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Even the velvet rope comes in extra small…

November 16, 2009

So this weekend marked a lot of big events here in LA – MOCA celebrated its 30th anniversary with a huge star-studded gala. The Lakers actually lost a game (and more importantly, David Beckham was courtside). Lindsay Lohan went out and got wasted. But the biggest event on the November calendar in our place was one that has been marked with a red circle for months – Yo Gabba Gabba LIVE.

DJ Lance Rock and the crew waltzed into our lives about a year ago, through the suggestion of a friend. At first, I hesitated – looked like another kids’ show secretly designed for drunk and high parents, a la Sponge Bob, and I didn’t want Little D on the outside of a big old inside joke. But then we started to get to know Foufa, Toodee, and crew – without a drink in sight – and quickly fell for their monster (?), alien (?), Gabba charms. **Disclaimer: we recently mentioned the show in passing to a single “man about town” friend whose first response was, “Oh! The show with the one-eyed studded dildo?” so I insist my initial perception was right on, I’ve just gotten over it. 😉

So when we found out they were going out on tour, we jumped on tickets (and then choked a little on the price). We kept them safely stashed away, under Little D’s close watchful eye, for months until the calendar finally caught up with our excitement. On Saturday, we headed to the Shrine, where we had to battle through hordes of USC football fans – not my idea of a good time – and waited an hour outside in the surprisingly chilly LA air, giggling at the kids in Gabba gear and straight up LOLing at the parents sporting more of the same.

Once inside, the wait continued. And continued. And continued. And finally, even by Hollywood standards, things were getting a little ridiculous, especially with a room packed with toddlers and Type-A moms. I Tweeted, I Facebook’d, I bought ridiculous merch. And then I spotted her (thanks to an eagle-eyed fellow PR dynamo mama). One of the top celebrity wranglers in town. At the front of the auditorium, clipboard in hand, cell phone glued to her ear. Wrangling A-listers (or apparently more like C-listers for that performance). Greeting. And WAITING on talent to arrive. And they did, at a leisurely pace. Will keep their names out of it, but they took their time, air-kissing their fellow VIPs, toddlers in tow. Until almost one hour past the scheduled start time, when the lights finally went down and DJ Lance’s unmistakable voice sparked frenzy among the tots. And me.

Despite living in the City of Angels, I stopped waiting a long time ago. I don’t stand outside clubs, I push past paparazzi to get into boutiques, and I certainly didn’t expect to be on the wrong side of the velvet rope at Yo Gabba Gabba LIVE. But the dancey-dance started, the confetti filled the air, and Little D beamed from ear to ear as Brobee had a party in his tummy. And we ended up right where we belonged, laughing and dancing our cares away. A-listers til we die.


The new red carpet: a fuzzy orange hat.

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