I love famous people. I don�t know why. I mean, I understand on an empirical level that they�re just like everybody else -- well, except for J-Lo. Nobody�s like J-Lo. But for some reason, I still get all small-town America when confronted with a celebrity! And this is bad news for someone who lives in Los Angeles, you know?
Maybe it�s because it all just seems so removed from my childhood in the far away Midwest, where famous people refuse to admit they�re from originally. Maybe it�s because I�ve been fascinated by the fame machine since I was five, and it just seems so surreal to believe that nowadays, I can actually see someone like Julianne Moore at the gas station or whatever. Maybe it�s because fame really seems to be the ultimate form of popularity, and who doesn�t want to be close to the popular kids? I mean, besides Avril Lavigne, that poseur.
And it�s not like I�m some crazy fame whore, willing to boff anyone and everyone, provided that their name turns up on IMDb, you know? I just get a little thrill out of hobnobbing with the rich and famous, that�s all. Can you really blame me? I mean, really? Who wouldn�t get at least a little excited to realize that they were shopping for shoes next to Matt Damon? Even if you don�t like Matt Damon, you have to admit that it would be at least a little unsettling.
This is why, when my friend Natalie called last week and invited myself and May Day to a party at the home of some chick who used to date the likes of George Clooney and Josh Lucas (Sweet Home Alabama), I was like, �Woo hoo!� Because while this chick may not be famous herself, she�s been extremely fame-adjacent, and maybe some of that craziness could transfer to me through osmosis or something. At the very least, maybe some shed skin cells from the Cloons or Josh Lucas are still clinging to her furniture, and then it would be like I touched them! And then I could�get some therapy.
Anyway, nobody famous was at this party (unless you count this dude who used to be on Kids Incorporated, but I really don�t think you should), but I did get to touch Josh Lucas�s car. So we�re practically lovers now. It�s great. I�m going to scratch Connie Nielsen�s eyes clean out of her head. Okay, just kidding! Put down that restraining order.
Anyway, after the party, Natalie was all, �Let�s go to The Viper Room!� And May Day and I were like, �Sweet!� Because The Viper Room is notorious, y�all. Famous people go there all the time! Well, in theory. In any case, Eric Balfour�s band was playing there, and since he used to be on 24, which is one of my favorite shows, it just seemed like we kind of had to go. Ironically, Eric Balfour also used to be on Kids Incorporated. I don�t know what that means exactly, but there it is.
Although we kind of expected it to be another �celebrity� jack-off band, they were actually pretty good. And we were doing our thing and having fun, and then I popped into the bathroom to�urinate (I was going to avoid being that crass by just saying �what one normally does in the bathroom�, but I get the feeling that that phrase wouldn�t really narrow the field where The Viper Room is concerned). Well, I�m in there, urinating, and I hear voices as people come in. I finish my business, step out, and look right into the dreamy eyes of Ian Somerhalder, who is so incredibly gorgeous in person that I almost jumped at him on the spot like a jungle cat. Fortunately, I remembered the assy things he said in his interview for A&F, and my reserve was held in check.
So I come back out of the bathroom, blathering to Natalie and May Day about how Ian and I were making out in the bathroom, when Nat points out that none other than Ethan Embry is standing across the room from us. And please tell me you guys know who Ethan Embry is, because I�ve talked to four people since then who had no clue. How have people not seen Empire Records? Whatever. The point is that May Day and I both borrowed a page from the How To Get Close To Your Crush handbook for middle school-ers, and �accidentally� bumped into him. It was pretty awesome, my literal brush with fame.
And then the band started, and they weren�t bad at all. And Eric Balfour jumped out into the crowd, and he was all sweaty and gross and people were touching him anyway, and I�m sorry -- I may be a crazy fame whore, but that�s just nasty. And then it was all over, and everybody left, and so did we.
So maybe it�s incredibly stupid, because it wasn�t like I was brunching with Morgan Freeman, or anything, but I felt all giddy inside about seeing famous people. I�m a shallow whore, and I�m proud of it.
Er�and wasn�t I the Bondage Care Bear, too? Uh oh.
