So much stuff I could write about, but really is there anything more fascinating than... MICHAEL.
The funniest thing about Michael, my eBay houseguest, was that he was totally the opposite of what I expected. Actually, that's the only funny thing about the whole weekend. The rest of it was just plain sad. I mean, come on - When I heard somebody paid $5 Grand to spend the weekend with me, I pictured this super-fabulous gay guy in his mid-30s, with lots of disposable income, who'd come to the house, maybe redecorate a little, and we'd have this totally wacky weekend where we'd laugh a lot, make fun of celebrities, and do each other's hair.
Instead, I got Michael. Who, by the way, I firmly believe lives in his parents' basement.
When I first met Michael, I wasn't even sure he was out of the closet. That is, until later that night, when he started describing a man he's had sex with who has a very graphic scar on his penis. When a guy does that, you know he's out. And if not, whoops...
Michael could not have been more unfazed by Hollywood and me in general. And the worst part was that the more unimpressed he was with me, the harder I tried to win him over.
Sometimes when I do stand-up and I'm totally bombing, and I should just get offstage, I'll just keep going and going, hoping that eventually the audience will laugh, even though staying on stage usually just makes them hate me more -- but I can't stop, because I have a problem and I need people to love me.
My weekend with Michael was kinda like that. Except I really don't care if Michael loves me or not. (Okay fine, I care a little - I said I have a problem, for Christ's sake...) NOT ONE OF THE GIFTED ONES... Michael was just so... what's the word I'm looking for here... Oh yeah -- rude.
Really, really, really rude. He never showed any appreciation for all the stuff we were doing for him. Like with the damn gift bag. I have seen people get in fistfights over a gift bag. Hell, I've gotten in fistfights over a gift bag. But when I tried to give Michael my gift bag from the Costume Designer's Ball, he acted like I was handing him a bag of Pom-Pom's poop. (Which by the way would probably fetch a pretty penny on eBay.) And bad enough that he didn't want the stuff inside the gift bag - he didn't even want the bag! And it was a frickin' Lacoste! My parents were practically begging him to take it. They were all, "Take it. Take it. Give it to your Mom..." But he still wouldn't take it. Because apparently the only thing Michael hates more than gift bags is his Mom.
Oh, and you wanna hear something else? You know how I hired that private chef to come over and make a big fancy brunch for Michael? He wouldn't eat the salad the chef prepared because it had garbonzo beans in it and he'd never seen a garbonzo bean before.
But the best part is that on the way to the airport Michael asked if he could stop at Burger King -- and this is a direct second-hand quote -- because he "hadn't had a good meal all weekend."
By the way, Michael, if you're reading this -- guess what the main ingredient in a Whopper is? Garbonzo beans.
THERE'S NO "I" IN "IPOD"
Speaking of Michael's ride to the airport, I also heard that he made the driver in the car play the latest Geri Halliwell CD not once, but TWICE! (And seriously, can we just discuss how random it is that Michael's favorite celebrity is Geri Halliwell. Not Britney. Not Gaiken. But Geri Haliwell. Forget favorite celebrity -- she's not even my favorite Spice Girl. I'm a "Posh" girl. But that's probably just because I want to make out with Becks.)
But my favorite thing about the whole Michael fiasco was how after he left, and we thought he was gone, we see him walking around the house, looking in all the closets, trying to find an iPod. When I first saw him, I thought he forgot something, but then he said to me, "I don't mean to be a pain, but I really want that iPod." And I was like, what the hell is this freak talking about? But apparently, the day before, when Michael was bitching about the gift bag, he said something like, "I thought it would have something good, like an iPod." And my friend Adam told him that he should just take one of my iPods. That all celebrities have a closetful of free iPods. And since Michael doesn't understand things like "sarcasm" or "jokes," he thought Adam was serious, and he was coming back to get his free iPod.
So here's a word of advice for anybody else who might be staying with me some day: I don't have iPods just lying around the house. I have my iPod. It's got some Backstreet Boys and Celine on it.
But no Geri Halliwell, so Michael would probably hate it anyway. Almost as much as he hates gift bags, and his Mom, and Garbonzo beans.