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.