Fiona was in the middle of her usual rant about how Tori Amos stole her thunder and how “Me and a Gun” had been her idea for years; how she had a list of perfect words to rhyme with “rape”… blah blah blah… The rest of us kind of tune her out when she gets like that.
Suddenly, I started choking on my poppyseed rugelach (they make it so dry!) and Fiona starts yelling for help while Bob just kind of zones out and watches – so typical, he’s never sure what’s actually happening in front of him or whether it’s a flashback of some kind. Rupert was the only one to have the sense to give me the Heimlich Maneuver. It worked, and the buttery crust that deemed to kill me coughed out like a cannonball and hit the back of the head of some trollop du jour that Hugh Grant was treating to a Marilyn Monroe Special.
We’d all been avoiding making eye-contact with Hugh because, at the slightest provocation he’ll bore you to death with some complaint about “ladies and their oral hygiene". I mean, honestly Hugh, we know you’re European but you CAN kiss on the cheek to greet people – you don’t have to go plugging your tongue in like a hose to a Hoover.
It was awkward because Rupert and Hugh have a long-standing grudge between them. Something to do with a game of capture-the-flag at Julia Roberts’ house that took a turn for the ugly.


Anyway, Rupert had badly bruised my ribcage. No fault to him, of course, he saved my life after all. But then Hugh sweeps in and is all touchy-feely with my torso and tossing out medical terms like “musculoskeletal injury” and basically making Rupert feel like a jerk for being so rough. While Rupert, who was totally focused on me, sweetly ran for some water to clear my throat, Hugh calls for an ambulance, like he’s some hero or something.
By now, of course, Fiona has completely disappeared as she usually does before the bill arrives. And Bob doesn’t even have a wallet on him – honestly I don’t know how he makes it through a day. I finally asked if anyone was interested in what I wanted, which was to forgo an ambulance altogether and simply get someone to drive me in their car. It’s not like I was dying anymore – these actors are such drama queens, I swear.
So, after convincing Hugh that he’d better stick to his date (whose name I still don’t know because he never introduced us – between you and me, I don’t think he even remembered her name), Rupert gave me a ride to Cedars where we waited in the lobby for what seemed hours.
To pass the time we played the trivia game on my iPod. Would you believe, he had no difficulty naming every single track by Diamanda Galás…



…but couldn’t remember who sang this…?



Anyway, I was in and out of the medical exam quicker than I had waited for it. The doc hooked me up with these amazing pain pills and Rupert insisted that we swing by Madonna’s palatial Bel Air estate for a game of “pill poker.” I was confused – hadn’t Madge cleaned up cold turkey on the set of Evita? And anyway, I thought she and Rupert were still “on the outs"? Well, they are, but he’s apparently still buddy-buddy with Guy Ritchie, who was alone at the house while Madonna was off somewhere in Japan filming a billion dollar commercial for vaginal ointment.
So we did. And for the last month that’s where I’ve been – in a drug-induced haze with Rupert and Guy and Natalie Portman, who doesn’t pop pills but can’t say no to a game of poker.

*that is, my Mom & Sisters

**CPBF is a Chunky Peanut Butter Facial. Simply smear a jar of chunky peanut butter on your face (I think Laura Scudders works best). The nuts exfoliate dead skin cells, while the oil rejuvenates new skin. It’s cheap, it’s easy, and best of all, it’s delicious!