One of my weird celebrity encounters.
Gentle reader,
I see celebrities all the time. I've seen Jon Stewart, Minnie Driver, Lisa Bonet and Howard Stern just walking down the street at different times. Hell, just last night I stepped out of a bar for a cigarette and nearly stumbled into Chris Cornell from Soundgarden, although I'm not certain that he really counts as a celebrity. Anyway...I see them all the time, but I RARELY have interactions with them.
Last week I had a rather unusual "run-in" with a big celebrity. Yeah... a BIG CELEBRITY. She's such a big star, in fact, that I've chosen to NOT name her. This decision has been made for a number of reasons: 1.) To avoid the guffaws of skeptics, and 2.) because my future involves another social engagement which she shall attend. I'd hate for her to bookmark this unread little e-diary of mine and call me on it later. Anyway, here goes...
I had plans to attend an engagement party for a couple of high-powered NYC attorneys last Thursday. Due to their remarkable income/social status, these two spouses-to-be held their soiree in a fancy Upper East Side apartment. I always feel uncomfortable at these sorts of gatherings (says the penniless rapper as though his planner is cluttered with such dates) so I decided to meet S. at a little karaoke/dive bar on 3rd Ave beforehand. Three Mardi Gras-sized "pints" of Stella later, and I was ready to fuggin' party with some fuggin' socialites! Who you looking at, bitch?
Within seconds of entering the gazillion-dollar-per-square-inch apartment on 76th St, I spotted her. I'd been familiar with her face for YEARS, what with her television shows, K-Mart product displays, scandalous New York Post covers and occassional Conan cameos. Draped in delicate white fabrics she really stood out against the crowd of bored-looking yuppies in black jackets. I tend to be a wee bit obsessed with the cult of celebrity, and reminding myself of my plan to quit this habit, I immediately drew my gaze away from her. "I'm not going to stare at her. I'M NOT!" I thought to myself. Although in my mind, I probably called myself a "bitch" with each of those thoughts. Those beers back at Karaoke McDivey's were fuggin' HUUUGE.
I munched on some pearl-stuffed eagle cakes with 30k gold frosting while trying my damnedest to maintain small talk with a French business executive. Eventually my eyes drifted away from my companion and directly into those of the famous lady. Yeah...awkward. I looked away quickly and asked a servant to refill my jewel-encrusted goblet with panda blood.
Moments later, my eyes (surely half-cocked by now) lazily scanned the room, and AGAIN I crossed streams with the celebrity, this time sporting a noticeably coy grin. I pulled out of our locked gaze and thought to myself, "Can this be? Is she...checking me out?" I know you may suspect that with all of the drinking I COULD have been making a fool of myself and that THAT was what attracted her looks. I can assure you though, I'm a steady drunk, not a scene-maker. I maintain fluid conversation and vocal volume with ease. I know that ALL drunks say that. Even though I was one shot away from a hate-crime, I was cool as ice, baby. By the time I met her smiling stare a third time, I began to wonder what SHE would act like shit-faced.
I managed to soak up some of my fool-fuel with these delicious miniature crabs dressed in silk evening gowns and began to admire (read: "pretended to admire") a wall of framed photographs in the living room. Just as the French business man and I began discussing the art, she cut through the crowd like a cocktail party ninja and asked me, "SO, what do you think?" She was talking about the photographs, not of this sudden development. I coolly responded with,
"Well, my friend and I here were just speculating about the three women in this photo. I suggested that they they represent three generations of the same family although one might not suspect it due to the fact that the eldest member looks so young and elegant."
The celebrity leaned in, took hold of my arm and squeezed while saying, "You know, you're absolutely right." A smiled spread across her face. She's beautiful in person.
I had decided that I would NOT discuss her identity with her, instead opting for a humorous segue from all the talk of art and generations.
"Would you care to hear a joke?"
"I'd love to," she responded eagerly.
Then I shared with her my favorite joke in the world, told to me just last year by my friend Jonathan in Chicago.
"What did the 0 say to the 8?"
"I don't know."
"Nice belt."
With exagerrated laughter, she leaned in and gave me another strong squeeze on the arm. "Oh, that's VERY funny! Thank you." Immediately after this comment she left the party. I assume she entered a black limo upon exiting.
I was a bit stunned afterwards. Although our exchange was really a non-event, I couldn't help but reflect on the fact that she HAD flirted with me. In fact, she kind of hit on me. No...fuck that! She DID hit on me. Hell yeah! That's what I'll report in my blog! Famous lady hit on ME! Kick ass. (It should be noted that I'm consistently oblivious when someone IS hitting on me. But THIS gave me the "funny feeling.")
I'll surely see her at the wedding for the same couple next month. I'd better come up with some more jokes and some better lines in the meantime. Hopefully the next encounter will actually warrant a post this long.
When I was leaving the party that night, a man struck up a shallow conversation with me.
"What do you do for a living?" he asked.
"I'm a comic...and a rapper."
"Oh, so where do YOU wait tables." he added, clearly pleased with his zinger.
I don't wait tables, actually. I do temp work where I spend my day updating my blog, posting snarky comments about soulless yuppie douchebags in sexless marriages. Yeah...like that.
Who you looking at, bitch?
-STD
I see celebrities all the time. I've seen Jon Stewart, Minnie Driver, Lisa Bonet and Howard Stern just walking down the street at different times. Hell, just last night I stepped out of a bar for a cigarette and nearly stumbled into Chris Cornell from Soundgarden, although I'm not certain that he really counts as a celebrity. Anyway...I see them all the time, but I RARELY have interactions with them.
Last week I had a rather unusual "run-in" with a big celebrity. Yeah... a BIG CELEBRITY. She's such a big star, in fact, that I've chosen to NOT name her. This decision has been made for a number of reasons: 1.) To avoid the guffaws of skeptics, and 2.) because my future involves another social engagement which she shall attend. I'd hate for her to bookmark this unread little e-diary of mine and call me on it later. Anyway, here goes...
I had plans to attend an engagement party for a couple of high-powered NYC attorneys last Thursday. Due to their remarkable income/social status, these two spouses-to-be held their soiree in a fancy Upper East Side apartment. I always feel uncomfortable at these sorts of gatherings (says the penniless rapper as though his planner is cluttered with such dates) so I decided to meet S. at a little karaoke/dive bar on 3rd Ave beforehand. Three Mardi Gras-sized "pints" of Stella later, and I was ready to fuggin' party with some fuggin' socialites! Who you looking at, bitch?
Within seconds of entering the gazillion-dollar-per-square-inch apartment on 76th St, I spotted her. I'd been familiar with her face for YEARS, what with her television shows, K-Mart product displays, scandalous New York Post covers and occassional Conan cameos. Draped in delicate white fabrics she really stood out against the crowd of bored-looking yuppies in black jackets. I tend to be a wee bit obsessed with the cult of celebrity, and reminding myself of my plan to quit this habit, I immediately drew my gaze away from her. "I'm not going to stare at her. I'M NOT!" I thought to myself. Although in my mind, I probably called myself a "bitch" with each of those thoughts. Those beers back at Karaoke McDivey's were fuggin' HUUUGE.
I munched on some pearl-stuffed eagle cakes with 30k gold frosting while trying my damnedest to maintain small talk with a French business executive. Eventually my eyes drifted away from my companion and directly into those of the famous lady. Yeah...awkward. I looked away quickly and asked a servant to refill my jewel-encrusted goblet with panda blood.
Moments later, my eyes (surely half-cocked by now) lazily scanned the room, and AGAIN I crossed streams with the celebrity, this time sporting a noticeably coy grin. I pulled out of our locked gaze and thought to myself, "Can this be? Is she...checking me out?" I know you may suspect that with all of the drinking I COULD have been making a fool of myself and that THAT was what attracted her looks. I can assure you though, I'm a steady drunk, not a scene-maker. I maintain fluid conversation and vocal volume with ease. I know that ALL drunks say that. Even though I was one shot away from a hate-crime, I was cool as ice, baby. By the time I met her smiling stare a third time, I began to wonder what SHE would act like shit-faced.
I managed to soak up some of my fool-fuel with these delicious miniature crabs dressed in silk evening gowns and began to admire (read: "pretended to admire") a wall of framed photographs in the living room. Just as the French business man and I began discussing the art, she cut through the crowd like a cocktail party ninja and asked me, "SO, what do you think?" She was talking about the photographs, not of this sudden development. I coolly responded with,
"Well, my friend and I here were just speculating about the three women in this photo. I suggested that they they represent three generations of the same family although one might not suspect it due to the fact that the eldest member looks so young and elegant."
The celebrity leaned in, took hold of my arm and squeezed while saying, "You know, you're absolutely right." A smiled spread across her face. She's beautiful in person.
I had decided that I would NOT discuss her identity with her, instead opting for a humorous segue from all the talk of art and generations.
"Would you care to hear a joke?"
"I'd love to," she responded eagerly.
Then I shared with her my favorite joke in the world, told to me just last year by my friend Jonathan in Chicago.
"What did the 0 say to the 8?"
"I don't know."
"Nice belt."
With exagerrated laughter, she leaned in and gave me another strong squeeze on the arm. "Oh, that's VERY funny! Thank you." Immediately after this comment she left the party. I assume she entered a black limo upon exiting.
I was a bit stunned afterwards. Although our exchange was really a non-event, I couldn't help but reflect on the fact that she HAD flirted with me. In fact, she kind of hit on me. No...fuck that! She DID hit on me. Hell yeah! That's what I'll report in my blog! Famous lady hit on ME! Kick ass. (It should be noted that I'm consistently oblivious when someone IS hitting on me. But THIS gave me the "funny feeling.")
I'll surely see her at the wedding for the same couple next month. I'd better come up with some more jokes and some better lines in the meantime. Hopefully the next encounter will actually warrant a post this long.
When I was leaving the party that night, a man struck up a shallow conversation with me.
"What do you do for a living?" he asked.
"I'm a comic...and a rapper."
"Oh, so where do YOU wait tables." he added, clearly pleased with his zinger.
I don't wait tables, actually. I do temp work where I spend my day updating my blog, posting snarky comments about soulless yuppie douchebags in sexless marriages. Yeah...like that.
Who you looking at, bitch?
-STD