Happy Anniversary, Mr. Kilgore.

Exactly a year ago today, the handsome, clever rescuer of damsels in distress, John Kilgore, came into my life. I adore him, and I celebrate the day that brought us together. Mostly because that day was pretty effing funny. In retrospect.

So, it all began with a little phase of career experimentation and a big phase of unemployment. Career du jour was assisting a prop/set designer on a Self magazine shoot. I was trying to decide if I wanted to get into art direction at that point. (Don't.)   

So I was going into the shoot pretty blind. The guy I was assisting called me late the night before to ask me if I would do it, and once I got to the shoot the next day I would get all the vitals. He would be driving the cube truck to the shoot in Malibu and I would meet him there. So the next day, like I do for everything, I arrive ten minutes early and sit in my car. I wait for his arrival, but instead I receive a call from him telling me he'd gotten in an accident. He'd like me to come take some of the props to the shoot while he dealt with the police report. So far it seemed like a minor hiccup. He'd hit a parked car on the PCH (not terribly uncommon) and the weather was rather inclement, so I didn't feel terribly stressed about the situation. But this was just the beginning. I arrive on the scene to discover that my boss is getting arrested.  Arrested!  Apparently, he didn't have his driver's license on him and admitted to drinking late the night before...so now he was getting intercepted and arrested for being (potentially?) under the influence and driving without a license.  He would be in holding in Calabasas for the rest of the day and would not be in contact with anyone. In fact, the police would not even let me talk to him about anything logistical.  The only thing they let me do was get a phone number to the production studio off of his cell phone so I could get phone numbers of the people at the shoot.

So there I was with a cube truck full of things I couldn't drive (I wasn't on the rental agreement so the police ix-nayed that.) and had to unload the truck full of beach props and tools and paint and a 9'x9' wall he'd built the night before onto the sidewalk of the PCH and waited for someone to get me.   So I just waited on the PCH in the cold and rain and sort of reflected that I had not anticipated the day to unfold in this fashion.

And then came the knights in shining armor.  First Zach and then John.  The two of them saved the day doing all the heavy lifting and warning me about the hell pit I was about to walk into once we got there, as I would be taking flack for the arrested prop designer.  Like a good helper, I stood and watched and pointed out things like, hey, when strapping walls to the top of the car, you should strap it from the sidewalk, not the PCH.  The sort of foundation that builds life-long friendships.

When I finally arrive at the shoot, two or three hours later, it's pouring rain and freezing and the Self editor pulls a total Devil Wears Prada number on me.  Every single thing he pulled was god awful.  She couldn't use any of it.  Why wasn't the wall painted?  Why didn't I know more?  Where was he anyway?  (Because for a while everyone was trying to hide the fact that he'd been arrested.  That didn't go over so well before or after they found out.)  I got a hot steaming silver platter of shit handed to me.  And I think I would have lost my mind had it not been for John.  He made me laugh, he was my co-conspirator, he gave me his jacket to wear.  At some points I even enjoyed myself.  And at the end of the shoot, the editor did apologize to me.  Sometimes I still can't believe that happened to me, but then again, that's the sort of thing that totally happens to me.

But the real bright side is that I made double pay!  So don't forget: when you want to get paid more, cross your fingers your boss gets arrested on the way to work!

Oh, JK, I love remembering that special day.  The day that set off a chain of events including, but not limited to, interoffice gossip, trips to Claremont and a fateful slumber party.  I miss you so much and I am so excited for your wedding.  I can't wait to meet your beautiful Danyel. I know that I will love her as much as I love you.

And read his blog, gang. He's a regular smarty pants.