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<editorsnote> Hi, I'm Jen Friel, and we here at TNTML examine the lives of nerds outside of the basements and into the social media, and dating world.  We have over 75 peeps that write about their life in real time. (Real nerds, real time, real deal.) Sit back, relax, and enjoy some of the stories!! </editorsnote>

 

 

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Thursday
Mar072019

#FyreFestival: Did I mention I know one of the founders & I'm now featured on their website? 

He was the main dude on the tech side, and (thankfully) didn't have any involvement in the festival himself ... but you did see him in the Netflix documentary. 

No ... not that guy ... 

This guy.

The one with the funny name. 

 He's the tech founder and is/ was business partners with Ja Rule and Billy McFarland. 

Here he is on stage at the 2016 Web Summit ... 

MDavid is a nerd and my friend. He's a good guy who (depending upon how you look at it) had something really shitty happen to him. 

Here's what you haven't heard ... and straight from the source. 

Maestro.

 

January 23, 2019, I flipped on Netflix and saw the release of their new doc FYRE: The Greatest Party That Never Happened. Here's the trailer incase you've been living under a rock and have no idea what I'm talking about ... 

I remember when the story broke last year and went viral. The concept was genius, the marketing unprecedented, but as someone who lived on an island and is very familiar with the Bahamas ... NONE of it came as a surprise that the festival was a disaster. The land simply doesn't have the infrastructure to support a festival like this. My friends own homes there (more on that in a minute) and barely get power. 

How on Earth could this happen? It didn't - that's the point.

What did surprise me was that they had people actually show up (only to then become temporarily stranded).

Not exactly the Gilligan fantasy I'm sure most of the millennials were expecting.

Either way, I made it about a third of the way through the documentary before I realized one of the "main characters" was actually a recurring character in my own life. 

Wait, MDavid? ...

MY MDavid?! (as if there's anyone else on the planet with that name) ... I said out loud after the title had appeared on the screen no less than 15 times. 

OMG, I KNOW HIM!!!! I shouted to Buster (who didn't care because he's a dog)

I then watched the rest of the documentary (which was super engaging with or without the connection) and immediately after popped on twitter to message him. 

It wasn't still his cell phone number, hence the word "new" next to his name in my phone.

I'm weird about getting rid of old numbers ... I prefer to confuse myself by having multiple listings for the same person... it's like friend Russian roulette ... or chat roulette without the dick pics. 

A few hours later, we connected over the phone. The first words out of my mouth were "how the heck are you? Way to go and be part of this huge international story!!" which was getting more and more coverage by the second as Hulu and Netflix released competing documentaries days apart. 

"It's insane right now. I never intended or wanted to become famous. My name has become a 'thing' online and Chrissy Teigen just tweeted me!" 

That's amazing! I said, and very well deserved. 

<tangent> See, MDavid and I met somehow through this blog and the twittersphere. He had even offered back in 2012 to redesign TNTML. This website is hilariously and horribly designed due to the fact that I built it out myself and have free hosting as a "friend of squarespace," a program that was cancelled and will require a manual downloading and uploading of all 7,500 blog posts (plus images and videos).

The fact that Jerry Bruckheimer bought this cracks me up and taught me a lesson that "good enough" beats "perfect." If I had waited to blog until I had something designed the way I wanted, I would never have had the career that I've had (and am continuing to have). </tangent> 

MDavid was willing to help me when I thought I needed it, so now I wanted to do anything and everything in my power to help him.

The Fyre Festival itself was completely separate from the team that actually built out the tech. 

Let me repeat that ... The Fyre Festival itself was completely separate from the team that actually built out the tech.

He had no involvement in it, but was part of a cultural phenomenon (which I saw he could immediately capitalize on)

Sure, Billy stiffed him out of hundreds of thousands of dollars (which I cannot even fathom personally), but publicity like they're experiencing can't be bought. 

People Magazine, W Magazine, Forbes, Gizmodo, Refinery29, TMZ, Entertainment Weekly, THEY WERE MENTIONED AT THE OSCARS ... and all of this happened WITHOUT a PR person!? Unlike the influencer marketing for the festival, the documentaries actually went viral organically. 

The next week, I went down to the Florida Keys to visit my family and take a quick dip in some R&R with my friends. 

"Have you seen that Fyre documentary on Netflix?" asked my girlfriend over drinks shortly after I arrived.

I was staying at her house. 

"YES!" I said excited to talk about it. 

<tangent> This was only the second time in six years of being in and out of island life that my island friends were talking about the same thing my city friends were talking about. I knew immediately this story wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. Which will only continue to help MDavid!! </tangent> 

"I don't understand how they thought they could hold a festival on our island," she said. "We barely get power!" 

I know, you've told me all about it! I said laughing. 

They also tried to strong arm us into using our house for the festival. 

What do you mean, I asked? 

"Without permission, they used our property to film not only a series of marketing videos but they actually listed our house as being available to rent. They called it 'The Nest.' I really think they thought we'd eventually cave." 

<tangent> One of the many things that I love about my island friends is that they really don't give a fuck. You can't buy them because they're already rich. It's expensive AF to live on an island, let alone own property on one ... or should I say multiple properties on different islands. </tangent> 

She then pulled up a tweet from Tomi Lahren and said "this was taken infront of my house. This is our property!!!" 

And the worst part is, they even got their island marketing wrong. Pablo never owned that island, Carlos Lehder did.

They even got the drug dealer wrong, I thought to myself laughing.

Moments later, the owner of the "most photographed palm tree in the US" (and the owner of the home featured in Bloodline) stopped by to get us a round of drinks. 

I hadn't seen him in a few years and without skipping a beat, he asked if I had seen "that new documentary on Netflix?"

Yes, I said, we were JUST talking about it. 

"They got the wrong drug dealer," he said. "Carlos Lehder owned that property not Pablo." 

Shortly there after we finished up our drinks and went back to the house to watch the State of the Union address. 

Moments into the address ... I Bill Murrayed myself into another familiar face/ experience. 

OMG, I KNOW HIM!! I shouted out loud to my girlfriend (and this time not my dog)

<tangent> Me and about forty other people rang in the new year with Buzz Aldrin. My face stayed the same in exactly 10 different pictures, and when I see him again, I hope to say the sentence "hello my name is Jen Friel." I didn't get that far the first time, but I do love that when I see him again I can say "I met you on New Years! I was dressed as Cleopatra!" BTW, it was not a costume party. I just took the "black and gold" theme to another level. </tangent> 

I laughed to my girlfriend saying that I feel like Buddy the Elf right now ... 

I texted MDavid the next day saying how strange my life is. As an INTJ I can naturally see things from both sides, but in terms of the FYRE festival I was literally getting a play by play from the people who actually lived it.  

"We should get you on Iconn.me," he said one day over text. 

Done! I texted back. Always happy to help. 

Iconn.me is their new celebrity booking app (that has also garnered its own "buzz" in the media) ... 

Want to book Flo Rida for your son's birthday bbq? No problem! Go to his page, and fill out the information on the event. 

How is Iconn.me different than FYRE and the FYRE festival?

Here's the answer straight from the horses' mouth ... 

So, now I not only have my own page, but I am currently sandwiched in between Metta World Peace and DMX under featured talent on the home page. 

That's a sentence I never thought I'd say. 

What can you "book" me for? 

Brit Milahs, graduations, bachelor parties, retirement celebrations, bridal showers ... or I can awkwardly stare at you from across the room for a couple of hours just to make it weird.

At the end of the day, it's open to the imagination of the internet.

So take a look at their site and feel free to corrupt my inbox. 

I believe in you MDavid!! Keep doing what you're doing and you 100% have my support! <3 

#nerdsunite

Are you talent and want to sign up to be featured on Iconn.me? Click here to sign up

MDavid's response ...

My girlfriend's response ... 


Monday
Jan212019

#NerdsUnite: I'm a mistress in training, can you help me with my foot slave?

<editorsnote> If you're an executive reading this after our pitch meetings, here's a post highlighting what we discussed. And here is the most recent slave post. If you're a nerd, keep reading ... </editorsnote> 

I got the following email this morning, and wanted to share ... 

There's a lot happening with this post so let me break it down step by step. 

First of all, hi Sally ::waves::

Thanks for reading and thanks for reaching out. 

Secondly, while yes, I have had slaves before, I am by no means a professional. 

Click here to read about how I got into it. 

Okay, full disclosure over. 

Let's cut to the chase ... 

You're 21 years old and already exploring fetishes (accidentally or otherwise), good for you!

Step one in exploring any sort of fetish is to decide what you are comfortable with. It's not easy in the beginning (because how do you know what you want/like if you haven't experienced it), but I promise you, this will get easier. 

I'm not a label person, but I consider myself a "try-sexual;" I will try anything sexually once to see if I like it. For me this experience wasn't sexual, it was mental (which indirectly is sexual, but they never saw that).

Each slave that I had had very specific and different fetishes (all under the umbrella of being a foot fetish). I have had 8 in total over the years (with one that I met with but did not accept)

Here is my first experience with a slave. 

Here is a slave who was into Financial Domination. 

Here is a slave that I took to a fetish club (which in hindsight I was DEFINITELY not ready for)

Here is a picture of one of my slaves in action. 

Here is a slave that wanted me to murder him. This is the one that I did not accept (because obvi)

But before I accepted a single slave, I sought the advice and help of a friend who is what they call a "switch" (meaning both a sub/ and a Domme)

He and I had been friends for years so I felt comfortable learning from him. You can read about the experience here. 

Since your boyfriend is into trampling (that's what that means when he wants you to walk all over him), I'd highly suggest you do the same (if you are comfortable doing that in the first place).

When I did it for the first time, I went for it.

So much so that the "switch" recommended that if I had a slave who was into trampling that I explain to them that I'm "sadistic." I applied so much pressure out the gate that he enjoyed it - but to others it might have gone too far. 

Not literally because that's a different fetish ... 

That's the part about this world that I love so much - there's no "wondering" where things will go. I as the Domme very clearly stated my rules beforehand to each of the slaves. If I liked you after our first meeting, I liked you, but I wasn't your girlfriend and I couldn't be bought. (My tributes were wine or shoes.) 

Here's a post on what happens when a girlfriend did find out and actually messaged me. My loyalty in that situation was to the slave. It was his choice what he wanted to reveal to her and I had to respect that. 

In terms of "commanding" him, it's all mental. I started a "trello board of torture" for my last Fin Domme slave. Owning a slave is the equivalent of having a part time job, and as someone who already has multiple part time jobs - I couldn't lose out on staying one step ahead of him mentally. 

This is called "topping from the bottom" and that happened to me once too. 

For that slave, I'd write out all of the things I'd want him to do and cut and paste them him whenever I felt he needed to be controlled. Click here for the examples. By being able to rapid fire off requests at the drop of a hat, I was able to command him more effectively. 

In terms of how you "command" that's up to you. For me, it was faking it until I made it. I couldn't believe it when I said the words "little pig" out loud for the first time, but over the years it gave me a lot of confidence that eventually seeped into my every day life. 

I'd suggest your next step with your beau is to have a meeting to discuss it. Set up a time where you discuss exactly what you're both wanting and or willing to explore (which can change) and establish a "safe word" to prevent the exploration from going "too far."  

(It helps to have this conversation in an intimate but not sexual setting.) 

In the meantime, if he is truly into exploring trampling or any other physical activity, I'd suggest reaching out to a Domme on FetLife. I wouldn't have felt comfortable exerting any sort of pain to someone had it not been for that experience, but everyone is different. 

Congrats on being brave enough as a couple to explore this world, and I'd love to be kept up to date on your experiences! They're certainly never boring ... unless you're actually bored of him, and trust me, there's plenty more where he came from. 

#nerdsunite

 

Wednesday
Jan092019

#ThatAmazingMomentWhen: I got stopped at TSA because of my dildo ... (did I mention this happened twice?)

<editorsnote> If you're an executive reading this after our pitch meetings, here's a post highlighting what we discussed. And here is the most recent slave post. If you're a nerd, keep reading ... </editorsnote> 


Oh man, this story is funny, and I'd be lying if I said it only happened once. 

My biggest take away from this life experience ...

is that sex toys should come with ...

a rating on whether they are TSA compliant or not. 

In both cases mine were technically compliant, but did cause a pause for extra screening.

The TSA agent clearly didn't understand what it was ...

and definitely not where it went.  

 Maestro ... 

I went back east this holiday season and part of my packing priority includes my ::buzz buzz buzz:: of an animal that has no fur. 99% of women reading this will know what this is, but for the men who might not, this is called a Rabbit. 

The Rabbit was popularized in Sex and The City Season One Episode 9 "Turtle and the Hare" (1998). Miranda discovers the ultimate vibrator aka The Rabbit ... which is amazing because I feel like Miranda never discovered anything of interest (particularly not her fashion) on the show. 

<tangent> Being the age now that the characters are, I'm kind of amazed at that clip. I got my first pocket rocket (aka a vibrator just for the clit no insertion) when I was 22.

My first boyfriend had an aunt who ::surprise:: sold sex toys. 

Instead of being weirded out by her ::surprise:: Happy Thanksgiving day gift, I instead (curiously) put it to use. 

The relationship ended eight months later.

Totally unrelated to the vibrator. Kinda. </tangent> 

I have a couple different dildos but the Rabbit is my go-to. It's the wham, bam, thank you ma'am that gets in, gets you off, and lets you get on with your life. 

I packed my backpack as usual, nuzzling the Rabbit in a sweater somewhere near the top, remembering first to remove the battery pack. The next morning, I arrived at LAX a full two hours ahead of my flight to allow for extra backup with holiday travel.

As I stood in line I thought back to the time I got caught with a dildo at LAX.

(This part is very true. All of it is obviously - I'm not creative enough to make this shit up.) 

I laughed thinking back to how naive I was in terms of traveling to not remember to take out the battery pack. You can read the original post here.

That time in particular, I had simply forgotten, but after having countless vibrating toothbrushes ::buzz:: in my bag, I considered it a cardinal rule to make sure that anything with batteries shall be removed beforehand.

The TSA agent back in 2011 was female and quite lovely. The dildo on the screen looked exactly like that one (I'm assuming) that she uses, so instead of requiring any sort of search she quietly leaned over and whispered "just so you know, take out the batteries next time and you won't be stopped. When the batteries are left in it sets off an alert on our screen." 

She then winked and smiled wishing me a safe flight. 

Is a dildo angel "a thing?" If not it should be. 

I passed through security no problem (remembering to remove that little piece of paper that is always in my pocket), placed my hat back on, and walked over to grab my bag - noticing that it had been pulled to the "additional screening" conveyer belt. 

Thinking nothing of it, I walked over to the table admitting that this was my bag. 

"Is this your bag?" he asked. 

"Yes," I said, noticing that he did not hear me. 

If an animal played this man in a movie, it would be a sloth. I'm sure he's a lovely lovely person to his mother ... sisters ... he's the kind of uncle who always remembers to send you $20 in a birthday card (and you have no idea which uncle he is but you spend the cash anyway)

"Is ... there ... anything ... sharp ... in ... here?" sloth asked s.l.o.w.l.y. 

"No" I said, my eyes darting over to his screen remembering the only thing remotely "sharp looking" would be the Rabbit. 

Here we go again I thought ... 

processing that the sloth was going to  s.l.o.w.l.y. open up my bag ...

have to find and take out the hairless animal. 

Did I mention all of the other passengers ... 

that were just casually traveling for the holidays ... 

MOST OF WHOM HAD CHILDREN ... 

By the time he began unzipping (this was only as far as he had gotten at this point), I paused him. 

"Sir, I would like to go to the additional screening room," I said loudly.

One, because I'm pretty certain he was hard of hearing and two, because I wanted to be firm. 

He looked confused at my request. 

"This isn't for me," I explained. "It's for you." 

Confused, he fulfilled the request alerting a female agent and pointed over to the side room (which thankfully was empty because his walk alone was going to take an ungodly amount of time)

<tangent> I happen to LOVE sloths so please let me pause for a moment with EXCITEMENT! Please tell me you have all seen this video ... 

Alrite, getting back to the post. </tangent> 

The female agent arrived moments later. She also looked confused as to why we were in the private room.

I clued her in by saying "I asked for the private room for his protection not mine." 

Still confused, we both placed our backs up against the wall as he put on the blue rubber gloves. (This is only as far as he had gotten at this point.) 

Oh yeah, and did I mention that the hat I was wearing said 747? 


It's from Burning Man. I'm not an actual pilot but based on their expressions I might play one on TV one day. 

He then unwrapped the Rabbit from my sweater, placing his index fingers on the head and base. He began examining it as if it was some sort of ancient artifact.

I'm not sure what confused him, the part that looked like a penis or the extra extension that looked like ears made for clitoral stimulation. 

"Oh yeah, you needed the private room" the female agent said putting a ... 

on the exchange.

I smiled with an intense amount of pride as I grabbed the Rabbit back from the sloth and re-nuzzled it into its little hole.  

Look at that, here I was simply taking care of my own holes and I wound up taking a man down a Rabbit hole he had yet to experience.

I'd be lying if I said this was the first time. 

Wonder what would have happened if he had found the others (that were hidden deeper).  

I'm serious on that ... I really did have others. 

Note to nerds: Don't travel with a sex toy that has metal. The beads in the Rabbit are what set off the alarm.

Oh! And speaking of ::buzz::-ing ... I spent NYE with BUZZ ALDRIN!!! I have the exact same face in 10 different photos, and in this one I might have actually peed myself. 

Maybe my next toy should be one that works on kegel muscles. 

#nerdsunite

 

Click the image to comment on Instagram

Thursday
Dec062018

#TrueStory: I took one of my childhood idols as my date to her own movie screening at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery 

<editorsnote> If you're an executive reading this after our pitch meetings, here's a post highlighting what we discussed. And here is the most recent slave post. If you're a nerd, keep reading ... </editorsnote> 

I've been waiting to write this story because it is so special in my heart (and still to this day close to my ulnar and radial arteries) ... 
 

This wristband will have to fall off my body on its own. I REFUSE to take it off.

It wasn't until I saw one of her 90210 co-stars on Sunday ... 

... that I decided that it was time ... 

BTW, I LOVED Shannen as the annoying little sister in Girls Just Want to Have Fun.

As the "annoying little sister" in the Friel household, I could totally relate. 

::cue post:: 

This story starts in June of last year, I had agreed to pick up my gf's mail while she was out of town (on an extended work trip). I stopped by her place in downtown to grab the key and as she buzzed me into her building, I realized she wasn't alone. 

I did my best to not pull a Honey ... 

My girlfriend was sitting next to none other than one of my childhood idols, Rachel True. 

::cue Troy McClure:: 


You may remember Rachel True from such 90s classics as "The Craft," "Half Baked," "The Fresh Prince of Bel Air," and "Beverly Hills 90210." 

The Craft came out in 96, around the same time as Clueless and the rise of the Spice Girls. All three movies were aspirational in terms of their female friendships, and while I liked all three, The Craft became my obsession. (And the reason why still to this day I wear black knee highs.) 

The women in The Craft were not only hot, and cool but they owned how weird they were. This was something I hadn't seen in "high school aged" pop culture characters before. 

I added the quotes because we all know they're never "high school aged." 

If you're not familiar with the movie (CURSE YOU), it's about a (soon-to-be-discovered-powerful) girl/ witch who moves to a new school and becomes friends with the resident witches. A power struggle ensues and "good" battles "evil" highlighted with cutting edge CG effects. 

Either way, I worshipped this woman, and (unlike my normal response of completely ignoring or BOLTING from anyone I worship) I immediately and instinctively took advantage of the situation asking if we could go ghost hunting. (My gf lives in a historical building in downtown.) 

Rachel was super impressed with my brass balls (to not only solicit the request but actually WANT to do it),

... and that evening I was able to cross off "go ghost hunting with one of the four characters from The Craft" off my life list. 

Click here to read the full story 

Over the last year, Rachel and I frequently (and equally as randomly) kept in touch and hung out.

Here's a text from last Christmas: 


I was in my parent's living room as I JUMPPPPEEDDDDD up and down with joy (not only for her continued success obviously) but that RACHEL TRUE LOVES READING MY BLOG AND RACHEL TRUE JUST WISHED ME A MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!! 

Wait, that's not dramatic enough ... 

Alrite too dramatic ... moving on. 

Either way, my childhood dream of becoming friends with one of the coolest girls on the PLANET (er, multidimensional universe?) was now properly executed. 

Six months or so later, my friends and I went to a screening of The Lost Boys at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery. I had such a great time that when I got home I signed up for their newsletter.

Then in late July Cinespia (the crowd that hosts the events at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery) announced that they were hosting an all night slumber party showing The Craft, Practical Magic, and The Witches. 

I immediately called my best friend (who now knows her) ... 

"Do you think Rachel would come with us if I bought us all tickets to see The Craft at Hollywood Forever Cemetery?" 

"I'm not sure," he said. 

"Either way, as long as you're down to go, I'll buy the tickets and we can figure out the rest later." 

Cinespia tickets notoriously sell out quickly which is CRAZY since this is the average crowd size ... 

I then jumped online to purchase tickets and to my (not so) surprise, they had already sold out. 

Never one to back down from a dream or goal I want to accomplish, I clicked CONTACT Cinespia's page typing into the form that I wanted to attend with one of the stars of the film and wondered if there were any tickets left. 

Emphasis on "wanting" to attend.

Yes, Rachel and I are legit friends, and I planned on inviting her ... but I also hadn't gotten that far yet and had ZERO confirmation if she would even be okay with this. All I had texted her up until this point was asking if she was available on that night (which she was)

Even for me, this was a ballsy move; I've never ever used a friend's celebrity to get access to an event. Quite the opposite, I prefer to downplay things.

The 33 year old part of me felt a degree of guilt, but fortunately the 13 year old Jen won thinking "THIS WILL BE THE BEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE IF I ACTUALLY PULL THIS OFF!!!" 

Five minutes later, I got a response back from the director. 

 

I answered back honestly ... 


Tickets now secured (we were even upgraded to VIP), I texted my bestie ... 

At The Lost Boys, my friend cracked a comment wondering who you had to screw to get VIP. Turns out no one, but it didn't mean I was "in the clear" in terms of screwing over my own friendship. 

I took a deep breath as I texted Rachel my plan ... 

 

Now delivered, my next step was to wait for her response. 

... and wait I did ... 

Four days later, still without a response, I messaged again creating more of a visual on what the evening would entail ... 


Minutes later, I got a response ... 

33 year old Jen smiled at a job well done ... 

... while 13 year old Jen began jumping up and down mimicking the feeling the female lead in a romantic comedy has when she "gets the guy" ... 

.... only I didn't "get the guy," I got the girl ... 

... and I accomplished my goal while maintaining (most importantly) my friendship.

In my wildest dreams I couldn't have planned this, and that was the point, I didn't have to. 

Saturday came by before I knew it, and I emailed the director once more to confirm the logistics of the evening. Placing myself in the accidental director role, meant that I had talent to protect and needed to make sure she was as comfortable as possible at all times. 

Not only had Cinespia set us up with the tickets, but they had a trailer designated specifically for our group, and even offered a golf cart chauffer to get through the crowds. 

Upon arrival, we took advantage of everything. 

Feet? Who needs them when we have wheels (and a driver) ... 

Oh, what's that? Is it a bit warm outside? Shall we go into the air conditioned trailer instead?

DON'T MIND IF WE DO! 

"Do you guys want a photo in the photo booth," asked one of the Cinespia employees?

DO WE? I thought. 

We were then escorted over to the photo booth via the back entrance (instantly cutting the hour plus long line).

I had zero problem with this ...  

... and with the biggest shit eating grin, struck my own pose ... 

... with the lady who was on the very big screen in that very moment. 

"Look," I said pointing to the left ... 

Fans would then approach (and with Rachel's blessing) I immediately offered to be the photographer. I was having the ABSOLUTE TIME OF MY LIFE and wanted to respectfully share this life experience with anyone who was equally as excited to be around Rachel as I was.

Handing their phones back, I'd say "you're welcome" in my head, even if they didn't say thank you. 

Feeling pretty proud of myself, we then were escorted over to the front where Rachel was due to give the intro. Like a good Jewish mother (even though I'm a shiksa), I then requested one more pic before she took the stage. 

I then stood in the background of the stage fist pumping and BEAMING with pride watching my friend give this speech ... 

Click the photo to view the video on Instagram

I might have been happily in the shadows in that moment, but in my head, I felt front and center accepting the award of this life experience ... and dedicated it to the weirdos of the world. 

 Once she finished, we were then escorted (yet again) back to the trailer where they gave us a full feast of wine, chips, and said if there was anything that we needed to just let them know. 

"Do you want to head to your seats?" asked the attendant. 

Unsure if Rachel would feel comfortable with seeing herself on pretty much the biggest screen in Los Angeles, I paused to let her answer. 

"Sure," she said without thought as we began walking over. 

Incapable of speaking, I continued to try and play it cool, ultimately failing miserably.

I'm really not kidding, btw, I tripped on the stairs walking out of the trailer. 

Saved by my friend, I grabbed his arm laughing while saying "I can't believe she's actually going to watch the movie with us. WHO DOES THIS HAPPEN TO?!"

"You," he said with a smile. "You planned this whole thing. Now, you get to really enjoy it." 

We then grabbed our VIP seats, as Rachel asked one more question before the movie began. 

I Taylor Swift style answered ... 

... and began smoking a J (INSIDE A CEMETERY) with Mary Jane from Half Baked. 

 High now on equal parts life and marijuana, we took our seats for the last time. The crowd cheered as the movie began. 

Our group cheered the loudest when Rachel's name appeared on the screen. 

For the next hour and a half, I not only experienced IRL DVD commentary on one of my ALL TIME FAVORITE FILMS ... 

... but I also got to invoke Manon with her WHILE IT WAS PLAYING ON THE SCREEN!!!!!!

 My bestie is from a cold place up north, I am from back east, Rachel is from LA, and my other friend is from Long Beach (which counts because we call that the "South Bay" in LA.


Instead of fire though and anyone walking on water (it was weird enough being in a cemetery) - we raised our hands and laughed as we chanted the lines by the fake candle they (appropriately) gave our table. 

When the movie was over, I gave Rachel the biggest hug thanking her for the best night of my life. I explained that "I realized this could have easily been super douchey asking to bring you to this, but I really respect and appreciate how cool you were with the whole thing." 

"You're cool too, and I'll see you soon" she said with a smile and a hug good bye. 

... which was really convenient timing considering I was already in a cemetery. 

#nerdsunite

 

 

Thursday
Nov292018

#TBT: That time I accidentally met Robin Williams ... while stalking @EnriqueIglesias 

<editorsnote> If you're an executive reading this after our pitch meetings, here's a post highlighting what we discussed. And here is the most recent slave post. If you're a nerd, keep reading ... </editorsnote> 

I learned about a new style of surprise party this past weekend ...
 

It's called a "SURPRISE MEMORIAL!" 

I know this, because I ...
... attended one. 

As I mentioned in the last post, I had a series of people (one of whom I was close to) pass away recently. I chose not to attend the memorial for her due to the overwhelming texts, calls, and "drop bys" left in her wake. 

On Saturday, I went over to our friend's house (with the same group of friends that also knew her) thinking we were attending a belated "Friendsgiving." Little did any of us know that the host invited a Peruvian Shaman who does sound bath healings. 

Fortunately, I knew, but click here if you want to learn more. 

Two songs into our oohms and ahhs, she surprised us by mentioning our friend by name and said that "sometimes when people die suddenly they don't know that they are dead and we can help them by inviting them to go 'home' through song."

Already in a vulnerable state and clearly at the "anger" stage of my grief, I opened my mouth and involuntarily burst into tears ... baby-sea-lion-crying on my friend's designer shirt. 

Have you heard a baby sea lion cry? 

It's not pretty. 

Still a sea lion and post song/ ceremony, I looked down at my phone and noticed a text from my own shaman (aka The Modern Day Shaman): 

Is cheating on your Shaman a thing? If so, I might have done it. 

Like I said, I feel a lot better, I just prefer to have advance notice of a hide and seek style ceremony that forces my emotions to "come out come out wherever they are."  

Either way, speaking of someone who is also dead .... 

I shared this story with everyone and quickly realized I hadn't ever written about it. 

::cue post:: 

Picture it. Los Angeles. 2004. 

I lived in an apartment that cost $400 per month, with four roommates (who all had live in boyfriends). I was 19 and had just moved to LA without knowing a single soul. My very first friend was my actual roommate, J. She and I shared a bathroom and a bedroom with our two tiny twin beds. 

Either way, we couldn't help but become close quickly ... 

... and a few months into our friendship, she got a new job over at the Four Seasons in Beverly Hills working at the pool. (She was the one I crashed the Spiderman 2 Premier with, btw.)

"Who are your favorite celebrities?" she asked one day after her training. 

"I don't know," I said recognizing that a ton of celebrities have stayed there.  

Let me rephrase, is there anyone you'd want to meet if given the opportunity? 

YES!, I said without thought, and his name is Enrique Iglesias. 

J the tree-hugging hippie from Colorado sans any sort of aspiration in entertainment, looked confused. 

Do you not know who that is, I asked? 

I then powered up my Dell desktop computer ...

... and five minutes later opened up the internet explorer ... 

... and another five minutes later began typing in the name "Enrique Iglesias." 

OOHHH, she said. I don't speak Spanish. 

I immediately corrected her.

"His music isn't just in Spanish, he's part of the Latin pop culture fusion that began five years ago with Livin-La-Vida-Loca. The man can DANCE, and if he can move like that vertically, imagine what can happen horizontally." 

Do you know how many times I masturbated to this video as a teenager?

I recorded Bailamos every time it was on TRL in an attempt to view the LONGEST POSSIBLE VERSION available. I had over two hours of ONE SINGLE VIDEO and STILL didn't have the full version because TRL notoriously cut them short. 

You had ONE JOB MTV!!! 

I love Latin men. Always have, always will and Enrique wasn't just another pretty face, I learned Spanish because of him. 

Well, technically speaking, I switched languages to Spanish in high school because I had already learned enough French to qualify for the France trip, and now I had my eyes set on Spain next (which I did qualify for). 

I didn't just listen to his songs in English, I was equally obsessed with how the words sounded in Spanish. I can very confidently say "No Apagues La Luz" just because I listened to this song on repeat on my CD player ... 

So we're clear, if we're ever stuck in a Spanish speaking country and need to tell someone "don't turn off the lights" - I'll have our backs. 

Either way, J filed my crush away and months later I had all but forgotten about it. 

Sometime later I received a telephone call on my Motorola t720 ... 

::ring ring:: sang my fancy ring tone that I paid extra for (because that's what we had to do way back then)

"Hello," I said to my friend whose phone number I recognized as I saw it populated on the display.  

(Hello is the standard greeting when answering a phone call to someone you know or don't know, btw.)

"He's here," she said. 

"Who," I asked? 

"Enrique. He just checked into the pool. Come over and meet him." 

Enrique and the word come in the same sentence ... 

Mind you, everything J was doing was considered a HUGE no no to the hotel. They fiercely protect their guests, and as J saw first hand at the SpiderMan 2 Premier - I am not only very good at talking my way into and out of things, but I'm never an asshole in the process. 

J was opening a HUGE door for me (literally) to meet the man of my masturbation dreams. This wasn't just big, this was EVERYTHING to 19 year old Jen. 

Just kidding we didn't have hashtags back then. 

I then headed over to Beverly Hills with the top down in my 2000 Chevy Cavalier Convertible (hoping that my own top would be down later).

This was my actual car.

I began blasting Limp Bizkit's Significant Other from my CD player that I could only play in the car if I had the attached cassette port. 

Blasting "Nookie" I thought about my game plan. 

See, I've always been considered smart in terms of academic intelligence and (more importantly) how quickly I process information ... but emotional intelligence and having ANY sort of clue how to even TALK to a guy at that age was kindergarten or pre-school level at best. 

"Just be yourself," I kept saying.

"What does that even mean," I answered back to myself? 

"Get out of the car," I said back realizing I had not only arrived at the hotel but it was weird having a full blown conversation with yourself when people were looking.  

I then asked where the elevator was remembering that J had given me the details from there. 

"Just walk in," she said.

It was already dark and the pool was almost empty. 

She continued, "I'm the only guard at the door and I'll just walk away to do something else." 

"Done," I said confident to protect her employment status as much as I could. 

I then walked off the elevator and into the pool area sans any sort of guard or checkin (like she promised).  

When you're crashing something, all you have to do is look like you have a deliberate purpose. I couldn't just walk in and ask "WHERE IS THE LOVE OF MY LIFE?" I had to play it cool, and first act like I belonged there. 

I walked over to the lounge chairs by the pool and sat next to the only two other people there. 

"Hello," I said in an immediate attempt to make friends. "Come here often?" (I actually said this.) 

"Yes," said the mild mannered and very hair man. 

"Me too," I said with slight arrogance. 

I then made five minutes of small talk with the couple who looked like they were on vacation from North Dakota. The woman didn't say anything, but the man and I had a lovely chat. As we were speaking, I couldn't help but stare down at his chest; it was so hairy ... which I oddly found appealing. 

Focus off the follicles, Friel, I thought to myself. 

You came here for one thing ...

... and he can run ... he can hide ... BUT HE CAN'T ESCAPE MY LOVE! 

 That's an actual quote from this song ... 

I then walked over to the gym where I saw a man exposing the sexiest back I had ever seen.  

In an almost hypnotic trans, I began walking over to the lat machine.  

Five swaggered steps later, the man turned around and I first hand saw the face of my masturbatory dreams ... mere FEET away. 

Now, if you thought my 19 year old self walked up to him confessing my UNDYING, TRUE LOVE and the fact that I wanted to have all of his babies ... you would be wrong. 

If you thought my 19 year old self walked up to him and told him that I was a huge fan, had a big crush on him and wanted to have sex with him ... you would also be wrong. 

If you thought my 19 year old self completely froze like a deer in headlights at the sight of such beauty, and immediately bolted the property ... you would be ... 

I ran out of that pool and gym area like my FEET WERE ON FIRE.

He was so hot, I didn't know what to do with it!!! 

... and yes photoshop was around back then. 

I felt a tap on my shoulder as I hit the elevator button (satisfied about literally going down since there would be no other type of going down that night)

"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU TALKED TO HIM!!!" J said in a loud whisper. 

Confused, I confessed, "I didn't talk to him. I was too scared." 

"Oh yeah," she said, "I saw you fail in front of Enrique, I'm more impressed with how you kept your cool in front of Robin Williams." 

"I MET ROBIN WILLIAMS?" I screamed loudly in shock. 

"Yeah, that's who was sitting by the pool. They left right after you got up."

I couldn't find the exact date on this photo, but this is what Robin and his then wife producer Marsha Garces looked like in 2004 ... 

I was so captivated by his hair that I didn't pay close enough attention to his face. OF COURSE, I want to tell myself I'd recognize Robin Williams, but in that moment I COULDN'T BELIEVE I DIDN'T!!!! 

Alrite, alrite 33 year old Jen admits 19 year old Jen's utterly horrific mistake ...

... but one thing I'm not ... is a loser.

::whispers:: and neither are you. 

#nerdsunite

 

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