Hennessy Dreams

Last night I was lucky enough to get an invite to my first big time Hollywood event at the famous Jim Henson Studios. Thanks to my friend Gina, who ran the whole party like pro. Labeled "Ebony 2nd Annual Oscar Celebration - Hollywood in Harlem", the event was a celebration honoring various African-Americans in cinema. It was a lavish affair, complete with paparazzi, red carpets, celebrities and shrimps. I saw Chris "Ludacrisp" Jackson, Samuel L. Jackson, Rodney Peet, and even the whitest whitey of them all - Roger Fucking Ebert, who ironically resembled a lost Henson Muppet character named "Greg the Gastrical Bypastical." To say the least, I felt pretty and important, but still, I did not feel like myself...

Being one of a dozen Cauc's in the crowd, I stood out there as much as I did this Wednesday when I walked into my office building in Beverly Hills with my forehead caulked in ashes. Regardless, the mood couldn't have been more fun and the people more fantastic. Not as fantastic was my recent choice to make a Lenten commitment to "give up" Booze. Booze is everybody's wingman, and despite the company of my stunning wife, I was rocking it solo. It was my first boozeless night out, at an Hollywood shindig sponsored by Hennessy & Moet. Holy Fucking Crap.

Immediately we walked past the red carpet and headed for one of the bars. No joke, only Hennessy. Inside we hit up another bar, more fucking Hennessy. Hennessy was everywhere - on display on the bar, behind the bar, on the tables, in the lobster salad. Chicks strutted around handing out tumblers of Hen like it was god damn crab rangoon. Hennessy was not only a sponsor of the event, but a sponsor of every brother's liver in that joint. Tonight, my liver would be indulged with soda water and various pocketed meats. Luckily, one bar had other options. The Wife enjoyed a glass of Moet while I pounded a rocks glass poured heavy with Schweppes Seltzer. Substituting one for another, I head straight to the app bar. Devoured lobster stuffed clams, mango shrimps, Jamaican jerk patties, and BBQ beef sangs.

Stuffed with mini meals I had nothing else to turn to and I was sinking low. Now, I'm no alki, but man do I love a cocktail. Cocktails are essential in a social environment and for five more weeks I will attempt to do without. This weekend will prove tough, as will the packed weekends ahead. Sister in town = cocktailed fueled bowling. Next Thursday + Going Away Happy Hour Session = Jeff Overeating again. Tuesday = More Beef instead of Pints. I worship food, but man, It doesn't make me any more fun. If anything, it kinda brings me down. Unless of course, I chase that steak with a carafe of shitty cab.

Regardless of my inner turmoil, the affair was splendid and we left with genuine Hollywood gift bags and some great celeb sightings. The Wife, who enjoyed had several glasses of Mo, was quite proud of my my ability to stick to my guns. We got back home and I proceeded to take the fizziest piss of my life. Eight tubs of seltzer is hard on a man's body.

This weekend should prove to be a challenge....I'll let you know on Monday.