A performance faux pas and a celebrity encounter

Good day you lovely people. Today I would like to tell y’all a couple of lighthearted little stories. I have a lot of hurt and heaviness on my heart that I need to write about, but I am just not ready for that yet. So instead, let me tell you about one of my most recent embarrassing moments and a tale of a chance meeting with a celebrity. I know — just riveting.

The Halloween Block Party a few weeks ago was a major success. It was a little bit of a stressful night for me though; I had to host our regular show in the Rose Room along with performing on the stage in the parking lot behind the clubs. A lot of the night was a blur, but what happened when I went out back to perform is crystal clear.

Luckily, my last-minute costume idea came together and looked great. I had a fabulous red rhinestone headpiece that my good gal pal MayMay Graves made for me, a red sequined gown and a bunch of bright red curly wigs.

Add an incredibly beat mug by Bleach in fierce red, and voila! I was a Diva Devil!

I fucking loved how it turned out. I felt beautifully ferocious.

I was also excited about the song I was going to do as this blood-red, monochromatic monster I had created: “Raising Hell” by Kesha. It was a perfect song for the look. So at 10:15 p.m. I headed out back with confidence dripping out of every pore. I was about to give that crowd my life onstage; they weren’t gonna know what hit ’em.

I give the DJ my flashdrive, and he announces to the crowd: ” Y’all give it up for Cassie Nova!” Cheers all around. I start dancing and “singing.” I am feeling it. The song features Big Frida whose hook in the song says, “Drop it down low! Drop it down low!” So, I drop it down low-ish. Then fucking Big Frida keeps saying to “Drop it down low! Drop it down low!” So, I drop it down even lower.

Now mind you, I don’t think I have ever dropped it down low … like, ever … and for good reason. My nearly 50-year-old knees, hips and legs said, “Hell to the no! you can’t drop it down low!”

I busted my ass.

I busted my ass in front of a huge fucking crowd, all gasping at the fact that the Devil not only couldn’t drop it down low, but she might not be able to get back up.

But I did. After all, the show must go on. So the second I was back on my feet, I just kept going — singing and dancing like nothing even happened. But biiiiiiitch! I was dying on the inside, absolutely mortified. I just know there is a video out there somewhere of that glorious moment. And if anyone has that video, please send it to me. I embrace my horribleness, warts and all.

I just realized: These two stories have no business being in the same column. But WHO CARES? (said in my best Joy Behar voice.)

Way back in 1995, I went with a friend to Vegas. We had a blast; we saw shows, drank and partied our asses off.

On one of the days we were there, I decided to venture off on my own and check out the Vegas Strip. I was a little hung over and needed to get something on my stomach, but nothing sounded very appetizing. As I explored the Excalibur and all of their medieval ridiculousness, I found a food court that had an ice cream parlor. Ice cream sounded perfect to me, so I got a couple of scoops of Rocky Road and sat down to people watch.

I am maybe three bites in when the most adorable little blonde girl walks up to me and asks me what kind of ice cream I got. I say. “Rocky Road,” and she sticks her spoon in my ice cream as she asks if she can have a bite. I laugh and say, “I guess so since you already have it on your spoon.”

She is maybe four years old and so freaking cute that I couldn’t get mad. Then a very handsome man runs up apologizing for the little girl. He tells her to leave me in peace and let me enjoy my ice cream. I say it’s no problem at all and ask her what kind of ice cream did she get? She said Bubble Gum, so I asked her for a bite as I stuck my spoon in her cup.

The dad laughs and sits down at the table next to mine. The dad was kind of a daddy, so I brighten up and sit up taller. Because, you know … ya just never know. Then the little girl’s older brother walks over and wants a bite of my ice cream, too. I of course say yes, and as he is sticking his spoon in my bowl, I realize I know this kid. I ask him if he was Forrest Gump Jr.? He smiles and says “Yes sir, I am.”

I am sitting sharing ice cream with Haley Joel Osment!

Forrest Gump is literally my favorite movie of all time, so I was thrilled to death. This was before The Sixth Sense, so I don’t think he was known for anything at that time except him being Forrest Junior. He blushed as his dad smiled and told him, “Look at you getting recognized.”

We talked for a while, still sampling each other’s ice cream. They were in Vegas because he was auditioning for a TV show with Jeff Foxworthy, a part that he got. The little sister, Emily Osment, went on to be a star herself.

She was on Hannah Montana and The Kominsky Method and had a cute little career as a singer.

Both of the kids were so sweet and had personality for days, so it is not shocking that they were successful.

Plus, the dad was hot, so I consider that day a win.

Remember to always love more, bitch less and be fabulous! XOXO, Cassie Nova