Game Show
pg.2

Saturday afternoon I went on a training mission to Vons with my sister. Operation Get-Food-For-Birthday-Barbecue under way, I walked through the automatic sliding doors with high hopes that were immediately dashed by the vision of a warehouse filled wall-to-wall with brightly colored products I never buy. We went up and down every aisle. After the second aisle, I was already dizzy and overwhelmed. What, am I supposed to memorize these prices? Don’t prices change from store to store? Everything seemed to be under 5 dollars, but then detergents are under 10… air fresheners are $2.69, or is that $1.49? You have to pay attention to the brand, too? Shit. There is no way in hell I was going to remember all of this. I kept my chin up and tried hard to look at all of the prices – you never know when latent powers of the brain will waken, people have spontaneous memories all the time, right? Shit.

We Don’t Need No Stinking Tickets

Ronaldo picked me up right on time, just as my boyfriend, David, was finishing up my grand, attention-getting sign. We loaded up the truck with our bags and hit the road! Halfway up Interstate 5, I discovered something very important. Reading over the print-out of my TPiR (that’s how The Price is Right is referred to by those in the know, by the way) information sheet, I noticed for the first time the words, “You just get a free ticket, show up at the studio, and take your chances!” Wha’? Get a free ticket? Get TICKETS?!? I was hesitant to say anything to Ron, for the obvious reason – I felt like a fucking idiot. Here we were, an hour into our drive, hotel reserved, big plans for the day ahead, and yours truly never thought to investigate getting a ticket. Clearly, my master plan was not as thorough as I had led Ron to believe.

I placed an emergency call to David, whom I knew had at least three computers with internet access on standby. Before dialing, I quickly explained our predicament to Ron, and kept right on talking until David’s voice saved me from answering any questions Ron might have that would force me to explain my lack of forethought. “David! Quick, get on the CBS web site and see if you can get tickets online that you can fax to me at the hotel… hmm, no tickets available, huh? … Yeah, that’s what it says here… no, I read it, I just… I know, I know, but I think we can still just walk up and get in… no worries, babe… standby? Explain that to me… uh huh… yeah… great! See, I KNEW we had nothing to worry about!” This last comment was for Ron’s benefit.

Traffic to Los Angeles always sucks. Traffic in Los Angeles sucks even more. Everyone is in a hurry, and upon entering the city limits, it’s as if each driver is given carte blanche to be as MUCH of an asshole as he or she can possibly be. Sunday afternoon was no exception. We fought our way through the gauntlet to the hotel, and after figuring out how to work the elevators with our room keys, we finally made it into our room. Unfortunately, we wouldn’t see much of our swanky digs. We were in and out again in under 15 minutes. I had to maximize my time in L.A. and I had friends to see, dinner reservations to make, and all of this had to be completed at a decent hour, as the gates to the studio opened at 6:00 a.m. If I was to be considered as a contestant, I better be conscious and coherent.

Life on the Street

Sleep did not come easily for either of us; the noise of cars and randoms partying it up on Sunset Boulevard can be most distracting to your zzz’s. I am spoiled with high thread-counts, so the itch of the sheets disturbed me, and all I could think about were invisible parasites and dirt as I sporadically broke into scratching spasms. All in my head, of course, where most of my obsessive compulsive ideas hang out and rally each other into action. I was already half awake when the call came, as requested, at 4:30 a.m. Time to hop into the shower and get prettied up for the big show! Ron did my hair, I did my makeup, we had matching red shirts, and we looked ridiculously fabulous. We checked out of the hotel and stepped outside to greet the valet as light crept into the sky.

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