So what's your story? We all have one. Our brush with greatness; the time we were so close to a star our flesh pealed with third degree joy. I've had several; I lived in LA. It's fine. Stars are just like everybody else, only better. You'll know one when you bump one. They'll tell you.
"You touched me. I felt my charisma ooze away. You know who I am right?"
BAM! Out comes the latest signed DVD and a cardboard standup. I'm impressed. I never ask where they keep these things. They're always so warm...
I think I'm the biggest star I know. No, really. I'm unknown sure, but I so have the personality for it. What do we need? Pride: check, vanity: check, aloofness: check, inappropriate behavior: check. I might as well be Tom Cruise!
Oh man, I am so getting hate mail for that one...
I dunno. I never really got into the whole star culture. Maybe that's why I woke up one day in the trunk of a car on the outskirts of Milwaukee. I think if you can plot a point in the universe farthest from all stars, it is Milwaukee. Nobody lives there except Joni and Chachi. Laverne and Shirley lived there once, but before you could say "hossinfefferincorperated" they took off to make their dreams come true. Where did they go? That's right: LA.
I've since moved back. Or at least as close as I can stand. If Hollywood is the face of glamour, you can find me in the armpit of your SoCal Google Map pin-up. I'm one of the fur tufts begging for attention. Say hi, I'm the musky follicle in the right field of anonymity.
That's what's great about being in a relationship. It's more than a hair brush with greatness. When you're with the right person, you are greatness. MyUnwife and I were like that for a while. My stupid jokes: funny. Her need to crush souls: endearing. Ok, she didn't have that need, it was more of a hobby really. Ok, not really at all. I'm just being bitter and funny. I'm sure somewhere she's sharpening a fillet knife laughing her ass off.
So we weren't Jerry Maguire "you complete me" great. We had our own greatness. It was more like a mutual "You acknowledge that I complete me. You can stay." Scenting the world with pride and vanity are survival tools for the lone wolf, but for the lap dog, they'll only get you a nose-full of newspaper. And in the end, I think that that's what we found: two dogs unwilling to sniff each others butt one last time.
We did have our brush with greatness though. Yeah, it was in Las Vegas. We spent our anniversary in an elevator with C.C. Deville, from Poison. Ok, not the whole anniversary. We did take up the whole elevator though. He was standing in the back corner arguing with some woman who leaned against the other corner. I'm guessing wife, but I don't know enough about his personal life to speculate. MyUnwife and I took the corners to the front.
I don't even really remember what they were arguing about; I was in my own world, MyUnwife in hers. All I remember is the couple looked road worn. They fought, but not in a to-prove-a-point way, it was more like some formality—like a routine. Sort of like 2 neighboring tribes that get up every morning, walk to the edge of the river that separates their villages, throw rocks at each other for 15 minutes, and then return home for a hunting-gathering funfest.
Don't look these tribes up. You won't find them. They don't come from Milwaukee, and they aren't famous. There's no anthropological precedence, just you and me, and we're regular people. Ok, you're regular, I'm still a smelly tuft sprouting from the pit of greatness.
I had bigger brushes with greatness when I was alone in LA. I think the one I remember most is the one I'm least proud of. I was working retail in the OC where all the extras hang out waiting for camera time. I managed an electronics department with TVs and video cameras.
Moths to flame, baby. Moths to flame…
There was this young part time girl (part time job, not part time girl) in the china department who'd come over and talk. She was an actress. I didn't recognize her, but that didn't make her a liar. Not in SoCal. Besides, it's Rob's world, all the rest of you might as well live in Wisconsin. This girl was from somewhere closer though. Probably a Shirley Temple dimple on the cheek. I don't remember her well, except she was cute and young. I didn't realize how young until much later. No! Nothing happened. I'm a self absorbed creep, not a guy who picks up on little girls.
I am the guy who says inappropriate things to little girls though. And we were only beating back borrowed time; my mouth was bound to say something really fun soon. It did. That happened one day when she wandered over to my department and started talking to one of my sales guys. She must have been on break, because she had one of those globe shaped lollipops in her cheek. I knew her manager, she'd never have allowed that. Then again, maybe that's why she was hanging out in my department. I let my guys talk to anyone while working the floor. I'm not sure what their conversation was about, but I knew it wasn't about me. That needed to change. So I did what I usually do: I said "look at me, I'm gonna say something incredibly stupid."
I don't remember what I said, but I do remember it had to do with the lollipop. Yeah, it was wrong. I didn't know what my lips had done until I looked at hers. The lollipop was gone; her lower jaw rested against her throat. Realizing what I'd said, I flipped to page 5 of Rob's Book of Common Apologies.
"I am so sorry…"
I've always remembered her because she's the girl who could have gotten me fired for being stupid and offensive—two of my more endearing traits. A few months ago I was having a self-analytical moments. It seems that divorce is full of those moments. I wondered what ever happened to the young actress. Had she gone on to greatness? And before you ready yourself for the Reese Witherspoon punchline, let me say this: That's not her. As best as I could tell she hadn't done anything recently. I did recognize her though, from work she'd done before I met her.
Her name was Maia Brewton. Go ahead Google Maia's star. Wait, before you do, let me swear she was much older than the first pictures you'll see, and no, she wasn't wearing the tell-tale Thor helmet. I'd have remembered that. (I tried to get MyUnwife to wear one of those once.) Yeah, that's right. The highlight of Rob's young life was harassing the little girl from Adventures in Babysitting. I am so cool. I told you I was a star.
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