When I was in LA, my agency got me into the green room at Jimmy Kimmel. NOT tickets for the Jimmy Kimmel audience, just the green room. It's apparently one of the coolest things to do in Hollywood, to pre-party in the Jimmy Kimmel green room, because its open bar and there are a lot of hot girls in there.

One of my good friends from San Diego, TheMonkey, drove up and went with me because she is hot and I needed money. In LA, there are only two currencies that carry weight: hot girls and celebrity. That's it, and I wasn't enough of a celeb yet.

I show up at the door to the Green Room, and in typical Tucker fashion, I don't have my ID, so of course they won't let me in. I have to call TheProducer who gives me the number for the guy at my agency (call him "Cheek") who got me the tickets.

As I am dialing, TheMonkey says to me, "If I had left my ID at home, you would just go in and leave me at the door." TheMonkey knows me well.

Tucker "Hey Cheek, it's Tucker. Dude I'm at the green room entrance to the Jimmy Kimmel Show, and I don't have my ID. Can you get me in?"
Cheek "You don't have your ID?"
Tucker "Nope."
Cheek "Uhhh...uhhhh...hold on."

I know that he has to be thinking, "What a fucking idiot," and he is correct, I am an idiot, but nonetheless, I need to get in. Eventually, the security guy feels sorry for me and just lets me and TheMonkey inside. I am not above accepting pity.

We roll in, and after about 4 or 5 vodka clubs (did I mention it has an open bar?), I scan the room for famous people--it's me, Wayne Robson, some guy who has a dance show on MTV, and everyone from Pennywise. Jimmy Kimmel gets shitty guests. I decide I am the most famous person in the room, and proceed to tell everyone this.

I go up to every girl even remotely fuckable and tell her I think I'm the most famous person in the room, and then ask what she thinks (this is after Wayne and Pennywise went out on stage--they were actually on the Jimmy Kimmel Show). Every single one had the same first question--"Why are you famous?" I told them that if they didn't recognize me, they obviously weren't as hip as the average 14 year old computer geek, and thus nowhere near cool enough for me.

Hollywood people don't get sarcastic humor.

Then it happened. Possibly the most embarrassing moment of my life, and easily a moment I will eventually have to redeem myself for:

Carson Daly walked in the Green Room...and I didn't punch him in his face.

He had on a green mesh Jets hat, and--get this--the fucking guy had a DIAMOND STUD NOSE RING. Literally a diamond nose ring, I shit you not. He stood to the side watching the show on the huge flat panel screens they have in the green room.

I saw him, my fight or flight response kicked in, and...well...I ran. Right to the bar, where I downed three vodka doubles in what felt like 30 seconds, got my courage up and went over to blast him in the face...and he was gone.

I know, I know. I failed. I am sorry.

I can't remember the last time I was so utterly and completely disappointed in myself.

I promised many friends of mine that when I came out here, if I ever saw Carson Daly and I was drunk enough, I would beat his ass. I let my friends down.

But don't worry--this has only begun. I'll get Carson one day.

Thoroughly ashamed of myself, I decide to chase away my pain with alcohol and sex. TheMonkey and I start hitting on girls for potential threesomes. She is still relatively new to the bi-sexual thing, so I am giving her instruction on how to pick up girls. I point out a potential target, and she says, VERY loud, "She has a fat ass."

Immediately, the girl gives her a look of complete contempt and horror. TheMonkey is not like me at all; she meant this in a good way. Even the bartender says, "No, she meant P-H-A-T fat," and he was correct.

Nonetheless, this girl got security and had us kicked out of the Jimmy Kimmel Green Room.

I know, I know--the irony is fucking sickening.

POST SCRIPT:

I wrote this a year ago and have since decided that Carson Daly is no longer a viable target. He admitted on Conan that he is a douche-bag, which kinda steals my thunder. At this point, kicking his ass doesn't really serve the purpose I wanted it to. If even he knows he's a douche-bag, what fun is that?

Posted by at 11:32 PM

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