Sweet Charity for the P.Pie

The VP got tickets to the touring play of Sweet Charity from her work (which is regularly hooking her up with SWEET tickets to all sorts of events – baseball, football, concerts – if it’s a ticketed event, she gets ‘em).

So she & P.Pie are having a pregnant sisters night out.

I thought about going and hanging out with Picasso and Gunslinger, but Picasso broke his painting hand and Gunslinger has pink eye, so I decided it would be best to stay home.

Anyhoo, The Beej and I have the house to ourselves – he’s lounging on the bed and I on the couch.

Alternadad likes to spend his alone time… differently.

To each his own.

Actually, I’m a little jealous of Alternadad – he’s living my life.

Well, that’s not really fair; I love my wife/twins/life and wouldn’t trade any of them for the world. But Alternadad manages to write creatively and make a living at it.

I’ll get there, just gotta keep writing.

Back to the topic – Sweet Charity.

Really, the topic is touring headliner, Molly Ringwald. Sixteen Candles, Breakfast Club, Pretty in Pink & 40+ other films and TV shows Molly Ringwald.

For those of you under 20 or over 60, she’s a Brat Packer. One of eight (not to be confused with seven of nine) ‘80s teen actors that starred (although not usually together) in a string of movies that had the John Hughes’ fingerprint on them.

Like many Gen-X’ers, I grew up with her (via film, or course). You might even say I had something of a crush on her.

In the early ‘90s, I lived in LA and hung out with art school-type students in the Los Feliz/Hollywood/West LA area. One of those places was Formosa Café, a popular old school Hollywood bar/restaurant.

Long story longer, Ms. Ringwald frequented the Formosa. And, as luck would have it, she was there at the same time I was.

Remember, it was the early ‘90s.

Brat Pack movies were as dead as disco. She was living on her past glory and small bit parts in lousy TV shows.

I thought she was obtainable.

I started with the oh-so-suave ‘buy-the-girl-a-drink’ move. I approached the bartender, order myself another martini (dirty, dry, three olives) and whatever Ms. Ringwald was drinking.

This was rewarded with a smile, a raise of the glass, and a nod.

Okay, at this point my expectations were through the roof – I’d gotten eye contact and smile with teeth (not pursed lips).

Another dirty martini and several dares from the art school-types, I approached Molly Ringwald.

Molly Ringwald, the star of stage, television, and the big screen.

I got within an arm’s reach of Molly. I opened my mouth – to say something incredibly banal, I’m sure – and a ham hock landed on my shoulder. The ham hock was attached to a bald guy who was at least 6’6” and resembled a brick wall that needed a shave.

He turned me around, walked me back to my friends and said, “Ms. Ringwald appreciates the drink, but she’s busy.”

Surprisingly, the guy was really polite for hired muscle.

Everyone, including me, laughed. But deep down, I was crushed.

I really, honestly, no-shit thought I had a shot.

So here I sit, dog on the bed, fingers pecking out a personal history on the keyboard while my pregnant wife is seeing a touring play with a woman I once bought a drink for.

Funny world, huh?