Three weeks into my Los Angeles move, I was going to a 'Chelsea Lately' taping. Out here in LaLaLand, where everything's filmed, it's easy to find free audience tickets for anything but 'Ellen'. You have to sell your soul to the devil six months in advance to get 'Ellen' tickets. And even then, there's always a chance the taping gets canceled. Or, life happens in the meantime. Hmmm... So, three weeks into LaLaLand, a friend and I decided to go to a 'Chelsea' taping. We printed out the free admittance tickets online and set out to go.
I was a huge fan of Chelsea Handler and her show, having watched it nightly back in the City of Brotherly Love. (Philly was definitely the City of Brotherly Love for me. Gay, gay, gay.) I was a huge fan, all bright-eyed and bushy tailed. I couldn't contain my excitement. Not only was I an avid watcher, but I followed all of the comedians from her round table discussions, along with many of her writers. I read her two books (she's since written more) and had come with my copy of 'My Horizontal Life' in hand, hoping to get it signed.
We arrived at her studio for the first taping of the day. They were taping two episodes that day. I learned something new about these show tapings upon our arrival. It seems that most of these shows award tickets right and left to out-of-towners wandering the bright streets of Hollywood. The "tickets" we printed online were not guaranteed seats. Producers want to attract an audience, so with that we filed ourselves into the line stretched around the block. There were about 50 people ahead of us and I had no idea how many seats would be filled. I assumed we would find our seats. An hour and a half into our wait, we had inched our way to the front of the line. Then they closed the doors - in our pretty little faces.
Well, not exactly. Really, they just told us to go home. My friend, having lived in LA far longer than me, turned to me and said: "Welcome to LaLaLand! Want a burrito?"
As we were leaving, a security guard handed us passes to come back for the later taping. So, unaware of LaLaLand's dietary dictations, we embarked on afternoon of overly indulgent bean bags, more commonly known as burritos, followed by another long waiting line. We were like cattle waiting to be milked. Would we get milked by Chelsea, herself? My excitement returned.
As I said, I was bright-eyed and bushy tailed, so I hadn't been jaded by the long line. (Side note: it took a few more years before LA jaded me completely...) We waited about an hour and a half, but were still resting at the back of the line. Those burritos were more than we bargained for: both for the time delay in returning and my ever-expanding waistline. As we inched towards the front of the line, I had deja vu. Luckily, however, we were let in. Because we were at the back of the line and the way that producers were seating people, our poor place in line led to front row seats. My excitement could not be contained. There I sat, front row at a 'Chelsea Lately' taping, book in hand. I was set. The shit-grin on my face could not be contained. I felt like Gary Busey on a phone call - with anyone.
The show taping began as was expected and I sat there in glee. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I hoped that we would connect after the show. "Chelsea is just waiting to meet me. I know it." I sat there anxiously waiting for her to autograph my book at the end. As the show rapped, Chelsea and her shorter counterpart Chuy Bravo came around walking through the front row. Chelsea was taking books and signing, while Chuy shook hands awkwardly with those seated. When Chelsea arrived at my chair, I was overcome with excitement. As I handed her my book, she asked my name.
"Raanan. It's Raanan."
To which she responded: "Raaa-what? What the hell kind of name is that?"
"Rah-a-non. It's Hebrew" I said.
"Are you Persian???"
Then, trying to relate and be cheeky at the same time, I said: "No, I'm just a sweet little Jewish girl from New Jersey. Just like you."
I thought that was amazing in my head, but my delivery was off. I came across creepy and confused. To which Chelsea responded: "You're fucking Persian. Shut up."
Inside my cover of 'My Horizontal Life: A collection of One-night Stands' it reads: "PERSIAN! Love, Chelsea."
Brilliant. I love her.
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