I had dinner the other night with a friend who I'd never met before. Between mailing lists and blogging buddies, there are dozens of people I consider to be friends who I've never actually laid eyes on. I don't need to explain it to YOU, though, because you've been there too. I know you have, so stop looking at me like that.
It was an fabulous evening; this woman and I, who have known each other online for more than eight years, have an awful lot in common in terms of our jobs and our home lives, and we talked and talked and talked and talked. I came home totally energized to really jumpstart my career and get my priorities in order...right up until the next afternoon when N came home and yelled, "Hi, Mom, I'm here and I have a headache!" and I felt his head and nearly burned my hand off.
My friend was staying at the Beverly Hilton, and that's where I met her to have dinner (for which I was totally underdressed, though they were nice enough to let me in the restaurant in jeans and sneakers anyway). My friend was telling me how, the day she arrived, the place had been crawling with paparazzi and limos, and she'd been confused until someone had told her that "the luncheon" had just let out. The luncheon at which the OSCAR NOMINATIONS had been announced, they meant. And she'd been all embarrassed and trying not to stare, which meant that she had missed seeing EVERYONE, especially if by everyone you mean George Clooney.
My friend was deeply regretting her moment of discretion, and so when our waiter arrived at our table, she cheerfully asked him, "So, did YOU at least get to see George Clooney?"
"Oh, no," he sniffed. "But that was nothing. Last week, BARACK was here."
"Obama?" we both obediently squealed. He nodded.
"And now you have us," my friend said. "Sorry."
"Oh, no," he said, in what I'm sure he didn't MEAN to be the most condescending tone ever uttered by one human being to another. "I actually prefer waiting on regular people. You're so much more....um....interesting."
That's me, I'll tell you. So much more interesting, simply because I am NOT George Clooney or Barack Obama. Because who would want to meet THEM, when you could have dinner with ME? Right? Right?
Sigh.
4 comments:
Hey, you're the most famous person I know, doesn't that count for something?
The sad thing, in some ways, but also the very nice thing, about growing up is that I'd rather have dinner with you, TC, than with George Clooney.
How pathetic is that?
(Don't ask about Alan Rickman, though. Or Al Pitrelli, ok?)
Sorry TC, I've had dinner with you; I'll take Clooney :D.
Seriously, I think it's a professional requirement that a waiter at the Beverly Hilton has to have an attitude. And you know how it is when you live in L.A., you are SO not supposed to make a fuss over celebs, since that is SO tourist :D. Which was hard for me, living on the westside and working in Brentwood!
Maybe you, me and George could hang. That would work.
Post a Comment