From today’s New York Daily News, about Michelle Rodriguez’s weekend at the Mayfair Hotel and Spa in Coconut Grove, Florida:
Fellow guests at the recherché retreat say they were awakened at 9 a.m. Sunday to loud banging and the dulcet tones of Rodriguez, screaming at her roommate.
“I woke up Sunday morning to the sounds of two women yelling, and one of them was smashing the door knocker very loudly,” one exhausted guest tells us. “I peeked out and saw it was [Rodriguez]. She’s screaming, ‘Open up, let me in, b——!'”
The loud knocking continued for another five minutes, says the source, until the “Girlfight” star hollered, “If you don’t open up, you’re not getting your [pleasure toy] back.” The door creaked open.
The actress did not respond to requests for comment.
We’ve already established that I’m afraid of Michelle Rodriguez, so it’s probably best for me to slowly back out of the room right now without saying anything else. But this story is so magnificent that I just can’t help myself. Take her name out of the equation, replace it with anything that pops into your head (me, I’d go with Shirley Jones or Florence Henderson), and tell me it isn’t still comedy gold.
Of course, the fact that Rodriguez has a history of getting into headline-grabbing fights with women (see the third to last paragraph of the Daily News article), not to mention her (rumored) lascivious behavior in the company of mortified heterosexuals, might add a little something to it. That’s for you to decide. Personally, I want to believe this really happened. If it did, I will pay to see every one of Michelle Rodriguez’s theatrically released movies for the rest of my life. She’ll have earned it.
Ever mindful of my health and concerned for my personal safety, I want to begin this post by making something perfectly clear: I, Cranky Lesbian, have nothing against Michelle Rodriguez. As far as I can tell, she’s a passable actress. She was an engaging presence in Girlfight, and I remember reading that she tried to turn her court-ordered ankle bracelet into a fashion accessory, which shows she has a sense of humor. In fact, I like Michelle Rodriguez so much that I’m going to stand up for her right now and say that the time she was busted for driving under the influence — I think it was bullshit. That’s right, bullshit.
As you can see from her mugshot, she doesn’t look wasted. Rather, she looks upset but slightly hopeful, like she might break into song (maybe “Tomorrow” from Annie) at any moment. I would bet anything she hadn’t been drinking or smoking pot or whatever it was she’d supposedly been doing just prior to her arrest. I strongly suspect that what happened was she’d just caught the tail end of Fried Green Tomatoes on USA and was crying at Idgie’s inability to accept Ruth’s death. She was distraught, obviously — Mary Stuart Masterson played the hell out of that deathbed scene — but at the same time she felt inspired knowing that Ruth’s memory would live on in the hearts of all who loved her.
I’m telling you, I know I’m right. You can see it in her face, how she’s thinking about little one-armed Buddy playing catch while Ruth looks down lovingly from her cloud-perch in heaven. She’s thinking to herself, “So what if this is a bum rap? Life goes on. Sipsey keeps on cooking and Idgie moves to Los Angeles, where she opens a bookstore and lives with her cousin Spence. I’ll make it through this. If I could read the entire BloodRayne script, I can make it through anything.”
I wanted to get all of that out of the way, to formally establish myself as a Rodriguez supporter, before addressing comments the actress recently made to Latina magazine about rumors that she’s the lezziest lez to ever have lezzed — since the invention of the Internet, at least. You see, Rodriguez, when asked about the bloggers (cough, Perez Hilton, cough) who out her once or twice a month, generously replied, “I picture them turning into pigs, slime coming out the side of their mouth, and I picture them jerking off.”
That comment I’m going to let pass, because the woman is obviously in mental anguish if she’s picturing bloggers masturbating. It’s the rest of her quote I find interesting, because she continued, “I don’t answer those questions. I just keep it to myself and it’s nobody’s business. If I wanna fuck a girl, a boy, a dog — that’s my business. That’s why there’s bathroom doors.”
So, yeah. Are you thinking what I’m thinking? Bathroom doors? It’s like she’s trying to out herself when she says stuff like that. The gays, that’s what we’re famous for — the bathroom sex. Oh, sure, the unwashed heterosexual masses might labor under the illusion that it’s the guys who have all the restroomy fun, with their wide stances and impromptu George Michael concerts and all, but check out any season of The L Word and if you can make it through all the cringe-inducing hackery and general insipidness, you’ll see that the non-germaphobic lady-lovin’ ladies out there know their way around a bathroom stall as well.
If you’re going to grab a same-sex partner and go at it in public (and it’s not like I’m coming right out and calling Michelle Rodriguez gay or anything — there’s no slime coming out of my mouth — but she doesn’t strike me as someone who is diametrically opposed to going at it in public), there’s no better place to get away with it than a bathroom. Well, that or a Linens ‘n Things, because I understand people don’t go there anymore.
Note to Michelle: If you don’t want people to speculate about your sexuality, think before you talk! And please, please don’t beat me up for saying that. I’m short and frail and terribly uncoordinated. It’s doubtful I could throw a punch. Picking on me would be like picking on a third grader. Anyway, I watched three-fourths of Blue Crush one night on Starz, so I think you’ll agree you owe me a pass on this one.
