Seeing Stars

I grew up in good ol' Modesto in California's Central Valley. Modesto's claims to fame are, unfortunately, wife and baby killer Scott Peterson and scandalous Ex-Congressman Gary Condit. Lovely.

Needless to say, when I moved to Malibu (prime celebrity breeding grounds)for college, it was a thrill to see famous people everywhere, and people who were known for something other than murder at that. It wasn't an everyday thing, but they were definitely around...Cindy Crawford at Malibu Yogurt, Reggie Miller at Pepperdine basketball games, Pam Anderson walking around our hilly campus, Adam Sandler at Coffee Bean, just to name drop a few.

The sightings became a little bit more frequent when I got a job as a medical biller for a physical therapy office. Malibu is a small town so there weren't many options for the local celebs with herniated discs or carpal tunnel, so much of the time they came to us. Nowadays its not uncommon for James and I to turn on the television and for me to say,"Hey I know that guy," or, "There's my buddy from physical therapy." Of course, James (or whomever else I happen to be bragging to) realizes that when I say "know" what I really mean is that I booked an appointment for him through his agent, billed the Screen Actors Guild for his treatment, and gawked awkwardly as he walked past the front desk to the therapist's office. Buuut...I still like to talk about those patients as if they were my besties in a past life. I mean...Macguyver (did I sign a confidentiality agreement...??) did compliment me on my outfit once. I'm sure he treasures that memory as much as I do.

Even though I've seen quite a few celebs, I still find it just as exciting every time I spot one. I still get that jittery rush as if I've just chugged a slurpy from 7-Eleven. I still smile stupidly and think, "Aggh, I should have said ______!" because if only I had just said the right thing, I would have been discovered, recruited, and would be starring in a movie by now...or at least be getting invited on posh vacations in the Mediterranean. If only.

Well this weekend we saw someone who isn't quite a celebrity, but is still an exciting person to run into for a Giant's fan: Aubrey Huff. A Giant. Obviously. My dad and James acted unimpressed (pssh) but my mom and I quickly and excitedly rushed over to him and just as we reached where he was standing, calmed ourselves and casually walked on by while saying, "Go Giants" and "Good luck tonight." We totally gave off the, we-see-Giants-all-the-time-no-big-deal vibe. Cool as cucumbers. Riiiight. Then we walked past him and hid around the corner where we giggled and gushed about how awesome it was. Even though his acknowledgement of "Hey" was not the most endearing or friendly response in the world, it was still a thrill that he said anything at all. But if instead of, "Good luck tonight," I had said, "Good luck tonight, Huff Daddy" maybe he would have thought, What a clever nickname! and invited me and my mom to hang in the dugout with him and the rest of the Giants gang. Oh...what might have been...if only.