glamorous gays

Queerty Crashes A-List OUTFest Hollywood Party Without Getting Thrown Into the Pool with Matthew Ludwinski

Sunday afternoon Oscar winner Dustin Lance Black brushed shoulders with another (blond) Hollywood A-Lister, Christopher Landon, while Going Down in LA LA Landstar – and OUTFest 2011 Star Beefcake – Matthew Ludwinski held court by the pool.

This was a gathering of Gay Hollywood’s elite: lots of exceedingly well groomed gay men, and a few lipstick lesbians who milled about, confabbing, and smiling. Unlike a gay bar, where you never know who’s who, everyone here had been invited. Crucially, it helped to ignore that this feeling of belonging was based solely on whether or not your name was on a list, or you had a badge. Yes, folks, it does “get better” but in many ways it’s not that much different from third grade field trips.

Well, “everyone” was on a list &/or had a badge … except for me and my friend. I’d asked several OUTFest 2011 people about getting on the list and received the robot like response, “IT’S BY INVITE ONLY.” HELLO? Excuse me? I’ve been to four Academy Awards. You can trust me around the china. I like pools, and I’m from Cali. A pool party is the only event that triggers entitlement and I was going to the f’ing pool party, stock response be damned.

However we got in – we got in. Needless to say, it involved walking in, and not jumping over any fences. All I’m going to say is that being a reformed slut very friendly member of the community has its advantages. Love your gay brothers, people, and leave them with a smile!

I’m not really into real estate but the back yard grounds were pretty fantastic. The steps rambled, tagged with pieces of bright orange tape meant to separate the uniformly colored stone. If this house ever burns down, the inhabitants won’t die from a fire (there’s a station, less than a mile away, on the winding Muholland Drive route, something out of an Hitchcock movie) but from tripping and breaking their necks while running out.

My friend was game for taking photos on his iPhone, but my persistent demands for “That one!” and “Get him down there!” provoked him to say, “Tomas you are using me as your papparazzi?” Use is relative, the drinks were free, and the sun up here in The Hills felt better and cleaner. That’s fair, right?

I sensed it was time to go before we were asked to leave, and looked for the exit. As we carefully made our way there, Kirsten Schaffer, OUTFest’s head honcho’ess looked me in the eye, and walked over with a smile made me very nervous.

We were about to get caught, and – this being a film festival – scenarios unspooled through my head (a humiliating, Dominique Strauss perp walk in front of … everyone!, Matthew Ludwinski marching over & saying, “They’re with me!,” Dustin Lance Black including the moment in the historical drama he’s writing about me, Christopher Landon tripping running down the steps, grabbing my forearm, and whispering the top secret formula his sister uses to create that caramel colored blond …)

“Get your camera ready,” I said. “This will make a great – ”

“You,” Kirsten said, and I knew the boom was about to be lowered. I prayed the OUTFest didn’t use that pool for both pleasure and pain: were we about to be drowned as punishment for crashing the party?

“Yes!” I said, bright and smiley, calculating how quickly it would take us to get to the exit. “Hi, how are you. What – “

She tapped my chest (I’m sure she felt my heart about to burst out, Alien style) and said, “My girl friend wears that shirt all the time!”

Like everything in Hollywood, the build-up tends to be more exciting than the delivery, and an exit, no matter how perfectly time dnever lives up to an entrance. Less than thirty minutes later, I was over all the perfection, and we left. There was a lesbian period drama to see!

Tomas Mournian is the author of the novel, Hidden, available at and great online bookstores everywhere.

Photos courtesy OUTFest 2001

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