2006-06-01

When I grabbed Bobby for our second night of Idol fun, I was, for a change, happy with my ensemble. I don't know if I mentioned it, but I recently went to Torrid, where I had the refreshing experience of finding many of the clothes didn't fit me... and not because I couln't squeeze my left thight in. In fact, all of my jiggly bits were positively swimming in some things. Don't ever go there. You'll be broke in five minutes.

Anyway... Got there, got our tickets, got our lunch. Except for a few shouts of "Copacabana!", things moved along briskly. They had to. Bobby had to go on the red carpet. We met Stevie and her lovely mother and sister. As Stevie was also walking the carpet, I grabbed Bobby's camera and Stevie's sister and waded through the crowd of onlookers.

While there, a nice girl in a Wonderwoman costume approached me. She wanted to take a picture together. I hoped rather than believed she didn't remember me primarily as the girl that tripped up an escalator. My hopes were in vain as her boyfriend (husband?) informed me that she rewound the escalator bit multiple times. Ah, well. At least there wasn't a point-and-laugh moment.

A few other people also recognized me. It was kind of strange. It was like being a D-list celebrity, but without the money. I don't think my income even aspires to the alphabet. I'm notoriously below poverty-level (and with a degree. My father's always been so proud).

In a strange moment, a woman was walking by and I was damn sure I'd seen her somewhere before. Just as I was thinking this, she stops in front of me and says I looked familiar. "You do, too," I say. Then she looks around her and shakes her head. "Oh, yeah. You were on this. You were funny." I stop her as she leaves and ask where I might know her from. "Oh, something." Heh.

My guess on the mystery woman? Comedy... But I can't think of what. She must be one of those Hey-It's-That-Girl people. One of those character actors that does a ton of shit, but I can never remember the name. Like Harry Dean Stanton... except how I know his name because of how obsessed I am with BIG LOVE right now... never mind.

Anyway, Sister-of-Stevie (think it would be rude to just give out her name without permission) and I wend our way through the crowd, trying to keep tabs on Bobby and Stevie as they have the tickets. We decide just to wait at the top of the second floor entrance until they come.

When there, a gaggle of people across the way suddenly shout my name. M-m-my name? They know me as something besides "Escalator Girl"? Of course, I have to go over. Crazily enough, these people turn out to be actual fans of me. Three girls and a guy. They're sweet. They want me to sing "It's Oh So Quiet." I do. (but I'd rather have busted out something that wasn't so spazzy, now that I think back. Got a few weird looks.)

I'm rather buoyed by the idea that I have fans. It makes up for the fact that I spend time worrying about whether I spend too much on Diet Coke. I'll keep starving and striving (well, not starving... obviously). I want more fans, damn it!

Just as I'm basking, Bobby comes up the stairs. I say goodbye to my gaggle and jump the velvet rope. Just in time, too. Only an hour till show time and I just gotta get in and see what celebrities I can gawk at. It's too bad Trey Parker's probably (definitely) too cool to watch Idol. I could have stalked him just a little.. or a lot. He's still at the top of my Men I Think Deserve a Miniature Shrine list.

Tired. More tomorrow.

Oh, not tomorrow. I'm taking my cousin to see X-Men as a reward for good behavior.

Speaking of movies, I rented Mrs. Henderson Presents. Awesome. Watch it.

Oh! And everyone should see a made-for-cable movie called The Last Of The Blonde Bombshells-- if they find themselves craving another musical WW2 movie after they obviously take my advice and rent Mrs. Henderson. It boasts not only Dame Dench, but Ian Holm, Olympia Dukakakis, Leslie Caron, and June Whitfield. It's gooooood.