I recently had the pleasure of
tagging along to LA Magazine’s Best of LA party, celebrating local front
runners in food, culture, nightlife and more. How thrilling to stand among those
who elevate my beloved city! How depressing to recognize that I’m not one of
them.
“And what are YOU the best at?”
asked LA’s Best Chocolatier*. I gulped my wine. I joked. I changed the subject.
Apparently I’m the best at evading uncomfortable questioning. And although in
the moment this was passed over for a conversation about artisanal butter, I
have not forgotten. It’s been two weeks. I should not care this much but I do.
I need a hug and a promise that I actually contribute something, if not to the
world or even Los Angeles then at least to my immediate surroundings. So after 14
days of obsessive reflection and a considerable amount of alcohol, here is what
I’ve come up with:
The Top 4 Things That Heidi is
Best At
1. I
am the best at picnicking.
From Memorial
Day to Labor Day, I am a picnicking MACHINE. You need a lightweight
weatherproof blanket? Stakes that hold your wine glasses? Flameless candle?
Travel Boggle? Table-in-a-bag?
I have all of this and more, not to mention a keen palate for haute lawn-dining
cuisine like stuffed grape leaves and prosciutto-wrapped dates. Next time
you’re seeing Othello in the park or an outdoor screening of Chinatown, swing
by my getup for some pinot noir in a polycarbonate glass! Unless you actually like sitting on your sweatshirt and
eating Dominos. In which case, we can’t be friends.
2. I
am the best at listening.
People smell it
on me, I swear, and it’s always been this way. From the depressed prom date at
age 16 who drove us to the beach and unloaded all his self-loathing on me to
the alcoholic writer who just last year cried after kissing me because he
missed his ex-girlfriend, I have an incredible gift for attracting the one
person in a crowd who needs counseling. Only four days ago while working on
set, a security guard sat down next to me, told me her little brother had
killed himself two weeks earlier and we processed her emotions together for a
solid three hours. And the thing is, it’s not a burden. It’s totally natural.
Something in my DNA is incapable of walking away from a lonely heart and
everyone in the world seems tapped into this. Once, while slumping bleary-eyed
at an empty airport gate waiting to head home from Vegas, an Autistic-esque young
man sat down next to me and confessed that he was nervous about leaving for
college. We explored his anxiety, I got a free geology lesson and he professed
his love for me as I boarded the plane. What can I say? I’m the best listener.
3. I
am the best at faking a foreign language.
I love
traveling. I do not love being an American tourist. And so, my snobbery has
birthed a fool-proof method of faking the mastery of a language. I learn a
handful of salutations, a bit of time, money and restaurant-related vocabulary,
the questions How much and Where is..?, the Groveling Phrases (various
incarnations of please, thank you and pardon me) as well as the verbs To Be and
To Go. I round these out with a blessed knack for mimicking accents and
pronunciation, feign deafness when someone asks me a question I don’t
understand et voilà! I’m fluent! If I had the wherewithal to develop this and
license it to Rosetta Stone, I’m certain I could make a gazillion dollars. But
I don’t. I’d rather use that time to travel.
4. I
am the best at hurting myself.
And no, this is
not figurative. I actually, physically hurt myself multiple times a day. I
don’t know if it’s some sort of medically valid spatial/ depth perception issue
but I have a particular talent for getting up from dinner and banging my knee
on the edge of the table top as well as cutting corners too closely when I walk
and slamming my shoulder into the wall.
In my apartment alone I have bailed out for no reason in the tiled
courtyard, tumbled down a flight of concrete stairs, slipped in the shower and
hurt my knee, slipped in the shower and hurt my elbow, slipped in the shower
and hurt my head and tripped into an old bookshelf in such a way that I
embedded an industrial staple into the bottom of my heel. I also nail my
forehead on the corner of the freezer door at least three times a week. My
parents praise this as a natural affinity for physical comedy. Boyfriends
generally fall somewhere on a spectrum of bafflement to full blown annoyance.
All I know is that my body hurts all the time and I have more than earned an
endorsement deal with Band Aid.
OK, so these aren’t exactly noble
contributions but they’re all mine and I’m going to stand proud. Because it’s
either that or cry. Why not join me? What sort of insignificant nonsense are
YOU the best at?
* Love. Go there immediately.
