My brush with celebrity…

A few awesome things have happened to me this week.  And though I’m not one to brag, it’s not often these days that I have something exciting to share.

First up, I got a post published on Scary Mommy.  For those of you who aren’t aware of Scary Mommy, it’s a hilarious website created by Jill Smokler with some pretty raw, funny posts about parenting by some amazing women and I feel incredibly honored to be in such company.

The second thing that happened was getting my blog nominated by Circle of Moms for their Top 25 Funny Moms list.  I’m not sure how the hell it happened that I made it on the list without submitting myself, but I’ll bask in the nomination for as long as I can, until I’m knocked down to #146.

In order to avoid that happening, if you get a minute and can throw a vote my way, I’d appreciate it!  You can vote once a day, every day, until Feb 13th at 4pm PST.  All you have to do is click on this fancy badge below!

These little blog recognitions make me feel like my voice is being heard.  That maybe one or two other people in the world want to give me a pat on the back besides my husband and kids.   Being that I’m not dancing anymore, it’s easy for me these days to feel like I blend in with the wallpaper.

Though last week I went in to Mr. B’s gym classed and performed a dance solo for them.  I have to admit, the next day as I walked through the hallway at drop off, my son and his friends did a great job of making me feel like a celebrity.

I’m not one to get star struck, and only once did I muster up the courage to talk to someone semi-famous.  It was Rufus Wainwright, whom I’d happen to be footsteps behind as we walked up Broadway together, relishing in hearing him singing as he walked.  Sure, some might have called it stalking.  But when we both stopped at the red light, I impulsively turned to him and professed that I was a big fan of his work.

And his eyes darted side to side in search of a policeman to help him out.

My past jobs and living in NYC certainly lent itself to numerous celebrity run-ins.  Like walking five steps behind Kevin Bacon for 10 blocks (and laughing at the reaction of people walking the other direction as they passed him), standing in line for coffee and bagels behind Steve Buschemi and Francis McDormand (separate occasions, but look, there’s Fargo!).

Joking with Kyle McLaughlin while trying to sell him a pepper grinder at Williams-Sonoma and trying for the life of me to figure out why his stunning girlfriend had such perfect eyebrows.  It was Linda Evangilista.

Keeping guard over Lyle Lovett’s dressing room, a mere weeks after he married Julia Roberts.  He came down after the show, his crazy ‘fro all akimbo, and asked me if I had been watching his room.  When I replied yes, he said “Well, then I feel very secure with you around.”  Sure, he was probably being a smartass, but being young and naive, I felt pretty proud, all 5’2″ of me.

Then there was the time I assisted Marisa Tomei with some dance films, her gorgeous, poreless skin pointing fingers at my humongous cycstic pimple shining like a beacon between my eyebrows, lighting her way towards the emergency exit.

But perhaps the coolest celebrity thing was having spent time with Morgan Freeman’s ex-wife, including a Prince concert at Madison Square Garden.  It’s quite a long story, but the short version is that one of my oldest, closest friends was her personal assistant, and since they had an extra ticket, I tagged along.

Though my friend had worked with the Freemans for years, I actually never met him, only scoring an autographed headshot.  The closest I ever got was crashing at his apartment and hearing his voice in the other room while I groggily stumbled to the bathroom.  I figured that barging in on his nice evening looking disheveled with rancid breath probably wouldn’t make the best first impression.

But I grab hold of that experience.  It makes me a mere FOUR degrees from Kevin Bacon!  See:  Morgan Freeman was in Glory with Matthew Broderick, who is married to Sarah Jessica Parker, who was in Footloose with Kevin Bacon.

BOOM!

By reading that, you’re now five degrees from Kevin Bacon.