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.