I wasn’t really expecting the Holy Grail
but I hoped, being LA and all, I would get thrown a little something. With the amount of time Paris and Lindsay spend outside
getting hounded by paparazzi, I thought the odds were good.
Instead, my celebrity contact list has ended up looking like a slow night on Rove
.PARTE THE FIRSTE: THE GOOD
I hadn’t been in LA long when I hit the jackpot. I was walking the dogs when a fancy-shmancy black car slowed down near me and stopped by the curb. There was a lot of glare on the window but I could have sworn the driver was Ralph Fiennes.
. The brooding one. He of the mysterious name, the intelligent wounded eyes, the grave lips. The man who made little Snazzy want to run out and become a grown-up really rather quickly when she saw The English Patient
at the age of sixteen.
I was all prepared to coolly greet him as a stranger, yet have that knowing look in my eye that said “I know who you are but I’m in LA now and I’m not about to lose my shit because you’re amazing and talented and you you’re on my Guilt-Free-3 list RIGHT AT THIS VERY MOMENT AND OH MY GOD YOUR LIPS ARE TO DIE FOR”. He would ask me for directions, and I would smile shyly and say that I was a stranger in this city too, and he would laugh and say something droll to set me at ease, and we would try to decipher his street map together, and he would lean rather close and smell very lovely, and even though he usually prefers older women he would make an exception for me, and…
Oh dear. Carried away much?
You get the picture.
Sadly, if it was
Ralph in that car behind the glare-obscured glass, I blew my chance to appear urbane and beautiful, yet relaxed and down to earth enough to get up before 10am and walk the dogs.
Because at the time of squinting in the car window I was also squatting down on the grass, in the process of scooping up a fresh dog turd. A big one. A smelly one.
And the plastic bag I was using had a hole in it.
The moment the mysterious Rafe-like driver rolled down his window and got a good look at me and what I was doing, he promptly changed his mind. He drove away and out of my life forever.PARTE THE SECONDE: THE BAD/UGLY
Before I left home, magician/alleged comedian The Amazing Jonathan was doing a show at the Melbourne Comedy Festival. This barely registered on my radar because his ads in the paper were always placed next to a photo of Joan Rivers. And who, for the love of God, can be expected to tear their eyes away from THIS:
While here in LA, I spotted The Amazing Jonathan in the car park of a supermarket. Joan Rivers wasn’t there so he captured my attention. He was wearing his signature black head band and it made me wonder - not for the first time - what it is he’s hiding under there. A third eye? The mark of the devil? Really bad acne that no amount of professional-level magic will do away with?
Then, when lining up for my flight to Las Vegas, The Amazing Jonathan (and headband) GOT IN LINE THREE PEOPLE BEHIND ME.
At that moment it became painfully clear to me that I am being stalked by a loud, plus-size magician with beady eyes, and a headband that covers a tattoo bearing my name
If you’re about to tell me that I have an over-active, twisted imagination and that it’s entirely possible The Amazing Jonathan lives in LA, and that this month he was just coincidentally performing in both Melbourne and (admittedly, his usual haunt) Vegas because he is an international performer who travels a lot, well SHUSH because you’re spoiling my story of self-pity.
I spent the short but interminable flight to Vegas wondering why – if I must have a celebrity stalker – it had to be a beady-eyed man with dwindling notoriety who drinks window cleaner on stage for a living.
And why, oh why, did I need to have dog shit on my hands when a-man-who-was-quite-possibly-Ralph-Fiennes stopped for directions?
P.S. Can somebody who has been living in Melbourne please tell me what the hell is with Joan Rivers and the penguins
Why is she so keen on protecting their natural environment when she herself so clearly shuns all things that are natural? The whole affair frightens me. Perhaps this is prescisely why The Phillip Island Penguin Foundation asked Ms Rivers to be their ambassador. They’re counting on people instinctively wanting to protect the poor little things from THOSE EYES and THOSE NAILS and THOSE TEETH. Here is my credit card number! Quickly! Help the flightless birds! For the love of God, they can’t waddle fast enough to save themselves!