My Celebrity Encounter {Proof That I'm A Huge Dork}

As if you needed any more proof than I’ve already provided.

It should be noted, before I begin this story, that I was really into movies as a teenager, so I was pretty familiar with famous actors, even some the more obscure ones. Maybe it was because I knew that I would never in my lifetime join the ranks of the Hollywood elite (because I had no acting skills, but also mainly because I had trouble speaking to anyone I hadn’t known for at least five years, let alone in front of a camera), but I just really enjoyed all genres of movies and learning useless trivia about actors.

Wouldn’t you know it – this knowledge actually came in handy (well, sort of). When I was 17 I had a summer job working at the front desk of a hotel spa. One morning I arrived a half hour before we were scheduled to open, as usual, and was surprised to find a man already waiting in the lobby. I greeted him (awkwardly, of course), and he said he had an appointment for a massage.

“Ok,” I said. “For what time?”

“6:30,” he said.

Huh? It was 6:30, and we weren’t open yet.

“Um…oh…really? We don’t open until 7:00.” I fumbled around as I located the schedule book. “You’re sure it was for 6:30?”

He seemed certain, so I checked the schedule, and sure enough someone had written “Patton - 6:30” at the top of the page. It was even underlined. Weird, I had worked the evening before and no one had informed me of this.

I kept stealing glances at him. He was a very regular looking guy, but there was something oddly familiar about him. I honestly felt like I knew him. This made it even more awkward because I felt like I should know his name – like perhaps he worked in the hotel, and I just didn’t recognize him because he wasn’t wearing his uniform.

I mumbled an awkward apology and told him I needed to go downstairs to get my cash drawer. He seemed very patient and forgiving of my awkwardness, and as I hurried off, I wondered why this polite, quiet man was special enough to get a massage before we opened. Surely, he must work here in another department, and I will be terribly embarrassed when I finally figure out who he is.

When I returned to the spa, I saw that my boss and coworkers had arrived and Mr. Patton was quickly being ushered into the massage area. Relieved, I took my place behind the counter and began setting up my register.

“Did you know that guy is in movies?” my boss remarked to my coworker.

“Really?” she said.

“Yeah, he’s an actor.”

And then, just like that, it clicked. Patton. WILL Patton.

Photo - www.StarsColor.com

“Yeah, he was in Armaggeddon. He was the guy who left the toy space shuttle for his son.”

WHAT? That’s all you people know about him? You do not know the treasure that is lying on a massage table just beyond those doors.

“Oh, that’s my son’s favorite movie! I’ll have to get his autograph.”

WHAT? You don’t even know the epicness of this guy. The Postman. Gone In Sixty Seconds. Remember The Titans.

WILL. FREAKING. PATTON

Anxiety swelled up within me. I only had one shot at this. One of my favorite actors, and I hoped I hadn’t blown it by my initial stupidity. Sure, I was caught off guard, but I really liked this guy. I needed to let him know.

It felt like an eternity, but he finally exited the massage area and returned to the counter to pay. I rang him up and then handed him a scrap of paper I’d found in my drawer.

“Can I have your autograph?”

He paused. Considering I hadn’t shown any signs of recognition earlier, I’m pretty sure I caught him a little off guard.

“Sure,” he said. He asked me my name and began writing his message. I struggled internally to come up with something wonderful to say…something that would express my profound appreciation for his work…something that he would always remember and carry with him on those long days of shooting when he would doubt himself and question if it was all worth it.

He handed over his precious autograph, and I said the only five words I could think of:

“Can I shake your hand?”

Sheer awesomeness right there.

“Sure,” he said slowly, furrowing his brow in confusion. He was undoubtedly puzzled by my sudden boldness after all of our earlier exchanges.  And probably wondering if I had one of those hidden hand buzzers that clowns carry around.

We shook hands as I grinned like the silly schoolgirl I was, and then my coworker requested an autograph for her young son.

“What’s his name?” he asked.

“Justice,” she said.

“Justice? That’s almost as bad as my parents naming me Will,” he joked.  (I told you he was Epic.)

He signed the autograph, and I thought it couldn’t get any more awkward than it already had been.

Then, as Epic Will turned to leave, my boss pulled out a camera and snapped a picture of him, blinding flash and all.

“HAHA! I got you!” he said.

Oh dear God. The absurdity, make it stop.

“Yeah,” Will said slowly. He gave a hesitant chuckle. “Ya got me.”

The bewildered smile never left his face as he headed out the door, and I’ve always wondered if he went back to his room, called up Denzel, and told him all about his uncomfortable encounter in a small-town hotel bathhouse.

Dearest Will,

If you ever read this, please know that I deeply regret the clumsy nature of our first encounter, and if we ever meet again, I promise to tell you how awesome you are. And I won’t ask to shake your hand. But you can ask me if you want to.

With Fond Memories,

Rachel

Turning My Ineptitude Into Quality Time With Friends

I have always been a terrible artist.

No, really. Like, so bad that my two-year-old daughter can tell I’m no good. So bad that I don’t think my husband has ever not raised an eyebrow when I showed him something I drew. So bad that my stick figures look at me like, “Seriously?”

I’m almost as bad of an artist as I am a singer. You really don’t want to know how bad that is.

So I don’t know why I got it in my head to start playing Draw Something, the iPad app that’s like Pictionary. I guess it’s because no one will play Words With Friends with me. And that’s just as well because it would probably be like grade school all over again when I won too many spelling bees and everyone hated me.

The great thing about Draw Something is that everyone cheats, so you don’t have to be good at it. Perfect for artistically-challenged me.

The way it works is you choose from three different words – easy, medium, or hard – and then use your finger to make the drawing on the screen. The picture then gets sent to the other player, and he/she watches the screen as the drawing is made. Once the correct guess is made, he/she chooses a word and makes a drawing that gets sent back to you.

No one follows any rules, so it gets pretty funny. People often write word clues, and sometimes they just give up and write the answer. And even if it’s a really hard one to guess, you are given letters to unscramble, so it’s not like it’s all that difficult.

It’s just fun. I mean, who doesn’t like drawing silly pictures and laughing at each other?
Even so, I’m still really, really, really bad at drawing. So my cheat? I often google images of my words so I have something to look at while I’m drawing.

Because if I don’t, they end up looking something like this:

Yet when I do use the Internet for inspiration, I can sometimes end up with a gem like this:

Yeah, I’m super proud of that guy. That’s the best it’s ever going to get for me.

But more often than not, I just get really ridiculous:

And, since I have a two-year-old genius who is more proficient with the iPad than I am, it was only a matter of time before she got sneaky and joined in the fun. You'll notice she also used my coins to purchase a new palette of colors. Oy.

I’m impressed. Her word was ‘Pegasus’. I mean, that is a way better constellation than I could ever draw. And she didn’t even use the Internet.

A special shout out to all of you who have stuck with playing with me for this long. I commend you.

*Note* This is not a product endorsement. I was not paid to write this. But clearly, as evidenced by the images above, I did not need to tell you that.