Life is a funny old thing, funny bizarre, funny peculiar…. The National Enquirer – now all of us have, at some point found ourselves strangely drawn to the magazine racks at Wal- Greens on tabloid Thursday…oh don’t even bother trying to deny it – who can resist such salubrious bottom-feeding front-page exclusives about Angelina and Brad supposed break-up, president former Bush’s assumed drinking problems Lindsay Lohan's rehab vacations, or Paris Hilton's losing her prison diaries…
Now it’s one thing to read outlandish gossip - quite another to think that you’re the subject of page 19…Photo insert and all!
Before carrying on I should mention, that I have had numerous cornea replacements, and as such, I am notorious for not recognizing famous people, or completely mistaking their identities…Case in point, would be thinking that I was asking Emilio Estevan, how Gloria was, only to be informed that I was in fact taking to Antonio R. Villaraigosa, Mayor of L.A.
Then there was the time I find myself talking with a woman at a rather swish Vanity Fair party… Attempting to engage in party small talk, I asked her what she does for a living?
To which she replies, “I’m a singer” …“Fab,” say I,” What kind of music do you do?”
Musing for a moment she says, “Oh, I like classical, but I guess I’m known as rockish.”
Realizing that I hadn’t asked her what her name was, I of course proceed to ask…she replies “Sheryl”…To which I say-“ Oh that’s so cool, you have the same name as one of my favorite singers, Sheryl Crow…. she’s great…I saw her perform at Lilth…. she was amazing…amazing songwriter” Then, me being me, I merrily launch into a tequila influenced, off- key rendition of “All I want to do is have some fun”. As if that wasn’t enough I unintentionally compound the situation by asking “Do you like her?” To which came the earth-please-swallow-me-whole words “I am Sheryl Crow!”
As of yet, I haven’t mistaken Denzil Washington for Madonna – but I suspect it’s only a matter of time.
Anyway back to the Enquirer story…so there I am turning the pages, when I see a picture of myself, seemingly engaged in a full on kiss. Going thought my mental rolodex, I try to recall who/ when/where, but no-one, springs to mind that looks vaguely familiar- Gasping, I put my hand to my lips, and whisper “Jesus H Christ…I’m in the Enquirer!”
Halle (who you’ll hear lots about as time goes on – because she’s the business one who keeps my scatter-brain together!) rips the magazine out of my hands, looks down, and proceeds to seemingly paraphrase the article, ”Oh my good god they say you dated for 2 years …that you broke up a 7 year marriage …that you just up and left the relationship last month to become a nun”
Then, bursting into to hysterical laughter, and says “ Oh for gods sake, It’s not you, its Mel B you idiot!!!”
I’d like to say that I realized the error of my ways, put the tabloid down, and vowed never to read another gossip rag again – alas, that would be an out and out lie. Euphoric, that it wasn’t a close up of me swapping spit with someone I didn’t even remember kissing, I simply continued reading…. sad but true!
As I write this I am thinking contact lenses might be a good option…
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