Rubbing Ryan Phillipe's elbow with Smelley, Fart, and D.

So I was listening to Z100, this radio station that plays about 3 crappy songs in rotation, and the DJ, whose name happens to be the same as my dear friend Smelley, was all "blah blah, rub elbows with the stars at the premiere of Sweet Home Alabama..100th caller wins!" Now I never had the oppurtunity to rub star's elbows, but I imagined it would be quite an adventure and I would also have a story to share other than the one about how my fish attempt suicide. So DJ Smelley's excitement somehow posessed me to call.

And guess what? You better know what! I wouldn't just end this by saying I didn't win, now would I? Actually I would. But not this time, because I WON! I've never won anything like this in my entire life, except for $27 on a lottery ticket when I was 9, so I was excited! So DJ Smelley was all "You're going to the premiere, woohoo. Now tell me, what's New York's number one hit music station?" And this of course, is the part where the crazed Z100 fan screams "Z100!" and they play that stupid Justin Shitterlake song. Which I did. Well, I didn't really scream because throughout the duration of the phone call my reaction to winning was more along the lines of "oh, cool, yea that's great" than "OH MY G...AHH! I WON I WON", so I didn't want to scare my new favorite DJ, DJ Smelley.

So anyway. DJ Smelley graciously reserved 4 passes for me outside the theater inside the Z100 truck, which meant I had to crack open my little black book and pick my lucky guests. But seeing as I don't own a little black book, and would not use it even I did have one, I invited dear friend Smelley (not DJ Smelley!), her brother D (for lack of creativity on my part), and my cousin Fart (because it sounds kind of like his actual name, except not really at all).

So yesterday, D, Smelley, Fart (HAHAHAHA, Smelley, Fart..get it? I do! HA HA HA!), and I found ourselves in the big apple, alongside the *blue* carpet, setting up our camera equipment (yes you read that right..Smelley and her bro happen to work for our local station and got permission to not only film the event, but also pummel the "stars" with questions as they walk down this red carpet that's really blue).

And so these stars with apparently very rubbable elbows arrived. And Smelley did quite a wonderful job interviewing these lovely (pretentious, airbrushed) people. And my cousin Fart did a nice job clicking away with his disposable camera (until of course the mean guy wearing a suit yelled at him, at which point he stopped). Smelley was even brave enough to go up to Reese Witherspoon's husband (that would be Ryan Phillipe, for those of you who live under a rock...or just happen to not know him, which is just fine!), and she was semi-snubbed. But I did get an autograph (Thank you Smelley). I was actually hoping for a hug, but he would have probably ripped out my skull had I even dare think such a thing.

Well enough spreading celebrity gossip (though I do have some more!) After all this interviewing, we actually saw the movie. And guess what? It sucked. It sucked my ass, it sucked Smelley's ass, and it sucked the ass of the theater itself.

Um, if Reese happens upon this page...beautiful work!

(2002-09-24 - 10:14 p.m.)