Redefining the phrase "OMFG!"
So there I was, in a conference room at ClubMom, with my back to the door, yakking about blogs and bloggers and blawwwgs and out-of-the-box synergistic capstones, and when I finished talking I realized everyone was staring at me. So I thought, "I have enraptured them! I will KEEP TALKING."
So I did, and then I kind of realized that they were actually staring at a point just behind my head. I turned around and BWAH. Andrew Shue was right there.
I SHRIEKED, people. And it was not a cool shriek. It was a spastic, flip-out kind of shriek, like I had just in that very moment realized just how influential Melrose Place was in my young life, and I had to like, TAKE A MOMENT to put my head down on the table to breathe and get my burning red face back to a normal fleshy color.
And then he sat next to me, and we talked about blogs, and...I don't know...stuff, and I kept stealing glances at him because photos will never prepare you for just how good-looking this man is in person, with the smoldering eyes and the cheekbones, and every time I stole a glance at him he was LOOKING AT ME and SMILING, and I would giggle. And then when he asked me questions I couldn't look directly at him, his life force was just too much to bear, so I would answer while looking off in random directions in the room.
Don't you just love the camera phone photo? Don't you just love the fact that I showed up with a camera with no battery? And I stood there for agonizing seconds trying to turn on this camera, while Andrew politely tried to excuse himself to watch World Cup soccer and I tried not to panic and bellow YOU WILL NOT LEAVE WITHOUT A PHOTO YOU WHO ARE TOO GORGEOUS IN PERSON TO BE REAL, IN FACT, GET BACK TO MADAME TUSSAUDS, AHHHHHHHHHHHH, I WILL CRY NOW.
I did not yell that. I pulled out my camera phone and shoved it at some poor pregnant woman, and tried to console myself with the fact that a camera phone shot would mask my flat, stringy hair, since I left my curling iron and most of my hair products at my parents' house in Pennsylvania after the reunion.
(THE REUNION. OH MY HOLY HELL.)
(And I also consoled myself with the fact that at least today I was actually wearing underwear, UNLIKE THE REUNION.)
(Yes, clearly there is an entry coming about the reunion.)
Anyway. That's what happened when I met Andrew Shue. Let the mocking commence, but at least I did not call anyone a whore and I didn't say the F-word once, which are exactly how I have blown more than one job interview.
I'll be leaving New York tomorrow, a thought that is making me increasingly sad, because hot fucking whores on a platter, I adore this city.
P.S. Noah fell off the bed in our hotel room approximately 15 minutes after we arrived, and he fell on his nose and his nose started BLEEDING and I ran around the hotel hallways looking for the damn ice machine and I couldn't find the ice machine and MY BABY WAS BLEEDING and then we ended up using a Diet Coke from the minibar and did I mention the BLEEDING? It was super awesome.