A few weeks ago, I entered a contest sponsored by CAbi. The 4 winners selected were to be flown to Los Angeles for a whirlwind makeover, and then they would appear in the CAbi Fall Lookbook catalogue. I was one of the 4 winners. This week I will be reporting on my adventure.
Saturday morning, an hour before dark thirty, I headed for Orlando International Airport to board a flight bound for the city of angels. To my surprise, I made it through security without being violated. I think the key ingredient to this scenario is that I left my leg brace at home. It is my belief that a cast, leg brace, or prosthesis is an open invitation to be frisked. I believe this, well, pretty much because I saw a sign that said so.
And for the record, I did not miss the brace one iota.
The 5 plus hour flight was relatively uneventful. I had high hopes of sleeping, but had stored all of my sleeping paraphernalia in an overhead bin, and because of my stature, I could not retrieve those items which are necessary for slumber on a plane equipped with a screaming baby and a hard of hearing elderly fellow who had far too much caffeine two rows up. These items would have included ear plugs, an inflatable neck pillow, and a mallet to render myself unconscious.
Plan B was to write a few blogs posts ahead of time, but since nothing exciting had happened to me since dark thirty, I simply stared at an empty computer text page. For 15 full minutes. As a last resort, I watched “Hairspray” on DVD. Ninety five minutes of my life that I’ll never get back. My secret crush on Vinnie Barbarino is now officially over.
I did fall completely in love with Nikki Blonsky, though.
The rest of the ride was spent reading, scanning the ceiling of the plane for holes, and pilfering pretzels from the drink cart.
After I de-planed and could feel my legs again, I headed down to transportation to look for the car that would collect me. I saw my driver carrying a small sign with CAbi hand written in magic marker.
The only other time in my life I had a driver (heavy use of air quotes) to pick me up from an airport was in the late 80’s when I flew to New York to do press for a movie. I was traveling with the wife of the star of the movie, and my inflated ego so hoped that my name would be written on the little sign. Alas, the sign bore the name of my friend, the wife of the star. She delighted in ribbing me. Fame. It is fleeting.
My bruised ego was brushed aside when she located some Chippendale dancers in the terminal who would graciously take a picture with me. They didn’t care what my name was either.
Anyhoo. My driver for this trip escorted me out to parking, where he led me to a beat up, rusted 1980 something Honda Civic. He began to open the trunk, and looked to see my reaction.
As a parent to 3 high spirited children, nothing really fazes me. I was simply grateful to be in Los Angeles. He chuckled, and said “just kidding.” Wherein he led me to a beautiful black town car type of vehicle. The kind that the paparazzi surround.
Very hysterical. When I climbed in, I noticed a Bible in the back pocket. Since I surmised he was in possession of a sense of humor, I asked him if the presence of the Bible and accompanying devotional were any indication of his driving ability.
We arrived at the studio, where I was greeted by the CAbi gals, with whom I fell INSTANTLY in love. I’ve never felt more at ease and welcomed in my life. This isn’t always the case for me, since I was completely out of my element. An element which includes stained yoga pants and children demanding my attention 24/7.
I instinctively knew that I was in good hands. After meeting all of the stylists, I was introduced to Mitch, who would transform the color of my hair, thusly banishing my roots.
(to be continued)