch a blue speckled warbler burrowing in a massive oak. He would think of a joke… or think of a joke he thought of a couple weeks ago he’d been reminding himself to remember for this occasion. He would say the joke to a cluster of people, look around for laughers (not many) and use those few chortles to fuel himself on to the next group, where he’d say the same joke. And seeing as we were all cramped into a teeny-tiny hotel room, you definitely heard him say it at least three times.
My personal favorites:
“My last film I worked on was made off a shoestring budget… yeah… I was paid in shoestrings!!!!!”
Confused laughs.
“ Yeah, if you didn’t know, Michael (the monster) EATS me in the movie!! I think I was a little turned on when he ate my scrotum… just the thought of your touch.” Heard that one a lot. Michael ate it up, literally! (Donald would have enjoyed that).
I couldn’t get Donald’s attention to ask for my money and leave because he was busy having the time of his life. To fully understand the energy of this “party” I propose you imagine watching a seven-year-old attend his first birthday party that included pizza and a swimming pool. “I’ve never done this before… this isn’t my comfort zone… but hey, I know these kids from school-time… this will be okay… oh my fucking god… pizza with pineapples on it!! And I can swim in the pool! After eating it pizza!? Such things exist? Holy fucking Christ THEY HAVE SPRITE!!!
Everything’s coming up first grade!!!”It was like that.
I had to keep meeting everyone, the seventeen year old with legs up to here! Kept pouring drinks and it was really creeping me out because she’d obviously done it a handful of times, but only in these exact circumstances. Bretta was still spooking me; lingering right behind me until she could come in with a “look how the lights are on the floor! Should I put like… those in my luxury master bedroom? Or no lights?” I don’t know Bretta!!
The ONLY person I liked talking to was this man who looked like the guidance counselor on Freaks and Geeks- the hippie with the nice smile and long brown hair. I was introduced to him and he was the only person I could tell immediately who had a soul. We gave each other a look and he says, “I don’t know why I’m here. I’m not a part of this movie.” Me neither! “Donald just told me to come support him… so I did.” Finally a friend to talk to, damn it Bretta! Don’t corner me again! I just made contact! I was whisked away from him and onto meet other, cooler guest. (Just to note, guy I liked was the writtter/director of “Repo Opera.” Which is actually something I think has a big cult following, and I’m pretty sure I know lots of people who’ve told me they liked it. So way to go, God).
My last straw was when the little boy from
The Diary of a Wimpy Kid was mean to me. “Oh, nice to meet you! I babysit a lot and I think your movie is adorable!” He smiles at me like, okay girl, don’t think I’m going to hang out with you. And please don’t ask me for an autograph. You’re fucking fourteen! Who are these people and why do they exist!? We could be living in a world sans the Wrong Way Turn cannon and I think we’d be getting along just fine. God, why haven’t you spite-ed them! My son my soon what have ye done!
I’m getting dizzy just recalling this night, so I’m going to end this horrible nightmare. I finally cornered Donald and he turned, no longer the affable sprite he was before, and now simply an annoyed consumer having to pay me more than he thought. (Then don’t hire me for fucking 10 hours you idiot). I watch him with greed in my eyes… the flip through the dollars in his wallet… the outstretched hand… you’re in the homestretch, Yeager, and then zoink! Back in his pocket. My money slipping out of site… like a dream deferred.
“Wait. Meagan, before you go, we can’t get the fire to work outside in the cabana (it’s not a cabana). Will you call the front desk and ask for them to turn it on?”
Yeah, sure, okay whatever. I call. Busy. Oh, wait; he’s literally not going to pay me until this fire is lit. What have I done in my life to deserve this horrible metaphor?
I call and call and call. No answer. So he won’t fucking pay me. And thus I thought, “I will blog about you sir. I will blog and get my menial revenge.”
Finally I responded to his “no, keep trying, we’re cold,” with an
“I’ve tried for five minutes. I’m not getting through I have to leave.” Donald was angry, and his face looked like a butthole. He handed me my pay-- “pay you’re whore!” --and I left. Literally, barreled through the crowd face down. Only looking up to wave to Bretta, my princess, and steal away into the night of Hollywood Blvd and of broken, confused dreams.
And now… I give you this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fulKeIZM2-s
