How I Want To Meet Famous People

Vladimir Putin

2015-10-20T11:17:00.002-07:00

Some of you may have noticed my absence by now. Most of you are probably nodding politely while thinking 'What? You've been gone?' and I appreciate that.
I've been hesitant to write anything lately, and the reason is because a visit I had from a very powerful man almost a year ago.
Even before my hiatus, I haven't been going out much lately, all the regular reasons you can think of are probably to blame, so I won't go into much detail there. But here's the story of what kept me in hiding for a bit. Enjoy.

Around July of last year, my wife was out of town visiting family and I was left to my own devices. Usually this would mean I barely wore pants while drinking boxed wine and playing video games until 2am with the only company being my small, depressed dog. This night was different. This night I looked in the mirror and said 'No drinking alone tonight, old chum!' Then I slapped myself on the back, donned some trousers and hastily made my way to the only smoking bar in Colorado (that I know of) in search of a friendly face to share a brew with. It was 10pm. I was stone cold sober.

The bar was empty except for the bartender, three bikers, and a young man playing pool by himself in the corner. I sidled (like you do) up to the bar, said my hellos to the bartender and ordered a bottled beer with a shot of Espolòn Blanco, my usual. While I am, unfortunately, still a smoker, I find it hard to stay in a smoky room for too long so I made my way to the patio. The sun had been gone for a few hours and traffic was minimal, so I was alone with my thoughts again. What was I doing with my life? Where was I going? What does it all mean? Why do I feel more comfortable with my back to an empty, pitch black parking lot and alley and not to the door leading back into the bar, when it is moderately safe and well-lit?
I leaned against the railing of the patio and put a cigarette in my mouth, as my left hand dug into my pocket in search of my lighter. Just as I had found it and was about to light my smoke, I heard the familiar click-fwoosh of a Zippo being opened and ignited behind me. I spun around just in time for it to close again, the light illuminating the face behind it for the briefest of seconds before it was plunged back into the dark.
My heart hung in my throat, the rapid flow of blood through my veins and in my ears was the only thing I felt or heard besides the all too sudden realization that I was a good fifteen feet from the safety of the bar, and the figure in shadow was within arms reach of me. I felt my skin grow cold, my forehead burst into beads of sweat and my bladder threatened to try its best at warming up the lower half of my body if I didn't take it inside very soon. I was frozen in a state of fear I haven't felt since... Well, that's another story.

Then, suddenly, the light from the patio spilled across their face as they took that last step closer to me.

It was Vladimir goddamned Putin.

You've got a little something right there.

I had never been more relieved in my life.

"Добрый вечер, Nate. Как дела?" He said with a smile.

"Jesus Christ, Vlad, you almost made me piss myself. What are you doing here?" I laughed as my shaky fingers managed to light my smoke finally. The call of the toilet was still loud, but I could hold off for an old friend. For a little bit.

"Вы не должны быть в покое, если вы боитесь темноты" He chuckled to himself. Funny guy.

"I'm not, I just wasn't expecting anyone out here. And you're still as quiet as ever."

"Я должен держать острый. Никогда не знаешь." He looked around as if expecting some assassin to drop out of the sky.

"Yeah, well, you made your bed." I needed to get to inside before I ruined these pants, and they are my favorite pants.

"Да, но вы также кровать . И вы, кажется, есть много людей, в нем с вами . Я хотел бы быть осторожным , если я вам." He flicked the lighter again, just opening and closing it, he didn't smoke. Maybe the sound was supposed to be an intimidation factor.

"Different situation from yours, I'd say. But seriously, what are you doing here? Not just to see me, I hope?" Time was running out. I needed to wrap this up.

"Нет, конечно нет. Хотя это всегда хорошо , чтобы увидеть старого друга . Я здесь ... другой бизнес. Не беспокойся." He smiled, but there was no light in his eyes.

"I'm not worried. Look, Vlad, I really need to go inside for... a thing. Can I bring you a drink when I get back?" I hoped I wasn't being too rude, but it was now or never.

"Нет, спасибо , я полностью облажался прямо сейчас. Если я больше пить я мог умереть." He rubbed his hand across his forehead and put the lighter back in his pocket. "Приезжайте меня в ближайшее время. Это было слишком долго."

"Will do, gotta go. Really great seeing you." We both waved and he shrank back into the shadows.

I'm not proud of it, but I did not make it to the bathroom in time, but it wasn't enough to be noticeable. I spent the rest of the night inside the bar and took a cab home at the end of the night.

So that's why I haven't been out more. I'm slowly getting over my fear of wetting myself in public, so I should be out and about soon. Stay tuned.

THANKS, GOOGLE TRANSLATE!

Neil deGrasse Tyson

2014-05-03T12:41:00.000-07:00

I do not claim to understand a lot about astrophysics. I do not claim to grasp even the slightest concepts of most of the stuff they talk about in science and whatnot.
But I have read a lot of stuff. If something interests me in the slightest, I usually never forget it. This explains why I'm so bad remembering the names of people I have met dozens of times and birthdays for family members and friends. I have countless little facts stored in my head about science and astronomy and comic books and movies. It's like autism, except I'm an asshole and I drink too much.
That being said, my Sundays are religiously spent on my couch to catch the latest episode of Cosmos hosted by the amazing Neil deGrasse Tyson because he talks about space and science and I like things like that.
If the topics discussed on this show were in some kind of basketball bracket office-pool thingy (I don't sports) then I would be at a 90% success rate of already knowing the basics about them at this point.

I can't name all 50 states. I barely understand how laws are made, even though I know I watched that cartoon about it when I was a kid. And, gun to my head, I would never ever be able to say the alphabet backwards unless I wrote it down first.

With all of that in mind, I am able to access and vomit up these random facts no one cares about at any point in the day, without fail. The only caveat being that I turn into a drooling lobotomy patient if someone asks me about something I know without warning. If I'm playing 6 Degrees of Separation and I'm working on John Malkovich to Macaulay Culkin, I'll be trucking along just fine and then someone randomly says 'Hey, what's the name of the actor who played Magneto in the new X-Men movie?'. You'll then need to give my brain fifteen seconds to rewire itself to that part of storage. Any other time I can spout it off no problem. Michael Fassbender. Sexy man. Great actor. Can't wait to meet him.

I'm rambling, so let's get on to the embarrassing part of my story.
Cosmos. Awesome show. Awesome host. I have always wanted to attend one of his appearances, but since they go for a hundred bucks or more and I don't even let myself buy brand name toilet paper, that's never going to happen.

So lucky me, I am strolling through some department store downtown, looking for cheap luggage (I think it was a TJ-Maxx, I'm fancy.) when I round the corner near housewares and almost head-butt Neil deGrasse Tyson in the chest. I'm not tall but I'm not that short.
The lizard part of my brain that is apparently from Canada instantly makes my mouth mutter a quick apology and I start to step around the man, when the semi-smart part of my brain says 'Dude, dude, dude, dude, DUDE!' and I say 'What?!' except I say the last part out loud and Neil steps back a foot or two, eyebrows raised and probably figuring out which Paula Deen frying pan to brain me with (that would be hilarious) if things get hairy.

Thankfully, since I've met literally DOZENS of famous people, I regain my composure fairly quick and manage to let out an actual apology for almost smearing my face across his suit. He waves it off, no big deal and asks how I'm doing. He seems so friendly and warm, his voice a comforting blanket coaxing me to let my guard down and say something ultra-tarded.

It does not fail.

"Cosmos. Space. Time. Timey wimey. Odd." These words fall out of my face before I can do anything to stop it. Neil doesn't respond at first. "Good stuff. I'm fan. Big one. Yep." That was a good finish to an awesome start. Neil nods. He gets me. It's cool.
"You like the show then?" He's allowing me the chance to make up for my face-hole noises. Nice guy. Should have walked away when he got the chance.
"Oh yeah. Like. Every day. Every Sunday, I mean. Unless I watched the show over and over again throughout the week. That would be weird. I don't. That's not me. That's not what I'm about."
Boom. Nailed it. My lizard brain and semi-smart brain are high-fiving the shit out of each other and my stomach brain decides now is a great time to tell me that we needed a toilet four minutes ago.
I will not be deterred.
"But yes. Sunday night. Me and the wife. We do. I explain things to her. Sometimes. She's not stupid. She's just... she like things. Other things. Twilight. I know, right? Horrible. I read too. Books. We have a bunch of books. I hang them on the wall sometimes. Made them into shelves. Shelves out of books. I've read a lot of them. I really have."

You can read?

And I'm supposed to be good at meeting famous people.

Neil smiles and I'm pretty sure it was genuine. "Well, it's always nice to meet a fan. You have a good day now, Nate."

"Thanks, Neil. You as well, wait... Do you know me?"

"Nope." Neil looks me right in the eyes and backs out of the aisle, disappearing around the corner.

A split second later the fire alarm goes off and I run to the exit, scanning the crowd for a tall, dark genius.

I never saw him again.

And that was the third worst day of my life.

**EDIT**
Macaulay Culkin to Eliza Dushku to Matt Damon to Brad Pitt to John Malkovich.
If anyone can do it better, I really don't give a shit.

Long Time Since I Met Anyone...

2014-04-30T23:00:00.001-07:00

Almost an entire year has passed since I have posted.
Life, work, family, pets; all of these annoying things have kept me from my true goal of posting fictional stories of meeting loved and loathed 'famous' people.
My sincerest apologies to all of my (what, 5 now?) fans. Readers? What do I call you people? Peasants?

Anyways, here we go, I am back, you will be slightly entertained if you have a few drinks before reading.

Please stay tuned, for I have met a man who has no equal anywhere in the universe. And he will totally find me just as interesting and awesome as all 3 out of the 5 of you do.

Wheeeee,

Nate Grey

This is not who you look like, asshole.

John Travolta & Tom Cruise

2013-05-12T13:53:00.000-07:00

This is going to be longer than usual. My apologies.

Do you ever get that feeling that you're being watched? Standing inside your house, you glance at the blinds to make sure they're closed. Expecting to see the shine of a single crazed eye peeking in at you in your home.
Or on the streets, the hairs stand up and you turn to look behind you. Perhaps some bum glaring at you for not giving them your spare change. Perhaps the person with the clipboard you passed by and they know damn well that you weren't really on the phone.

I know that we all get that feeling every now and then, but how often is that feeling right?

I have a large list of things that bother me. Reality television. Cover charges for local bands who no one has ever heard of. Non alcoholic beer. And sitting neatly on the very top of my list, never worried about being replaced by anything else, ever, is religion.
I won't bore you with the details, but let me say this: many countries around the world all have their versions of Santa Claus. But how many Santa Claus stories are the real one?

So it's a Tuesday, like it is on occasion, and I'm walking through a mall in some town (does it matter?) and boy, does my spidey-sense start going crazy. I'm not like most people who look behind them when they get that feeling, I always take a quick glance up. In my experience, most dangers come from above: birds, meteors, ninjas, etc. Nothing there, time to look around me. It doesn't take long to figure out what the problem is. Like two nightmarish, overpaid glory seekers, here comes Tom Cruise. And right behind him? John Tra-goddamned-volta. They are power walking their way towards me. Without a second thought I throw the few bags of stuff I just purchased right into the trash, spin on my heels and start booking it in the opposite direction.
I dig my cell phone out of my jacket and have just dialed the nine and the one when a vice-like grip clamps down on my wrist. I feel something pop and white-hot pain shoots up my arm all the way to my shoulder. Tom Cruise has me and is showing no intention of letting me go. One arm around my wrist, the other pushing against the small of my back to keep me moving forward, he shakes my arm and the cell phone that I couldn't even feel that I was still holding drops to the ground. A split second after it hits the floor, John Travolta kicks it across the path and it slides behind a coke machine.
Travolta grabs my other arm and with a big, crooked, toothy smile, he says "Let's have ourselves a little chat, Nate." Looking at Tom Cruise, he seems to not understand what a mall is. He looks confused, angry and his nostrils won't stop flaring.
"Hey guys, I was in the middle of something. Can we do dinner later?" I don't scare easily these days. Not after meeting Megan Fox. That's another story.
"No, Nate, I think now is good for everyone." Tom Cruise takes a quick right and shoves me into a Baby Gap. Real discreet.
Actually, it kind of was since there was literally no one in the store. Not even a sales associate.
With the two of them blocking the front, arms crossed and legs spread, they look like the worst idea for a buddy cop match up flick since Bruce Willis and Tracy Morgan (Sorry, Bruce).

FANTASTIC IDEA!

"Listen, Nate-" Travolta starts.

"Please, call me Nate." I can't help myself.

"Ok, but... Wait. Shut up! Let me talk!" Some of Travolta's spit lands on my forehead. I feel my skin itching.

"Calm down, John. Let me do this." Tom Cruise takes a few steps towards me, arms slightly spread, attempting to look human, I guess. "Nate. Buddy. You know why we're here, right?"

"In the Baby Gap?"

"No." Tom Cruise cocks his head and gives me that 'come on, man' look. I think I usually see it right before he punches someone in the gut. I cross my arms and try to tighten my stomach.

"You wanted me to spare a few minutes to talk about our Lord and Savior Xenu?"

"Don't do this, Nate."

"I'm sorry, I meant our Lord and Savior L. Ron Hubbard."

"Dammit, Nate!" Travolta spits again, thankfully missing me by an inch. I say a quick prayer to Xenu for that small blessing.

"You know why we're here, stop bullshitting!" Tom Cruise steps aside and lets Travolta work on his aim.

"I haven't even done anything!" I take a step back, glancing around again for any sign of life. "Yet!"

"Yet! See Tom? He said it! He said 'yet'!" Travolta points viciously at me. His fingers look fat and wet. I shudder.

"I heard him, John. Keep calm." Tom Cruise takes the lead again. "Seriously, now. We can't. Let you. Say anything. About the church."

"Which church?"

"You know. Which church."

"Why are you talking like that? Is that a thi-" A sharp pain is in my cheek and Tom Cruise is wiping his hand on a silk handkerchief. I didn't even see him move. I just got bitch slapped by Tom Cruise. Suicide it is then.

"I'll level with you. The church gets enough bad press as it is. We don't need some guy writing in some obscure blog about how we suck or just want money and use fear tactics to strong arm people into doing what we want."

"Hey, you said it, not me." Tom Cruise twitches his arm and I totally flinched. Suicide for sure now, if I ever get out of here. I try to recover. "But, hey! It's not like they say you molest choir boys, right? Do you guys even have a choir?" Travolta pushes over a rack of baby tee's and throws a completely telegraphed left hook directly at my temple. It wasn't even like slow-mo, I just moved my head a few inches and he whiffs past me, grunting as he stumbles and almost falls. Tom Cruise and I both stare in shock, wondering if that was for real or not.

"Jesus, John. I thought you said you had been training." Tom Cruise shakes his head.

"Don't say the 'J' word and I have been! Last month. Twice."

I take a couple more steps backwards and say, "Look, guys. I'm not saying I'm going to write something, and I'm not saying I'm not. But when I do, who's name is going to be first in the title?"

They glance at each other then back at me and in unison say, "Mine, of course." They look back at each other.

And that was that. They started arguing. Tom Cruise slapped Travolta in the tit, which was weird. Travolta threw a few more sloppy punches that never connected. And me? I threw a smoke pellet and vanished out the back door in all the confusion.

That was over a year ago and the feeling of being watched has never gone away. And I'm too much of a sissy to kill myself.

Happy Mothers Day, Mom.

Nathan Fillion

2013-05-11T21:28:00.000-07:00

I sent Nathan Fillion a tweet once, as a courtesy, seeing as how we share a name.

I have not heard back and I am scared to say anything further on the matter until I get word from him*.

In this picture I am Alicia Silverstone. Too afraid to say anything to those arms.

I imagine that when we meet it will be pleasant for all parties involved.

P.S.

Bring back Firefly!

*I kept looking behind me while writing this.

Anne Hathaway

2013-05-08T23:54:00.000-07:00

So Target can be an interesting place. While not as colorful as Walmart at any hour of the day, it holds a few gems that any experienced people-watcher would love to see.
One of those unexpected gems would be our lovely Anne Hathaway.
Everyone seems to love her. She's goddamned everywhere and it seems that most studios are now legally required to send her their scripts regardless of whether they want her for a roll or not.
I'm not here to complain about how Hollywood seems to latch onto the 'next big thing' and saturate the big screen with them so much that we eventually end up hating them, no matter how talented they are/could have been.
I'm here to bitch about Anne Hathaway and her obnoxious inability to comprehend spatial awareness.

"WTF AM I DOING?"

For those of you who know me, I hate it when people are oblivious to their surroundings, and as a result oftentimes completely ignore the fact that they ever possess peripheral vision. My main complaint is when someone is in a store of any kind that requires the use of shopping carts and they plant their cart in the middle of the aisle and then browse at their leisure. Unless you make some kind of noise, clear your throat, bump something, etc, nothing will get their attention. The store is theirs. The aisle is their kingdom. Screw you, peasant, for even considering shopping in their realm.

Long story short: Anne Hathaway was in Target and her cart was literally sideways in the aisle. SIDEWAYS. It was if she Tokyo drifted into the aisle and come to a screeching stop right before she destroyed the hand mixers. Staring at price tags, mumbling to herself, my presence was not an issue and I was less important than acting lessons. That last comment was mean, but I was angry.

I now administer a 'break' whenever entering an aisle in a store, regardless if there is someone else there or not. It's like me marking my territory. And impossible to ignore. I pick up the rear wheels of my cart and let them drop to the floor. Usually aided by the linoleum, they make it sound as if I accidentally scraped my wheels against the floor in a sharp turn.

Anne Hathaway does not react.

I do it again.

Anne Hathaway scratches at her nose and continues mumbling.

I roll my cart right up to her and say 'Excuse me, Anne Hathaway, I'm-' and she cuts me off with a wave of her hand and an instinctual 'Please, not now, I'm just trying to blend in.'
I stare at her for a few seconds. She continues to ignore me. I finally say 'Anne Hathaway, get your damned cart out of the middle of the aisle.' That does the trick. She looks at me, eyes flashing anger, but then quickly replaced with recognition.
'You... It's you. The guy who meets the people.'
'Holy hell, did you hear about me through-'
'Nick Cage.' She cuts me off again. 'He warned me.'
'Well, I don't care about that, I just want you to move your cart, for f-'
'Please. Please don't write anything bad about me.'
'I wasn't planning on it, but this is-'
'Please don't write anything bad about Les Miserables.'
'Anne, I haven't even seen Les Mis-'
'Please! Don't say- wait, what? You haven't seen Les Mis-'
'No!' I finally cut HER off! Yay me! 'I haven't seen it because the trailers made it seem like you whine and cry and cut off your hair and sing and these are all things that no one my age and gender give two shits about.'
'Really?'
'Yea. Really. Get your fucking cart out of the aisle and stop sucking all the time.'

Would you believe it? She started crying, so I left.

Kristen Stewart

2013-05-03T14:07:00.002-07:00

Last month I was in Manhattan for no other reason than to see these huge rats I keep hearing about. Apparently they can grow up to like cat or raccoon sizes and I had to see it to believe it. So I'm at E 96th and Fifth wondering where all the tall buildings are when I see Kristen Stewart approaching with a cup of coffee and her ever-present vacant expression as she's probably constantly wondering how she can breath without having to think about it.

Now, I hate this drooling, zombie-like, slack-jawed douche-monster just as much as the next person, but I love my wife and for some reason she likes the Twilight movies. I'm considering a divorce on those grounds alone and I'm pretty sure I'd win.

Why does everyone hate my stupid face so much? (Inhale... exhale...)

Anyways, my wife would love to have her autograph and would probably twist my head off my neck with her glare alone if I came back empty handed. Summoning every last ounce of willpower, I approach Miss Stewart and give a small wave.

"Hey, Kristen Stewart, I was wondering if you could sign this for me. Err, for my wife. Dammit."

She took a moment to realize that I wasn't some screaming fan, crying my mascara into a mess and speaking only in vowels.

"Your wife? Sure, what's her name?" I tell her and begin to thank her and carry on, but she continues with "You don't want one for yourself?" I stare at her for about ten seconds straight, trying my best to keep calm.

"Are... Are you fucking high?" Whoops.

"Yeah, I am." Not too sure how to respond to that, I give her the double-bird, tell her to fuck off and walk to the East Meadow where I watch three cat sized rats chewing on what looked like a human hand.

I hate New York.

Jared Leto

2012-03-18T13:38:00.001-07:00

So, yesterday was St. Patrick's Day. An All-American holiday that has made it socially acceptable to get wasted in public, wear green and be an annoying douchebag in large crowds.

I usually try to stay home and away from any drunken shenanigans (haha) but I was guilted into going to my friend's bar by another friend who said I owed him or some such shit.

So I'm at the bar drinking a non-green beer like a normal adult when out of the corner of my eye I see Jared Leto taking sips off of other peoples drinks while their backs are turned. What a cock-ass, I think to myself as I throw back a shot of tequila (I can't do the whiskey, it makes me confused and when I get confused I get angry and you wouldn't like me when I'm angry.) and finish off my beer. I get up and walk over to him as he's shaking a plastic cup with liquor soaked ice cubes that he found in a trashcan into his mouth.

"Hey, Jared!" I call out to him over the roar of the crowd.

"Fuck Subway!" he yells at the air and looks around wildly, trying to place the location of the voice.

"Over here, Jared!" he finally sees me and with a completely faked look of recognition on his face, he smiles and gives me a big wave.

"Hey buddy! How are you?" I squeeze past several patrons who are attempting to out-Irish each other with horrible accents and get right in front of Jared Leto so I don't have to yell anymore.

A quick note: I'm very rude and sarcastic, but normally I'm not a man of violence. But seriously, tequila? Come on.

This fucking guy. Seriously.

"Hey Jared Leto, why do you have to suck so fucking hard all the time?" The smile goes right out of his eyes and for a split second he knows something is wrong. He can't place his finger on it, but I can see the goosebumps flash across his skin and he puts one foot behind him in the beginning of an attempt to turn and run. I don't let him.

I grab onto his shoulders so tightly that I feel my thumb pop out of its socket. I ignore the pain and with a big smile I drive my forehead into the bridge of his nose.

The blood shoots out and down like a broken faucet and the gargle that comes from him must have been a scream, but it doesn't matter now. With his foot behind him he doesn't have proper footing and starts to lose his balance. Before he goes completely down he spins, spraying blood, snot and tears all over a short woman who can barely keep her breasts tucked into her too-tight 'Kiss Me, I'm Irish' shirt. Her boyfriend is not happy.

There is blood in the water now and on the day when 'Everyone is Irish' it doesn't take more than the smallest spark to ignite this powder-keg of booze soaked idiocy.

I take my leave and return to the bar as the storm of fists and feet begin to rain down on Jared Leto.

I only saw him again for a brief second, but after the lights came up and everyone was herded out to taxis or police cars to take them either home or to jail, there was no sign that Jared had even been there except for the puddle of blood, urine and a few misplaced teeth.

Happy St. Patrick's Day.

I know you were hoping to see this picture anyways.
You're welcome.

Morgan Freeman

2012-03-04T18:23:00.000-08:00

I don't really have a lot of clothes that require dry cleaning, but from past mistakes I have learned that I am not smart enough to clean my own sweaters unless I want to go into business selling little argyle sweaters for dogs or Kate Moss.

There is one dry cleaner that I go to and I refuse to go to any others. Not because they are the best or the owners speak the most English, but because I can see them from my front door and I didn't feel like Google-searching dry cleaners reviews. Same reason I pay $2 extra for a 12 pack of shitty light beer than other people: I'm lazy.

I open the door on a lazy Tuesday afternoon and in the corner next to the shreds of decades old Newsweek and Time magazines with a few plastic lawn chairs is Morgan Freeman idly sipping on a coke.

I walk over to make sure I'm not just seeing things, but yes. It's Morgan Freeman. Just hanging out in a dry cleaners.

"Hey, Mr. Freeman. Are you picking up an order?" And in his worldwide recognizable baritone that is both comforting and yet a force to be reckoned with, he answers "No, Nate. I'm just wasting time."

"Wasting time at a dry cleaners? I think your options for time-wasting activities would be a little more exciting, no offense."

"Oh, none taken. I just like going to dry cleaners from time to time and judging people."

"I'm sorry, judging people?"

"Oh you know. A lady comes in. Picks up her clothes. Turns and sees me. As she gets that gleam of recognition in her eye, I look down at her shoes or her dress, or whatever, then back to her eyes and sadly shake my head."

"So the joy of seeing Morgan Freeman in public is quickly replaced by the crushing depression inflicted by him hating on your outfit?"

"Precisely."

"That's odd. Are you drunk?"

"No, why do you ask?"

"No reason. Well, it was nice meeting you, Mr. Freeman. See you around. Maybe."

"Aren't you picking up some dry cleaning?"

"I'm not gonna risk it. My day is going too good."

And just then, Morgan Freeman's eyes quickly glance down to my old pair of Wal-Mart jeans that don't fit right on my pale little chicken legs, and then back up to my eyes. His lips draw to a tight thin line and, almost imperceptibly, his head gives a little shake.

That was a shitty day.

"Maybe shop Target, you cheap sonofabitch."

Charlie Sheen

2011-12-15T12:53:00.000-08:00

There's this little hole-in-the-wall karaoke bar I go to that's just up the road from my house. It's the kind of place where anything can happen, but usually nothing too bad or fucked up. Usually. I don't even go there to sing, it's just a nice place where everyone knows everyone. The karaoke list is huge too. Whatever.

So I'm hanging out one afternoon, wasting the day, reading a book, when someone places a dirty, shaken, vodka martini in front of me. Now, I'm usually a strictly beer and tequila drinker, but something about that kind of martini just makes me feel good. I might even pass up a free shot of tequila for a $10 martini.

Expecting to see someone I actually know holding the martini, I look up to see the casual, psychotically expectant face of Charlie Sheen. A cold chill runs along my spine and he winks at me then says "Hey, Nate. Thought you could use a nice drink to help that book go down smoother."

Letters and alcohol. Whatever, I can't read.

"Wow, um, thanks Charlie Sheen. That's awesome."

"Anytime. I'll see you around." He gives me a thumbs-up and walks out of the bar into the sunlight.

The bartender comes over and says "What the fuck. I think he brought that martini in with him."

"Yea, I figured." I turn and dump the martini into a trash can and go back to my beer.

I don't go to that bar anymore.

Nicolas Cage

2011-12-06T06:00:00.000-08:00

I was walking around Barnes and Nobles one day trying to discreetly add whiskey to my Starbucks coffee, when I heard a man in the next aisle talking very loudly on his cell phone. It wasn't very hard to recognize the voice as belonging to Nicolas Cage.
Keeping my cool I immediately dropped to my knees, clutching my alcoholic coffee to my chest so as to not spill any on the floor. If it spills on my shirt, I can suck it out, but I don't know where Barnes and Nobles' floor has been.
I pricked my ears to try and determine what direction he was facing so I could sneak past without him noticing me, but as fate would have it, Nicolas Cage was actively searching me out. I was fucked.
He stepped around the corner from the Teen Fiction section clicking his cell phone closed with one hand and adjusting his ridiculous leather jacket with the other.
"Hey, man, you're you." He was smiling. It was making my skin crawl. He took a step closer, I took a step back. I wondered to myself if I had put enough whiskey in my coffee as to make it flammable in a last ditch attempt to escape.
"Yeah, I am me. Thanks." I turned to leave but he was instantly 5 feet closer to me than he had been a moment before. I never saw his feet move.
"No no no. I mean, you're the guy that meets the famous people. That's awesome, man. And now you've met me! That's just rad, man. Rad."
"I'm pretty sure there's more than just me out there meeting famous people." I took the lid off my coffee cup.
"No, come on, I mean you're the guy who WRITES about it! That's so cool!"

"You understand how that makes you sound crazy, right?" I threw the coffee onto the ground in front of me and in one fluid motion whipped out a book of matches, lit one and tossed the whole book onto the puddle. The mixture was just right; we had ignition. A wall of flames erupted in between us. Nicolas Cage had his cell back to his ear and was screaming 'Help! Help!' That was my cue.
"Ghost Rider sucked dick and you're an asshole for making a sequel!" I jumped over the bookshelf and ran across the tops of the rest of them until I reached the front door.

I didn't stop running for a full hour.

I still feel kinda bad about burning down that Barnes and Nobles in wherever I was.

Joan Allen

2011-12-05T08:00:00.000-08:00

Christmas of 2006 I found myself wandering around a Virgin Records Superstore in god-knows-what-city. It had been 3 days since I had been back to the hotel where I was staying with some friends from Denver, and I wasn't even sure if they were still here in town. But for some reason, none of this seemed to matter to me, and I was desperate to find some album in the store. I think it was a Weird Al's Greatest Hits or some shit, I don't remember and details aren't the biggest parts of my stories, so get over it.
I'm in the Jazz section which is also fuckin' weird cause I hate Jazz. I need more stability than that in my life, I guess. I turn to find my way back into a section that's more my age range, I see Joan Allen casually reading the back of a Pat Metheny CD case.
"Holy shit." I accidentally blurted out. Her eyes flicked up to me, there was an almost imperceptible twitch at the side of her mouth, then she looked back down at the album.
The gentleman that I am, I quickly offered an apology and was about to continue on my way, but she stopped me by saying "What are you sorry for, young man?"

Meow

My mind was spinning, my palms were sweaty and I was pretty sure I wasn't even drunk, but out of my mouth came "You're so goddamned hot, and this store is so goddamned shitty, it just caught me off guard. Sorry, Joan Allen. I don't usually cuss this much." Bullshit, I thought.
"Bullshit." she said.

We both laughed for a second, then she said "I'll see you around."

I have no idea what the fuck that was supposed to mean.

Kevin Spacey

2011-11-27T12:10:00.000-08:00

So I'm walking around London on Ufford St trying to get back to Blackfriars Rd when I come upon a man jiggling the handles of every car he's passing by. I stop and light a smoke (this was back when I smoked, but I can't remember when) and wait for him to notice that I'm watching him looking for an unlocked car that is obviously not his.

He doesn't notice me and passes within 2 feet of me. Finally, two cars down from me, he stops and looks back. It's an obviously inebriated Kevin Spacey. Not surprising, really, considering the Old Vic is somewhere around here. His head bobbing in the haze of whatever he was drinking (I'm no pro, but I think it was absinthe mixed with Jose Cuervo), he looks in my general direction, gestures to the current car he is trying to break into and mumbles something about his dog was in the car, so he needs to get her out.

I smile and nod politely then continue on my way. I hadn't taken more than 3 steps when I hear the smashing of a car window and turn to see Mr. Spacey frantically crawling through the newly opened window.

I DID IT!! I DID IT ALL BY MYSELF!!!

I wait for a minute and smoke the rest of my cigarette. When it was clear that he wasn't going to accomplish much else inside the car, I crept over to the window and peered in. He was passed the fuck out, head in the backseat, feet resting on top of the steering wheel. There was no dog in sight.
I made it back to my hotel in one piece and American Beauty was available to rent.

London was nice. The food, not so much.

Ben Foster

2011-11-21T00:49:00.000-08:00

So my wife and I decided to go downtown for a drink, which was a horrible choice by the way because apparently Sting is in town so there's nothing but douchebags out and about.

Anyways, she tells me she needs to run to the little girls room except how she said it wasn't cute or anything. She was gone for no more than a few seconds when I hear someone clearing their throat next to me. It wasn't a quick, normal throat clearing, but it was over and over, like they were obviously trying to get my attention. I look over and it's Ben Foster.

I accidentally said "Oh, shit." out loud, but only because he's scary, not famous.

"Hey, Nate. How's your night going?" He doesn't look at me when he says this, he just rubs his throat and then takes a sip of his beer.

It takes me a second to get the words 'pretty good' out, and the moment I do, he responds with 'that's good, man.'

Then he looks at me.

Super duper.

Then my wife came back from the restroom. When I turned to introduce her, he was gone.

She still doesn't believe me, but whatever.

That guy is intense.

Ryan Gosling

2011-11-12T18:23:00.001-08:00

So thanks to this website, a lot of famous people and celebrities have been seeking me out on their own in order to change how they might look or sound on the internet when I inevitably write about it*.

I was sitting near a Jamba Juice one day, not drinking Jamba Juice but reading a beer, I mean a newspaper, when Ryan Gosling comes sauntering up to me. Sauntering is a perfect word for how he walks. A better way to describe how he was walking would be to say 'Ryan Gosling was walking over to me when he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror and then realized he was Ryan Gosling and his legs did too.'

Anyways. He's getting pretty close to me and I see him beginning to realize that he's here to talk to me, not to keep looking at his reflection, so I did the only thing I could do; I jumped up and ran like I was being chased. Ryan Gosling began to run after me and I could tell he wanted to yell something to me, but then probably remembered that he can't form his own opinions unless it's right after he became famous for The Notebook or if someone asks him about his abs or grinning.

I got away but my wife still talks about him and his movies or face or something.

This is the worst picture of Ryan Gosling I could find, and I bet people will fucking love it.

* Not true at all, but that would be pretty awesome, right?

Harrison Ford

2011-11-07T21:45:00.000-08:00

On a beautiful Tuesday morning last summer I was heading into my local coffee shop and there in front of me on his way out was Harrison Ford.

Before I could even think, my hand shot up and in the blink of an eye his hand was up and connected with mine in the perfect high-five.

It sounded like a cannon slapping a face in the middle of a concert hall.

Boom. You're welcome.

Everyone in the coffee shop turned to look in awe. I bit back the tears because it hurt my hand like a sonovabitch.

And without a word, he was gone.

My coffee tasted like shit, but it was a good day overall.

Elijah Wood

2011-11-06T11:10:00.000-08:00

I've never been that much of a dancer, but sometimes when I've had enough to drink, my legs start doing whatever they want. Speaking of legs, I was walking through downtown Chicago one time and as I passed a bar, a man came flying through the window backwards and landed on the sidewalk in front of me. Elijah Wood jumped into the windowsill and yelled at the guy to never come back here again and something about how she's a beautiful woman and he doesn't know how to speak to a lady. I don't really know what else he said and I wasn't really paying attention because the guy in front of me had literally been kicked through the window for about 15 feet. I think that might be physically impossible, but it happened. I looked over at Elijah Wood and he gave me the head nod.

"Fuck yea, Elijah Wood."

"Fuck yea." He responded and ducked back into the bar.

Fuck yea.

Kate Blanchett

2011-10-29T11:54:00.000-07:00

In June of 2006 I found myself part of a group of 20-year-olds hired by the DEA to convince drug users that alcohol was the safer way to go. My territory had about half a dozen bars and about 500 meth addicts. I was not assigned a gun but I carried one anyways and I kept my cash in my butt cheeks.
Around 9 pm after a spectacularly unsuccessful day I decided to pop into a karaoke bar for a beer.
Much to my surprise, there was Kate Blanchett. She was obviously 3 sheets to the wind and trying to buy a shot of Dalmore 64 Trinitas. Which is ridiculous. The bartender was getting agitated and I decided it was best to intervene before Kate Blanchett did something she regretted.
"Hey, Kate Blanchett." I gently touched her on the shoulder and she spun around so fast it was invisible to the naked eye.
"Who said my name?" Her eyes were glassy, but she was still as dangerous as a honey badger.
"It's about time you went home, Kate. Remember New Mexico?" She stood up straight and seemed instantly sober.
"You weren't even there." She snarled and I saw her fist begin to ball up.

"That's true, Kate Blanchett. But you were."

And in the blink of an eye, she was gone. I yanked a $20 out of my underwear and tossed it to the bartender. Before I could order anything he stuck it in his pocket and told me to get out.

Hugo Weaving

2011-10-28T09:22:00.000-07:00

The summer of 2009 was anything but spectacular for me. Most of it had been spent shaving race horses at my aunt's ranch in South America. Grueling work and horrible conditions. Fantastic food though.
I was walking through the local market one day to pick up more oil for the girdle leathers when I saw Hugo Weaving sitting by himself outside a small shack, talking on his cell phone and smoking a cigarette. He noticed me at the same second I noticed him. I smiled and gave him the thumbs up. He made the 'finger-gun' and shot me. I told my aunt about it later and she didn't know who I was talking about. She did say that Keanu Reeves is 'one sexy dish'.

We don't even have cell reception in that part of South America.

Alec Baldwin

2011-10-27T10:13:00.000-07:00

I was in London about a year ago walking around and sightseeing, you know, all that touristy shit, when Alec Baldwin comes walking out of a local pub. Neither of us were paying attention and we almost knocked our heads together.
"Oh! Excuse me! I didn't see you there Alec Baldwin."
"That's ok, Nate, I wasn't paying attention either."
"How did you know my name was Nate?"
"I'm very good at guessing names. Say, were you about to go into this pub?"
"I will if you think I should, Alec Baldwin."
"I think you should. Here's a bit of advice, give Thomas the barkeep a fiver and tell him I said 'swing harder next time, Sally' and you'll get free drinks all night.

Trust me!

He shook my hand and walked away.
And he was right, I drank for free all night.

Drew Barrymore

2011-10-26T23:29:00.000-07:00

Who likes the beach? Not me. But it looks like Drew Barrymore does. I was hanging out with some friends at the beach and they were busting my balls for being the only grown man on a beach wearing 2 shirts and blue jeans. I told them I felt more comfortable not scaring children away with my see-thru skin but they just weren't having it. Just when I thought I was gonna have to walk back to the Ford Taurus station wagon all by myself, Drew Barrymore walks up to us wearing the biggest T-shirt I have ever seen. But it was the one with the fake bikini girl on it.

She starts to yell, top of her lungs yell, at my friends for busting my balls for wanting to wear clothes at the beach and that it's my choice with what I want to do with my body.

I didn't even go to the Taurus. I walked to a bar and waited for my friends to call me.

They told me that after I left, shit got weird.

Matt Damon

2011-10-25T23:17:00.000-07:00

I'm at some kind of function, it doesn't really matter what kind it is. Let's say the Oscars. Yea, it's the Oscars. Pretty cool. So I'm sitting next to Walter Matthau, who has been dead since 2000 by the way, when Matt Damon sits down in the empty seat to my right. I do kind of a double take, just because I wasn't sure it was really Matt Damon (I mean, these were good seats), but yea, it's Matt Damon.

He must have noticed me doing a double take so he leans in close and says "Yea, hey, I'm Matt Damon. Don't worry, these things can actually be kind of fun."
He started to say something else but I shushed him and told him I was kinda busy and that I would have to call him later.
It was awkward to sit by him for the next 3 hours.

Tom Hanks

2011-10-24T23:03:00.000-07:00

So I'm walking along the sidewalk, staring at my feet like I always do, and I hear someone clear their throat and tap me on the shoulder. I look up to see Tom Hanks.
"Sir, I'm really very, very sorry," He seems sweaty and nervous. "Do you happen to have a spare cigarette? I can pay you for it. I'm sorry to trouble you."

I apologize and tell him how I recently quit smoking and don't have any. He smiles and mumbles something about me being a fucking liar. I had to keep walking or I was going to be late for drinking at the bar.
I had no idea Tom Hanks smoked.

Sean Penn

2011-10-24T18:14:00.000-07:00

So I'm at a bar and it's super busy and I elbow my way up to the front so I can signal to the bartender. I nudge the guy to my right a little too hard and his drink splashes on his hands.
"Hey!" He yells, "Watch out!" And it's totally Sean Penn.
I say "Hey, Sean Penn. You were awesome in that one movie where you were like Forest Gump except twitchier. Sorry I spilled your drink."
"Thanks, man, it's cool." He smiles and wipes his hand off with a napkin then turns away to talk to his friend.
I get my drink and walk away.