No autographs, please

A couple of weeks ago I sent a message to a semi-famous blogger I adore, and who I got to 'friend' me on Facebook. I'd seen something online that reminded me of her, and I sent her a link to it just in case she hadn't seen it yet. This woman gets hundreds of comments on most of her posts, and has almost 4,000 Facebook friends, so I assumed that my message would float off into the ether, probably unread. But it seemed like a nice gesture, so I went with it.

This morning I found a message in my inbox. From her. And my head swelled to twice it's size. Any tiny brush with celebrity, no matter how insignificant, makes me feel famous. And I love feeling famous. You may not know this, because it rarely comes up in everyday conversations, but I am one hysterically star-struck lady.

This is a tough afflication to be taken with, because I have never actually had a sighting of anyone even mildly famous.* But that doesn't stop me - I can still live through the experiences of others!

Celebrity encounter #1: About 4 years ago, my friend was in Ireland with his grandparents at some swanky golf game and ran into Michael Jordan in the men's room. According to him, the conversation went like this:

Friend: 'You're Michael Jordan.'

MJ: 'Yes I am.'

Friend: 'Wow.'

And then, get this, they SHOOK HANDS. I know, that's some pretty wild stuff. I probably shouldn't give away all this good material for free, you know, I have to save something for my tell-all biography about the inner-workings of Hollywood/the sports world/high level politics later on.

Oh, okay, one more:

Celebrity encounter #2: My cousin's friend (who I've never met but I almost met once, so we're practically sisters) is a singer and went to CA a while ago to record an album and got to go to Scarlett Johanson's house for dinner because they knew each other through a mutual acquaintance. So if you ever need a place to stay in L.A., let me know, because I can hook you up in ScarJo's guest house. You know, because I know someone who knows someone who met her once.

Love, J

* Back when I could still stomach watching 'America's Most Wanted,' I often thought I knew the suspects from work or the gym or around my neighborhood. But Mom never let me call in to report them, so none of these sightings can be confirmed. My ability to recognize at least one killer per episode is one of the reasons I stopped watching it. I don't need to know that my grocery checker is on the lam; it really inhibits polite small talk.