Freaky douche bags in Hollyweird love the Chyna Doll

So I gotta tell you that Chyna the wrestler is a really really fun girl. Woman. Sex symbol. What fuckin ever. She is a good time even when she is crying and holding her arms close to her bod so you cant see the cuts. I am spitballing ideas with Lisa Ann about Chyna's upcoming pitches for a reality show—things involving redemption, exploration, having the Chyna go and be with all her people meaning people who share some of the troubles she is so vocal about right now: eating disorders, dysmorphia, feminist perspectives on gender, the limelight, the ex-limelight, surviving physical abuse, surviving scandal, cutting, drug use and abuse—she is a rolling blackout of issues and thanks to surreal life and the Anna Nicole movie coming out she's in the media. And I love her. Coz she is open and honest and always a good time no matter how much she suffers she doesn't make you suffer and that is a generous kind of person you see.

So anyhoo, what I wanted to recount is actually just about the reactions we got to the girl herself. Never since the night I briefly hung out with the Anna Nicole have I seen what I saw with the Chyna: drooling, speechless living dead. Whoda thunk it? I have been adjacent to several celebrities from the a-z list and even the minor celebs in their own inner sanctums where they are GODS (John Cameron Mitchell, Alan Cumming, Julie Atlas Muz, various drag queens, and foreigners you don't know) anyway, I have seen all manner of fawning and autograph hounding and picture taking but this freaky vibe I only saw with Anna Nicole and now Chyna. Let me describe it: so we are standing around talking about the ice sculptures at Jeff Conaway's house (please refer to next blog) and how weird it is that they are basically two triangles of ice, in fact one square of ice cut in half and placed on tables. Weird. Anyways we are having this lively art connoisseur meets zamboni conversation and I start to notice that at about 15 paces from us are three different guys and one girl all standing and literally staring, with their mouths all droopy, with a singularity of focus usually reserved for weird old guys in itchy suits at porn conventions or at the autograph table at a car show. But these dudes and the one girl are normal looking. People with jobs that don't involve answering surveys online for free ipods. People who look like they shop at Trader Joes for toffurkey. People who have been to several nice restaurants and known what to order. So what the fuck. They even have product in their hair ok? And nice shoes. They are not wearing cutoff tshirts and bandanas that say no muff too tuff. And here they are in a semi circle around our little conversation sort of dripping into the concrete. I think , oh maybe they know her. Or maybe they are being polite and waiting for a break in the conversation, but no. Slowly, eerily one by one they pick an awkward moment to kind of hurl themselves over the gap of 15 paces and say in hushed creepy voices: "Um I just wanted to introduce myself." PAUSE PAUSE PAUSE "Um you are really beautiful" PAUSE PAUSE PAUSE "I just uh can I take a photo with you?" PAUSE PAUSE "I mean, I just wanted to say hi and everything." PAUSE DROOL SHIFT. The girl too. Everybody. I was like What the hell? This is Chyna! Star of such great films as uh, none! Maker of such great music as uh, WHAT? I mean I like a celebrityfuk moment as much as anyone but drooling on your nice Cole Hahn shoes is usually not necessary—maybe if you are a fag with no parents who knows how to breakdance and you are meeting Madonna, maybe. But these douche bags (and I say that because they became instant douches when their freakish fetishy erection beamed them out of an otherwise normal life to suckle at the perceived goddess bosom of the Chyna) were zombified with no real justification. Chyna says it happens all the time. And I saw it at least 5 more times before it became too distasteful and I chose instead to watch a very yoga fit looking Marilu Henner shepherd her kids around the pool area and pause briefly to tell us about the love of her life, husband number 3 whom she had known in college and who called her upon hearing of her divorce from number 2 to ask her out. Awwwww. Cute. What does it all mean? Who cares. But Chyna. Yeah. They see something in her that they want, nay need, in a medieval primeval base kind of way. Submission? Power? Gender fuck? I dunno. But now I am fascinated, and definitely think we need to make the show.