Let me set the scene. It’s a Monday night in Hollywood and I’m at the One Battle After Another movie premiere at the infamous Chinese Theater — you know, the one where Marilyn Monroe left her handprints and countless tourists left their dignity. Obviously, I had to show up looking like I was starring in my own Lifetime movie: sexy short dress that could double as a washcloth, Jimmy Choo shoes that screamed “I still have credit left,” and hair so perfectly coiffed it deserved its own IMDb page.
And why? Because Leonardo Freakin’ DiCaprio was going to be there. The same Leo I’ve had a crush on since the Titanic days — when his blue eyes, floppy hair, and “I’m the king of the world” energy had me doodling “Mrs. DiCaprio” in my youth group notebook. Yes, while other girls were scribbling Bible verses, I was secretly sketching hearts around Jack Dawson.
Fast-forward to the red carpet. I’m surrounded by glammed-up women looking like Victoria’s Secret angels who found religion. My legs are already cramping in my Choo’s, but who cares? Leo is coming. One actress after another floats past — my favorite being Teyana Taylor, who looked so stunning I nearly dropped my clutch and my salvation at the same time.
Finally, after what felt like the Israelites wandering the desert, the man himself appears: Leonardo DiCaprio. My heart stops, my eyes well up, and I wave my arms like I’m trying to land a plane. And then — bam — he swerves, glides to the opposite side, and hugs fans over there. He ignored me. I felt like the ugly stepsister at Cinderella’s ball… except with better shoes and less dignity.
But God is good and Hollywood is weird. While sulking near the concession stand, I spot Billy Zane (yes, the villain from Titanic and a real snack IRL) grabbing his actual snacks. I pounce like a cat on catnip. “Can we take a photo?” I ask. He smiles. He’s sweet. He doesn’t ignore me. My heart heals. Take that, Leo.
Inside the theater, the movie unspools like a fever dream: thrilling battles, comedic twists, and a heart-melting ending between Bob and his daughter that had me clutching my heart — and not just because my Spanx were too tight. The acting? Phenomenal. The energy? Electric. My bladder? Full, but no way was I missing a scene.
Afterward, I tottered home on my stilettos like a baby giraffe, walked my dogs (who couldn’t care less about my Hollywood experience), and promptly passed out. My night of glitz, heartbreak, and popcorn butter ended with drool on my pillow and Tofu barking at a raccoon.
Hollywood dreams? Crushed. Billy Zane selfie? Secured. Dogs walked? Check.
Moral of the story? Sometimes you don’t get the Leo you’re screaming for, but God will send you a Billy Zane with snacks — and honestly, that’s the kind of plot twist my life is built on.
