I Touched Angelina Jolie - Tah Dow!

Whoa... it has certainly been a busy week for your friendly celebrity toucher. It probably helps that I attended the premiere of the film "Inglorious Basterds" in Hollywood. Now, this little picture stars Brad Pitt, meaning the holy grail of all touchable targets could be in attendance. No, not Brad, silly. ANGELINA JOLIE!

I arrived to the premiere looking dapper with the lovely Elizabeth on my arm, and made my way down the red carpet. There was Brad up on a platform with that annoying girl from Entertainment Tonight(name them, they are all annoying) interviewing him. Way too far away for a touching. I breezed by BJ Novak (The Office) and touched his back. No big thrill.

Once inside, I just about hit the floor. There, standing not 20 feet away, was my target, Angelina. She was looking skinny as hell in a black leather strapless dress I am sure I have seen before on RuPaul. Angie (I call her Angie) is taller than you would expect, but damn girl... eat a cheeseburger... and some curly fries! She is so flipping skinny. Her hair looked like it needed a good V05 Hot Oil Treatment too (Walgreen's honey, $4.95). She was talking to three people who looked like publicists because they were wearing expensive shoes and cheap outfits. This certainly wasn't enough protection to prevent a good, old fashion celebrity touching.

Two of the publicists moved away as I moved in. As I got close enough for a casual touch, the other dude (read: gay... PS. All male publicists are gay) totally blocked my attempt. Bastard! I almost punched him in his over-done Dolce & Gabana belt buckle (tickety tack tacky).

Thwarted, I kept moving past them, not losing my casual stride. Once safely in the opposite corner, I planned my trajectory again and worked my way back to Angelina.

*Celebrity Touching Tip (TM): Now, the key here is to act like you are looking for someone else in the lobby, kind of walking around aimlessly, eyes darting, stumbling into potted plants, completely ignoring Andy Dick (which is really easy to do). Don't ever let your target know that you have even seen or recognized them. Now, back to the chase:

I walked up, eased in close, the sweat glistening from my brow. I was just so close to touching a rare breed... a dodo bird of celebrity. As I approached her from behind, she pushed back her elbow ever so slightly - perfect! I reached up my hand as I glided by her looking for my imaginary friend, and gently touched Angelina on her left elbow. SUCCESS! (albeit exceptionally bony) I gave myself an internal high-five and moved on.

But, that wasn't all that night. There was a real cavalcade of celebrity touching. Russell Simmons (with his new bimbo on his shoulder); Methodman looking for ho's; Cameryn Manheim, who was hitting on my friend Elizabeth; Samm Levine (not really a celebrity, but he is the dork in almost any teen movie you have never seen) and Eli Roth, who is awesome in the movie.

I must admit... I did proactively walk up to Sarah Silverman and say to her "So, Sarah Silverman, do you actually have anything to say to Brad Pitt, or do you just touch him?" She didn't think I was funny and shunned me (proof again, that I should only be touching, not talking, to celebrities).

Of course, the one that got away was Brad Pitt himself. Too many people for me to get close enough. I made a stab for it as he was rushing to the exit with Angelina, but security blocked me.

Oh yeah... and Kanye West was there... but who gives a crap about Kanye West. His ego was so big it created an impenetrable touching shield around him.

Overall, a great night for celebrity touching. I rewarded myself with a SKYY Vodka White Russian... which is what Angie is drinking this picture from the premiere. Klassy 'til the end.

I Touched Ben Stiller - Having A Ball

 

Inevitably, even the most cautious celebrity toucher will find himself in a situation where there is no avoiding the intended target knowing they have been touched.  This is particularly relevant if the celebrity toucher has been duped by a woman of low moral character, like that cry-baby woman Glenn Beck.  In my case, the woman with questionable morals I spend the most time with is a blonde bombshell we affectionately call “Spice Rack,” and trust me, she didn’t get that moniker because of her skills with an E-Z Bake oven.

Spice and I were nursing a post-apocalyptic hangover (really, why did we think Irish Crème and Slimfast Shakes were such a good idea?) at our favorite celebrity watching morning venue, Hugo’s, in Los Angeles.  Hugo’s is THE morning-after spot to catch shameful celebs trying to pull it together after a night of champagne cocktails, ego-stroking and ass-kissing (which we all know can be very tiring).   By the way, Vince Vaughn, if you are reading this, perhaps you could remember to put on underwear the next time you wear grubby grey cotton sweatpants to breakfast?

I have to admit, I wasn’t quite on my game this Sunday morning, the day of the Lord, sitting at our table nursing my coffee and several packets of Mixed Berry jelly. So when The Rack told me to stick out my hand, I had no idea what she was up to.  I put my hand towards her ample bosom, which she likes to rest on dinner tables.  She said “No, put it out to the side.”  Having no idea why I was being told to do this, I stuck out my hand – just in time to punch Ben Stiller in the balls as he walked by.

Now, you can imagine that this startled Mr. Stiller a bit.  I imagine this also startled Mr. Stiller’s testicles, which probably needed coffee just as much as he did that morning, or maybe a teabag or two.  I was personally taken aback by the fact that Mr. Stiller hadn’t learned all that much while filming his hit movie “Dodgeball” or at least his balls hadn’t learned to dodge things on their own.

Unfortunately, there was no way this could be considered a professional stealth celebrity touch.  I am pretty sure Ben knew he had just been hit in the nuts, and pretty hard too, like any comic book fan who saw the movie “Daredevil.”  I apologized and he walked gingerly on.  Spice Rack gave herself a digital high-five for having manipulating me so perfectly, not unlike how Roxette manipulates my emotions every single time I hear “Listen to Your Heart.”

But never fear faithful reader, even though Ben now walks with a distinct limp and will never have children again, I am resolved that I will eventually get him as a true celebrity touch, or bust my balls trying.  Well, maybe not my balls…

I Touched Julianne Moore – A Wink and a Nod

 

If there is one thing I pride myself on more than my long glamorous eye lashes, it is my ability to find a good stiff cocktail when I really need one. You know, like after enduring any episode of The Voice that features Christina Aguilera (one of my most dramatic past Celebrity Touch™ victims).  But there are times that my inherent booze GPS fails me, leaving me as parched as Courtney Love’s lady area after a night of unfiltered Marlboros, Red Baron Pizzas and collagen injections.  I faced such an occurrence recently in New York’s West Village and the only thing that pulled me through was the freckle-faced oasis that was Academy-Award nominee Julianne Moore.

 

The day started innocently enough, thumbing through ironic over-priced, poorly-made day-glow hipster clothing at Scoop in the Meat Packing District.  I was being helped by a salesperson who was all man… until you got to his face… from there up he was all “I’m Comin’ Out” Diana Ross, with purple cheeks and eye brows that looked like John Waters had misplaced his mustache – twice! 

 

As you can surely understand, shopping for age-inappropriate clothing and minimum wage gender identity crisis (trust me, this was a crisis), leaves one very thirsty.  So, I set off south to find a place of worship, and by place of worship, I mean a bar.

 

Now, you must first understand, dear reader, that my odds of finding such a synagogue of Singapore Slings should have been heightened because I was with my trusted drinking companion Clint, who has the nose of a bloodhound (or Amanda Bynes) when it comes to uncovering anything distilled, brewed or fermented.

 

After several blocks, however, we found we were no closer to finding a speakeasy than we were to finding out what the hell Jennifer Lopez sees in her new Muppet-faced boyfriend Casper Smart.  Things were getting bad.  Every turn revealed some ridiculous cupcake bakery or pet clothing supplier, but no watering holes.  Thirst had made me as cranky as Katy Perry in a JCPenney.  It had gotten so bad that I actually considered bursting into a nearby playground where I would surely find Jennifer Garner playing with one of her children named after 1940’s soap products and shaking her until she told me where I could find a drink in this godforsaken neighborhood.

 

On death’s door, that is when a cooper-haired angel sent straight from Celebrity Touching™ heaven descended on us.  Julianne Moore had just turned the corner and was now walking towards Clint and me, in sensible flats, age-appropriate jeans, and a v-neck t-shirt that said “hi, I’m a v-neck t-shirt.”   She really is quite a fetching lady, freckled to such a degree that Serat (look it up) would have spontaneously combusted upon meeting her.

 

As she approached, I found just enough energy in my weakened state to muster a smile, showing her all 32 pearlies.  I was delighted when she smiled back at me and nodded, obvious taken aback by my impressive eye lashes.  With wave after wave of thirst crashing over me (ironic right???), it took every ounce of will and determination I had to raise my left hand and graze her speckled left hand as she walked past.  Celebrity Touch™ secured!

 

And as I stumbled forward around the corner from whence Juliann had magically materialized, practically collapsing from alcohol dehydration, I spotted The White Horse Tavern.  Julianne, the brazen darling of Hollywood, had led me to salvation.  I would live to touch another day.  God bless you Juliann.  God bless.

Celebrity Quick Touch - Brandy

 

Celebrity Touch Target:  Brandy

Why:    Because she is a multi-platinum R&B artist and Demolition Derby Champ

Where:  W Hotel Hollywood

How:  Like a praying mantis on a Hippity Hop, doe-eyed Brandy was dancing on the back of a VIP booth at a Rolling Stone party when I spotted her.   If there would have been a “Booth-Top Booty Drop Challenge” on Dancing with the Stars, she surely would have won, because she was killing it!  One dramatic, yet assuredly elegant, fall into the booth by yours truly (a move invented by Spice Rack) landed the perfect touch of Brandy’s leg, and “The…Touch…Is…Mine.”

I Touched Colin Farrell - I Need A Bath

 

There are times when even the most dedicated celebrity toucher can find themselves either too mentally exhausted (having just watched four season’s of Sabrina the Teenage Witch on DVD) or too physically exhausted (having just gone garage sale-ing with Angela Landsbury ) to actually react when a prime touching subject is near.  And, yes, dear reader, that has even happened to me.

 

The location was the Toronto Film Festival.  The would-be celebrity target was Hollywood’s equivalent to Bounty Paper Towels – the quicker picker upper, Colin Farrell.  Here’s the deal with Colin Farrell:  In person, you can take one look at him and know he is about as clean as a McDonald’s bathroom in New Orleans.  But he is a celebrity and even with his musty man parts, he is worthy of a touch when encountered.  The problem was: I was dead beat.

 

I ran into Colin as I was near comatose, getting on an elevator in the wee hours of the morning.  He was getting off said elevator, a cloud of Irish man scent mingling with the latest Walgreen’s female fragrance (perhaps Avril Lavine’s Body Mist) following closely behind.  He was just inches away.  No body guard.  No barriers.  And that is when it happened:  I let him walk right by.  The elevator doors closed, and that was it.

 

At this point, my trusted travel companion Elizabeth reached up with her good hand (the one that wasn’t injured in a BlueFly.com Accessory Wall scuffle on Project Runway) and slapped me across my good cheek (the one that wasn’t punched by Abigail Breslin in the incident forever known as “The Pound Puppy Massacre of 2003”).  Elizabeth was appalled that I had let such a prime celebrity touch escape my grasp. I explained that I was too tired to touch the man-whore that is Colin Farrell.  She slapped me again and said “Being tired is no excuse.  If great people would have stopped trying just because they were tired, do you think Diane Von Furstenburg would have invented the Wrap-Around Dress?  I think not!)

 

With that inspiration, I pushed the elevator button to head back down to the lobby.  Naturally, Colin was there when I arrived, surrounded by tramps of all sizes and shapes.  This posed a problem.  Because we were in Toronto, he wasn’t surrounded by the typical anorexic Hollywood star-f*ckers, which usually provide ample space to reach in between their exposed rib cages to get a quick celeb touch.  There was no entry point to easily reach Colin without being detected, unless I tried the often-unreliable “Andy Dick Drunken Stumble and Grope.” 

 

No, I decided that the only point of entry was from behind… behind the pillar he was leaning against.  The idea was that I would blindly reach around the pillar and gently graze whatever body part I came across.  This is always a danger, as it sometimes results in touching a groupie, or touching the buttocks region of the intended target, which is off-limits in celebrity touching for obvious reasons.  So, as I reached around the pillar, nervous about what I might accidently caress, I couldn’t have been more pleased to find my hand brushing ever-so gingerly against Colin’s lower back.  I knew it was him because whatever clothing I was touching felt surprisingly similar to the inside of an empty bucket of extra crispy Kentucky Fried Chicken.

 

As I walked away, squirting a healthy dose of Purel into my left hand, I vowed never again to let mere exhaustion get in the way of a good celebrity touch.

Celebrity Quick Touch - Lars Ulrich

 

Celebrity Touch Target: Lars Ulrich

 

Why: Because I thought the outspoken drummer for heavy metal rock band Metallica was actually nonagenarian Betty White

 

Where:  United Airlines flight from JFK to SFO

 

How:  It is a known fact that rock stars age about as well as a Jim Carrey RomCom.  So when you see a rock legend in person, you are as likely to mistake them for a sad, week-old Edible Arrangement, as you are a Grammy-award winning artist.  That is exactly why my faithful travel companion Elizabeth had to point out, on a recent flight from New York, that the shriveled thing sitting in First Class wasn’t a coworker’s half-hearted attempt to gain favors through skewered fruits and vegetables, but the perpetually angry little drummer for heavy metal band Metallica.  Complete with a buckwheat-filled neck pillow (Enter Sandman indeed!), Lars Ulrich and his wispy Crypt Keeper coiffure was unfortunately many, many rows away from my well-manicured Celebrity Touching fingers.  The closest thing to a celebrity near me was the caterwauling Russian infant across the row looking to replace Ann Wilson as the lead singer of Heart (not possible).  How was I going to touch Lars if I was way back here? Would I be denied this prime Celebrity Touch™?  As luck would have it, when we landed, the gods (and by gods, I mean Stevie Nicks, Pat Benatar and Debbie Harry) were with me, because Lars got up from his seat and just stood there… as if he was actually waiting for me… or maybe he thought I was Steven Tyler given the multitude of vibrant hemp scarves I was donning due to something called a “Polar Vortex.”  I shimmied up the aisle like Axl Rose in genital-restricting John Varvatos leather trousers and grazed Lars’ grandma clapper as I walked past.  Surprisingly, he didn’t disintegrate like so many Ark of the Covenant-gazing Nazis. Celebrity Touch secured!    

 

I Touched Jennifer Hudson – Skinny is as Skinny Does

 

I have always been a proponent of the time-honored fashion mandate:  We don’t wear leather in 90-degree weather and we don’t dress frilly when it is kind of chilly. Of course, as a celebrity you can be tempted to not always follow this golden rule, because if Marc Jacobs says the hottest trend for winter is an off-the-shoulder Glad sandwich bag, well then you wear an off-the-shoulder Glad sandwich bag… no matter what the temperature.  Thankfully, there are some stars who know that classic style doesn’t come with a ziplock.  One of those is Oscar-winner Jennifer Hudson.

I encountered Jennifer in the very chic lobby of the Andaz Hotel in New York City.  Or I should say, I encountered what’s left of her.  The girl has lost so much weight she looks like just one of the Olsen Twins (Mary-Kate, not Ashley).  But even as only half of her true self, Jennifer looked fierce, which isn’t easy to do when you are heading out the door into a torrent of freezing rain so nasty even Snooki would put on underwear (the tiny lace ones with the whiskey flask clip-on pouch).

The big issue for Jennifer, of course, is that much like a polar bear fighting global warming, she has lost a lot of her fat reserves.  Meaning, she needs to wrap up when she goes outside.  And, let me tell you this, dear reader, I don’t know who invented the cape coat, but it is nothing short of amazing and Jennifer was rocking it (rocking being a good thing, not rocking like Miley Cyrus hugging herself in a dark corner) .  Neither rain, nor sleet, nor snow as deep as Tori Spelling’s awful cleavage could keep Jennifer from looking hot.

Jennifer was heading for the door when I spotted her, so I was going to use the same Celebrity Touch™ tactic I executed with singer Adele:  open the door for her like any good, stalkerish gentleman would, and touch her on the back as I ushered her out into the forbidding cold. 

OK, let me say this… the doorman at the Andaz Hotel can go screw himself for appearing out of nowhere to open the door for me and Jennifer, thus crushing my Celebrity Touch™ strategy.  Damn you and your excellent customer service!

Thankfully, my meds had yet to kick in, so my head was clear enough to quickly alter my strategy.  As I was about to exit the doorway, I paused, executing the yet-untested “Oh my goodness, it’s brisk outside today” touch tactic (And the Oscar for best overly dramatic, slight-effeminate reaction to New York weather goes to…).  My sudden stop forced Jennifer, who was behind me, to change her course.  And, even in her wafer-thin new body, she had to brush past me as she slinked out the doorway.  Celebrity Touch™ secured!  At that point, thanks to her cape coat and waifish silhouette, she was immediately caught up in a sudden gust of wind, took flight and was blown to Hackensack.   

Celebrity Quick Touch - Robin Roberts

 

Celebrity Touch Target:  Robin Roberts

Why:  Because the Good Morning America host just made Chris Brown lose his sh*t and his shirt

Where:  United Airlines Flight 642 from JFK to SFO

How:  Robin Roberts is a striking woman, but no more so lately after interviewing someone who is famous for striking a woman.  I spotted Robin boarding my flight at JFK, practically glowing from all the attention she has been getting recently following her interview with and subsequent freak out by R&B singer and Ike Turner-wannabe Chris Brown.  As she boarded the plane, Robin definitely had a certain “Take that Diane Sawyer!” air about her.  While making my way back to coach (Why has the Lord forsaken me so!), I spotted Robin in First Class, struggling with her bag.  Instead of helping her, like the gentleman I am not, I slinked behind her, grazing the back she was straining trying to insert her Samsonite into the overhead.  Celebrity Touch™ secured! 

 

 

I Touched LeAnn Rimes and Eddie Cibrian - Canoodling with Extra Gravy

 

It is a rare day when my celebrity location assistant powers (or the CLAP, as I call it) miss a star in my midst, particularly two of them at the same time.  And even more particularly, two celebrities as scandal-ridden as Cracker Barrel sweetheart LeAnn Rimes and beefcake tomato Eddie Cibrian.  You may know her better as the country music vixen who also specializes in Hollywood interior decorating, or as we call it where I grew up – Home Wrecking.  Yep – ladies grab your husbands, because when this buttermilk biscuit is looking for some gravy, she don’t care if it is already on your plate or not.  Just ask Third Watch-star Eddie Cibrian’s ex wife.

The reason the CLAP wasn’t operating at full capacity during this celebrity touch moment is that I was trying to operate on three hours of sleep on a 6 am flight back home from New Orleans.  This is normally not a problem but the amount of white trash fumes I had inhaled on Bourbon Street the night before had made me practically comatose.  A text from my ever-alert travel companion Elizabeth who was seated back in coach where she belonged (there was only one upgrade available… don’t judge!), called my attention to the fact that Leann and Eddie were seated right in front of me.

I will spare you the blow-by-blow color commentary around all the canoodling that was going on one row in front of me, because the real issue was, in my delicate state, how was I going to touch them and not have them notice?  I think we can all remember that time, in a drunken stupor, I tried to gently glide past Nell Carter, tripped and ended up lodged in her cleavage for three days.

As fate would have it, Leann helped me out when she put her hand on the back of her seat (I am guessing to stretch her left breast?  Do girls do this???).  More out of the urge to pass out than anything else, I leaned forward and touched her hand with my hair.  Thus, the before-thought-impossible “Hair to Hand” celebrity touch was invented.  Eddie was much easier.  He kept leaning over to… I am guessing here… stretch her right breast???  As he did this for the hundredth time, I grazed his elbow between the seats with my pinky finger.  A rare celebrity-couple touch completed!

In the end, I think we all learned an important lesson here:  Don’t eat biscuits at Cracker Barrel or someone will surely touch your gravy.

Donatella Versace - A Major Feat

There is really only one mandatory requirement when it comes to touching celebrities, and that is you must be close enough to them to actually touch them. That seems obvious enough. The problem with this is it often requires acts of extreme bravery because once you are close enough to a celebrity to actually touch them, you are also close enough to see what they really look like. And honey child, let me tell you, that ain’t always pretty. Case in point: Donatella Versace.

I happened to find myself in Milan, Italy recently. Now, don’t get all “Under a Tuscan Sun” on me. Milan is the Pittsburgh of Italy, if Pittsburgh had better hair and aperitifs. Yes, I know it is the fashion capital of the world. But guess what? Throw a bunch of models in fancy clothes in the middle of Detroit and what do you get? A bunch of dead models.

So while in Milan, I attended an expensive event with cheap appetizers that was filled with Italian celebrities, who basically looked like your average Milanese factory workers but with slim fit tuxedos and feathered blow outs. There was only one major touch worthy celebrity in the bunch, and that was fashion designer Donatella Versace.


First of all, let’s be very clear about one thing: Donatella up close looks like the female guitar player from the Muppets, Janice. That’s of course, if the Muppets were made of old leather, rather than foam. The paparazzi (I am in Italy now, where that word actually means something) went nuts when Donatella arrived and promptly retreated to the elevated VIP section, along with a smattering of Italian soap opera stars, or as we call them in America: “prostitutes.”


This presented a big celebrity touching challenge. I wasn’t in the VIP section (strange, right?). I was down on the dance floor (naturally). How could I touch her way up there in her ivory VIP tower? I needed a miracle, and it came in the form of high fashion, as it always should.


Now I am generally opposed to open-toe shoes because everyone knows that’s how you get your toes cut off in mall escalators. But in this instance, I fully appreciated them, because Donatella was now at the rail of the VIP area overlooking the dance floor and her calloused orange toes were exposed and ripe for touching.


I know it is disgusting to touch other people’s feet unless you are in a bus station bathroom, but this was my chance. I glided across the floor to whatever horrible Kylie Minogue remix was playing, reached up as if to do the gay “This is my favorite song ever” cheer, then grazed her second toe (it stuck out further than her big toe) with my hand. And, that, is how you touch a fashion icon -- as far away from her face as humanly possible.

Celebrity Quick Touch - Steven Cojocaru

 

Celebrity Touch Target: Steven Cojocaru

Why: Because I am having a celebrity touching dry spell lately and this C-list television fashion critic just happened to be standing there

Where: Los Angeles International Airport

How: They say that clothes make the man, but in the case of fashion victim… oops I mean critic… Steven Cojocaru, I would argue that hair makes the man… look like a woman. I noticed Meg Ryan standing in the United Airlines Premier Executive line (that would mean she was BEHIND me) boarding a flight to San Francisco. Then, as the fluorescent light caught just the right angle, I noticed that Meg Ryan was actually fashion gadfly Steven Cojocaru. Same stringy, bleached hair, vagina and puffy lips (redundant, sorry), but just a little more feminine than Meg. Now, granted, Cojo, as he likes to be called by housewives at the Kohl’s makeup counter, isn’t truly a celebrity, but I have been celebrity touch-free lately, so we will allow it. In order to touch Flojo, I decided to suddenly decelerate, letting those people who were just going to get pulled out of line anyway for not boarding at the right time, breeze past me. This put my modest caboose on a collision course with the flame-buoyant Today Show correspondent. Thankfully, his hair bags must have deployed because he only gently grazed me, saving me years of therapy if something else would have bumped into my rump. Celebrity-ish Touch secured!

Celebrity Quick Touch - Seth Meyers

 

Celebrity Touch Target:  Seth Meyers

 

Why: Because the former SNL Weekend Update star and current Late Night host was standing between me and my Baby’s Breath.

 

Where:  New York City Whole Foods

 

How:  It’s quite a rare occurrence that you would run into a legitimate celebrity in a grocery store, other than, of course, Bethenney Frankel trying to convince you that skinny cocktails are still a “thing.”  But that is exactly where I found recent late-night it boy Seth Meyers, loitering in the densely packed flower department of the Whole Foods on 7^th Avenue (watch in amazement as I don’t refer to this store as Whole Paycheck even once in this diatribe… look we get it… it’s expensive… move on for Henry Cavill’s sake).  Replete in my age-appropriate 7” inseam saffron-colored shorts and Pilgrim Surf +Supply naughty nautical themed t-shirt, I hadn’t noticed the giraffe-faced comedian until he proved an apparent obstacle for me to obtain a delicate bouquet brimming with Gerber Daisies (reader’s note:  my favorite, thanks for remembering) and a whisper of Baby’s Breath (again, why is this still a “thing”).  My annoyance quickly swung to mild-annoyance when I realized a Celebrity Touch™ had presented itself.  So, as I bent from the knees – never from the waist (Flower Fitness Journal June 1987) – to extend my slender, cocoa butter-lathered arm and reach the Gerber (no relation to Rande) Daisies, I casually nicked Seth’s elbow with mine.  Celebrity Touch and “Sorry I Made You Wait in Line at Shake Shack” bouquet secured!

 

I Touched Chris Isaak - Denim on Denim

 

If there is one thing that Celebrity Touching™ teaches you is hope.  No matter how dire the situation seems, you can never give up hope (unless you are Meg Ryan looking for her career – in that instance, all hope is lost).   Never give up hope that you will be able to touch a spotted celebrity.  No obstacle is insurmountable.  No barrier is too great.  No Wendy’s Frosty is too thick to drink with a straw.  You must never give up.  Which is exactly how I secured the touch of hunky rock musician Chris Isaak.

On this occasion, I was again with my beautiful, faithful travel companion Elizabeth at the San Francisco airport.  Elizabeth was alert, as always, while I was too busy fuming at people who refused to walk on the Moving Walkway (don’t you people realize how much quicker you can get to the Cinnabon if you actually walked?).  Elizabeth nudged me to say “Prime celebrity touch at three o’clock.”  I quickly looked at two o’clock, because Elizabeth is always late.  What I saw was the back of a man wearing (gasp!) denim on denim.  Jean jacket on top and faded mom jeans on the bottom, rounded out with white senior aerobics sneakers.  This was the “prime celebrity touch?” 

Closer inspection revealed it to be Chris Isaak, smoking hot ’90s crooner and former boyfriend of comedian Margaret Cho (I KNOW!).  The problem was he was about ten people ahead of us in the First Class line, boarding the plane.  This was a major issue because for some horrible act of God, Elizabeth and I were in Coach (why have your forsaken me so, dear Lord? Oh, wait, I know why… never mind.)  So, based on the plane’s configuration, Chris would turn left when he got aboard to go to First Class.  We would turn right to go to Coach.  To rub Kosher sea salt into the wound, Chris would also exit the plane way before us and be long gone before a touch could be secured.  I was crest fallen… ok, not really, because at that time I didn’t have any hair to crest, but I was not happy.  Oh what a Wicked Game Chris Isaak was playing on me.

I sat there in my Coach seat (at least it was United Economy Plus) weeping over the missed Celebrity Touch™ opportunity.  Elizabeth tried to console me with ridiculously staged photos of Tori Spelling and her family in OK! Magazine, but even that didn’t lift my spirits.  Then, something miraculous happened:  I became acutely aware that around us were musicians.  It was Chris Isaak’s band.  Celebrity Touch™ saved!  How, you might ask?  Because as a band, they carry instruments, which means they need to go to baggage claim, and at JFK, our destination, you have to walk through baggage claim to exit the airport.  So, unless Chris Isaak was an ass and would leave without waiting for his band, I would encounter him again at JFK baggage claim.  I gave myself a virtual high five, and dried my digital tears (Remember: real tears streak your makeup, so those in the know always cry digital tears).

Sure enough, as we walked through baggage claim, there was Chris Isaak, completely unguarded.  I strolled behind him, gave him a little tap in the buttocks region and continued on my merry way.  Hope (and no, I don’t mean the girl from Days of Our Lives) had kept the Celebrity Touch™ alive.   

I Touched La Toya Jackson - A Choice Must Be Made

There comes a time in your life when everyone is faced with a Kobayashi Maru scenario (digital high five to all my nerds out there) or what some might call “the no win scenario.” You know what I am talking about: like when you go to Panda Express and you see there isn’t quite enough Orange Chicken under the heat lamps to fill your plate, so if you choose it you know it will be tasty, but you also know you won’t be full. OK, that’s a bad example, because I am never full after Chinese food. Of course, Panda Express isn’t really Chinese food, now is it? Where was I going with this? Anyway, you are often faced with situations where you have to make a split second decision between two equally bad or good choices, and if you pick one direction you will surely not get the other choice. This happens in celebrity touching all the time, particularly if there are multiple targets in the vicinity. (Did any of what I just wrote make sense?)

Recently, I was faced with one of these situations. Two celebrity touch targets of equal value heading in opposite directions. Which to choose? I was at an event in Hollywood, which is a small ghetto west of Pasadena. Now, this event was filled with a gaggle of “B” and “C” level celebrities. And what I love about the “B’s” and “C’s” is that they haven’t perfected their avoidance maneuvers very well, so touching them is like taking razor blades from a baby. For example, the entire cast of “Glee” walked by me this night including (SPOILER ALERT!) the guy in the wheelchair. Please note that I said “walked by”… sorry to shatter your belief of Hollywood being a bastion of moral fortitude. They walked by single file – such a rookie maneuver - so all I had to do is stand with my hand out slightly (I like to use the back of my hand in these situations for obvious reasons) and I touched every single one of them. By the way, one of them had razor stubble on his arms. I am just sayin’…

Lots of touches this night: every generic girl from “The Hills;” Adam Lampert and the other guy who won but no one knows from “American Idol;” Mya from “Dancing with the Stars No One Cares About;” Jenna “Could I be any more adorable” Fisher from “The Office;” and Joel McHale from “The Soup.” And by the way, for the record, Joel says he looks nothing like me, as some have proclaimed.

While all of this child’s play celebrity touching was going on, I sensed a change in the atmosphere amongst the crowd. The “B’s” and “C’s” were on high alert. Someone of significance had entered the room. Was it Charo??? Scanning the crowd, I quickly found the individual causing the stir. Levi Johnston, the sire of the bastard grandson of Sarah Palin, was in the house. Just days before he showed his moose rifle for Playgirl magazine, here was Levi, fully clothed, looking terribly awkward at this celebrity free for all. Levi, the man who had touched the Palin family in a way no one else ever had (to our knowledge…. Although that Bristol Palin looks like a freewheelin’ tramp) quickly became the prime celebrity touch target of the evening. Unfortunately, he was completely on the other side of the room.

I handed my SKYY White Russian to my concubine Elizabeth and made my way through the sea of people, which proved to be rather difficult; like Britney Spears trying to navigate through a Burger King drive thru. It took me several minutes to get across the room, and by the time I did, Levi was on the move, heading to the VIP room. I had to act fast. I planned my trajectory and noticed a sizable crowd gathering around Miley Cyrus’s ex boyfriend (why? And was he really wearing a tank top after 6 pm indoors?).

This commotion was blocking my quickest route to Levi, so I darted behind the bar and made my way past the bartenders through an opening at the other end of the bar. Levi was within grasp… perhaps 10 yards away, but he was about to enter the VIP room. One quick burst of speed should do it… and…that’s when it happened: Fricking La Toya Jackson walked within five feet of me. I am not exactly sure where La Toya ranks on the celebrity “A” through “F” scale, but she is a prime touching target, even with that nose. The problem was, she was heading out of the VIP room to the exit, surrounded by bodyguards.

So, here is where I had to make my choice. No matter who I chose, the other one would surely get away. In a split second, I made up my mind: La Toya could plastic surgery her way to the great freak factory in the sky tomorrow. I may never have the chance again. So, I broke off pursuit of Levi and, racing over, I got close enough to La Toya to do the classic “Where the heck’s the bathroom in this place?” graze-by elbow touch with full pinkie extension. Happily, when I touched her, nothing fell off. I had secured my La Toya Jackson touch, just as I watched Levi disappear into the shadowy vortex that was the VIP room, a place from whence he never emerged. I left that evening with my first Jackson family touch, but no Levi. I was pleased but not fulfilled. I left the party and immediately retreated to the nearest Panda Express.