Friday, January 30, 2009

Melissa's Fake Dialogues with Celebrities: Brad Pitt & Angelina Jolie

Those of you who know me in real life know that I have a super creepy wealth of celebrity knowledge. The same mechanism in my brain that allows me to kick my Nan's ass at Jeopardy by remembering really random facts about really random things has also allowed me to retain a catalogue of the minutiae of celebrity gossip from the past 10 years or so.

Also, if you've seen the storage space under the stairs in my apartment you know it's filled with back issues of People Magazine and US Weekly dating back to 2003 that I re-read periodically for fun. So, there's also that. (I call it the National Geographic collection for stupid, vain people: just as many exposed boobs, -50% of the educational value!)

So in an effort to put all that knowledge and history to good use and also for a laugh, I've come up with a little weekly pop culture post I've so aptly titled "Melissa's Fake Dialogues with Celebrities" wherein I'll be imagining what a conversation between myself and a given celebrity would probably be like. Exciting, right?

Naturally, in my many years of gossip-following, I've read more about Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie than I have about any other celebrity couple. I get it - not only are they the world's most beautiful people, but they keep popping out the world's most beautiful babies in exotic locales around the world. They are also, like, super philanthropic and shit and in some pretty good movies too. Mostly, I think of them in my lowest moments and say "What the fuck, God?", cause you know some people just have all the luck and it's not fair.

Thusly, here's what I imagine a dialogue between Hollywood's hottest couple and yours truly would be like. Enjoy.

Melissa: Hello! Hello Brad, hello Angelina!
Angelina Jolie: Please, call me Angie.
M: (Dies.) Alright, Angie. So you both have had an incredible year what with your double Oscar nominations and double bundles of joy! Have you picked out your dress yet, Angie?
A: We've been so busy with Brad's promotion schedule and the kids that I really haven't had the chance to think that far ahead yet. I'm sure I'll have something picked out in the coming weeks, though.
Brad Pitt: What I love about Angie is that she has such an eye for the exact thing that looks good on her. She can look at a dozen dresses and within 5 minutes have something absolutely perfect selected.
M: I've noticed that you've been coordinating your outfits lately. Any plans to do that on Oscar night, as well?
B: It's funny, we were looking at pictures from the SAG awards the other day and realized that we unintentionally wore matching outfits. We don't plan it that way, we swear!
M: Do you guys even wear matching underwear? Cause I could totally picture you Brad in some, like, super tight bulge-hugging boxer briefs that...
B: (Interrupting.) Excuse me?
M: Sorry. Sorry! Um, moving on. Both of you have done a lot of philanthropic work around the world. Angie you even went to Iraq recently. What was that experience like?
A: Is your hand on Brad's knee?
M: (Pauses.) No? (Removes hand from Brad's knee.)
A: (Clears her throat.) Well. (Stern glare.) Iraq was a really eye-opening experience for me. The people there are so loving and joyful, despite these terribly destitute conditions that they are subject to. I only wish that - what are you doing?
B: (To Angie.) I think... I think she's doing lunges? (To Melissa.) Are you doing lunges?
M: (Lunging.) Yes?
A: (Confused.) What... what for?
M: (Lunging.) It... helps me loosen up? I'm... I'm just really nervous.
B: Well could you stop please, it's making me uncomfortable.
M: Oh. Well, sure. (Stops lunging.) Soooooooooooooooo. Did you guys know I was on a plane with Michael Cera from LA to Toronto once? I took his picture while he was filling out his customs forms and he was super pissed...
B: That's really intrusive, you know! I think we're just about done here.
M: Oh yeah, that's right! You once had a paparazzo take a shot of your wang while you were out naked on your deck or something, right? I saw those! I mean, all things told... not bad, my friend, not bad! (Nudges Angelina conspiratorially.) Right? Am I right?
A: (Getting up.) We're leaving. Brad?
B: You're a psycho. We're out. (They exit quickly.)
M: But wait! I didn't get to ask you if you guys will adopt me yet! Guys? Angie? Brad? ... Oh.

Something like that. I have a feeling it that most of the awkwardness that would be there in person doesn't really translate to the page, though.

Tune in next week when I fake sit down with another celebrity and have a fake dialogue with them about fake stuff.


Saturday, January 24, 2009

Improv, Scientology, And My New Favourite Celebrity

Monday brings us to the final chapter of my adventure in California - it was goodbye to my friends and off to LA for a solo couple of days in the city that's stolen my heart.

After a delicious and nutricious (cough) lunch at In-N-Out, I was on the road. I got off to a later start so I didn't get into the city until nearly dinnertime, putting me majorly behind schedule. I had planned to visit the Hollywood sign and hit up Robertson Boulevard (ie the place where all the paparazzi live) this trip since I didn't see either the last time but by the time I got in and dropped my stuff off at my cousin's, it was nearly dark and time for dinner, so it was off to Pink Taco for the little piece of heaven called crispy mini beef tacos. (There are so many vagina jokes to be made in that sentence...)

After tacos, I headed east across Franklin Avenue to the Upright Citizens Brigade theatre. Some of you might remember me mentioning the UCB back in the halcyon Michael Cera days when he hosted a live theatre version of the show during the writer's strike at the UCB theatre in NYC. I've always been down with the UCB because my very favourite nerd used to improv there, and it lists Amy Poehler, David Cross, and Jack McBrayer as alumni (fun fact! Amy Poehler actually co-founded the UCB!). I had no clue they had a West Coast branch until the guy who runs my improv school (Impatient Theatre Company what?) told me to check it out. And boy, was that a good idea.

I rolled up to the theatre about 5 minutes before the 9pm show and there is a throng of people mulling about outside. I quickly ascertained that Monday is the busiest night at the UCB and if you don't have a reservation, you probably won't get in... which is exactly what happened to me. I was able to confirm a spot at the 11pm show though, jet lag be damned.

The area that the theatre is in is ecclectic - beautiful old apartment buildings built into the hills, trendy restaurants, and yet lots of sketchy people who skulk about. The biggest eye-catcher, though, was this:

It spans about half a city block and is by far the biggest, strangest building of its kind that I've ever seen. It was clear to me, as I stood watching it from across the street, that it was not a business, not a hotel, not a house: it was a weird blend between the three. Simply put, it stands out - and not just because of the giant sign affixed to the roof reading "Scientology Celebrity Centre".

Oh, yes. You read that right. It was the Scientology Celebrity Centre. As soon as I read that, it alllll made sense.

Apparently the building used to be called the Chateau Elysee and was a popular hotel/celebrity hang out back in the 20s and 30s. As for what they do there now? It sounds like they try to convert people and hold lavish parties where you may or may not see Travoltas or Cruises. Check out this interesting article by the New Yorker - it's fairly long, but it runs down all the basic stuff about Scientology, its presense in LA, and the history of the castle. A very interesting read.

Also interesting was that there was security up the wazoo patrolling it. I was a little afraid to take pictures but surprisingly I was given no trouble. Although, my name is probably on some super-secret list somewhere and my phone tapped... Maybe they'll start monitoring my blog and up my readership? 'Cause I would be down with that, just saying.

(Also interesting is that this same security force shot and killed a man last November outside of the the Chateau. At first, I was all, "WTF Scientology!", but then I found out that dude was weilding double machetes and was trying to kill them first. So, I mean, I get it.)

Moving on from my creepy Scientology discovery, the show at the UCB was great. I saw my first and only celebrity at the show. I mean, he's no James Van Der Beek, but I recognized him right away and got super excited: Paul Scheer!

(For those not as obsessed as me, he's the one on the right beside Jack McBrayer).

Paul Scheer played Donny Lawson opposite Jack McBrayer's Kenneth Parcell on 30 Rock. So technically I was, like, one degree away from Tina Fey!

But wait - there's more. I was also technically one degree away from My Ex-Boyfriend Michael Cera! Paul is starring alonside My Ex-Boyfriend Michael Cera in a movie called Year One that comes out in June. Dude, this is getting a little too coincidental, right?

Alsoooo... In perusing the performers section of the UCB-LA website, I see that My Ex-Boyfriend Michael Cera's current real-life (and, I assume, non-airplane stalker) girlfriend performs there. All I have to say is thank God she wasn't there that night because I'm pretty sure she'd recognize me as the creepy picture-taker that ruined Her Real-Life Boyfriend Michael Cera's trip home. Um? Phew.

So the show as great - it was more multi-media/stand-up than improv, but it was good to see nonetheless. Also, there were a lot of innapropriate dirty pictures, which always make me laugh (think old dude threeway. Not joking!).

I also learned something very important at this show - everyone in Hollywood is either famous or works for someone famous. As I was standing in line before the show, this group of people about my age were chatting about the improv classes they were taking at the UCB and apparently one girl was Adam McKay's (another UCB alum, heavy hitter in the comedy world, and married to Jeremy Piven's sister) yoga teacher (extra interesting because she mentioned she was Canadian and working there illegally!) and another guy worked for Steven Spielberg. For really! I intend to try and prove this theory as soon as possible and will, of course, keep you posted.

Now on to Tuesday! I spent the day in Culver City, trying desperately to get a bit of a tan outside the Bonnie Hunt Show studio while waiting for my taping to begin. This was my second (and third, since I went to two tapings in one day this time around) time seeing the show and I have to say, it cemented her as my new favourite celebrity. She is honestly one of the nicest and least affected people I've ever met - and to be able to say that about someone who has lived and worked in Hollywood is one of the most remarkable occurances in the world, I think. She was so genuinely interested in what people had to say and really very caring and outgoing. Not to mention that she's fucking hilarious - her off the cuff comments to guests (both on and off the air) had me in stitches the entire day.

Also interesting was that I got to chat with her briefly and mention the "no-end job" story to her: apparently one of her staff members also gets hilarious half-insulting messages from her mom (about her haircut and how it's not as cute as the haircuts the celebrity guests on the show have). I was super nervous (it's so weird - the first time I met her I was pretty chill, but this time I started shaking a little - not Michael Cera-level or anything - and got a little tongue tied. I guess I get randomly affected by certain celebrities in certain moments? Or perhaps my airport incident has taken the wind out of my sails a little?) so it didn't come out totally right, but she got the gist and laughed a little. More than that though, she just seems so genuinely interested in what everyone has to say. She chatted with this guy about doggy dandruff for like 10 minutes!

If you don't watch her show, you should. Trust me.

After my TV-filled afternoon, I decided to go to In-N-Out for my last California meal and then drive through the hills for the rest of the evening. Now, in theory I thought this was a great idea - drive around, relax, get a feel for the city, and take in the beautiful lights from up above. In practice? It was absolutely fucking terrifying. I was driving up hills that were so steep they were practically vertical. At night. By myself. Without a GPS or a map.

I'm not going to lie, there may have been a little poop dans le pants at certain points.

In the end though, it was pretty worth it. I took Laurel Canyon all the way across the mountains and into the Valley. I know a lot of people complain about the Valley, but I didn't think it was that bad. It felt like Burlington or Mississauga: not quite at the centre of things, but close enough and easy to get around in. I cut back the same way and then drove both East and West through Mulholland drive and caught some of the nicest views of the city and of the Hollywood sign. Unfortunately they don't light up the sign at night (why???) and they don't let you stop to take pictures (damn you park ranger and your stupid flashy flashlight!) so I don't have much to offer in the way of stunning photographic evidence, but here's an idea of what it looked like:

All in all, it was another lovely trip to a lovely city. I know most of the world hates LA, but if you loathe with your entire being the cold and snow like I do, you would understand why I love it. In fact, you could throw me in a ghetto in Calcutta and I would probably love it more than living in Toronto in the winter (minus the infectious diseases but plus all the naan I can eat!).

Which brings me to my big announcement: I am going to move to LA next January. That gives me a year to get my poop in a group (poup in a group? poop in a groop?), save up some cash, find a job (if possible) and a place to live and pack up the kitties and go. I figured January is a perfect time because I'll be here for Christmas and yet will miss most of the winter's worst. I keep saying things like "hopefully" and "probably" and "aiming for" but I keep correcting myself to refer to this in the definitive or else I think I'll chicken out and not go. It's actually a pretty scary move for me, even though I want it so badly. Damn Canada for not having some sort of better job-share arrangement with the US so I could just move there in a flash and not have to worry about being an illegal alien. But anyways, there it is. Out in the blogosphere for all the world to read and hold me to.

So please, hold me to it okay? Also, find me a way to work there legally while you're at it. Thanks.

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

It's Like Licking a King Kong Dong

I was up at the asscrack of dawn on Sunday, still suffering badly from jetlag and lured outside by the call of the waves again. I took a morning stroll on the beach and got to see the sun rise from the other side.

Sunday is always when it hits me: this long weekend of fun is only a weekend and it's almost over. Thusly, I try to cram in as much beeetch and beach time as I can in a semi-successful attempt to slow down time.

The day started off with our post-LRC family breakfast. This year instead of cooking at home we went to the Hill Street Cafe. The word on the street was, and I quote, "The food is good, but the service horribly slow". When we got there and our laid-back California dude waiter had this conversation with Cat, I knew those assessments were startingly accurate:

Cat: We need a table for 12, please.
Dude: Sure thing! I'll go set one up!
He takes off upstairs and we chat amongst ourselves for 20 minutes.
Dude: (back) So I've got a table of 12 for you guys upstairs! But with 15 of you, it'll be tight...
Cat: (pauses) ...But we're 12.
Dude: (pauses) ... Oh yeah. Well come on up then!

It was an epic 2-hour meal, made worth it by my delicious garlic toast and Scott's creative sausage eating abilities. (I'm sensing a theme to this post?)

After Hill Street we hit the beach, hard. I soaked up some rays for an hour or so and then we got to work on burying Scott and Brian in the sand. We drew upon our personal experiences (??!) and crafted some creative anatomy for both. Nothing says "long weekend on the beach!" like big fake sand jugs and rotund coke can hogs, right?

A few of us even braved the water again this year. Don't get me wrong, it stings it's so cold at first - but your body has a weird way of getting used to it so eventually you just go comfortably numb. It's kinda nice. I boogied boarded (without as much success this year as last) and ate it in a couple of big waves (I think I'm still coughing up salt water?). Even though all the Californians on the beach thought we were nuts, it was totally worth it - after all, the water temperature is still warmer than the air outside back in Toronto.

After swimming and getting ready, we did a mad clean up of the house and got ready for family photos on the beach. The sunset on Sunday was the best of the weekend - the kind that is so red and pink and orange that you almost want to spread some sugar on it and save half of it for breakfast the next morning.

The photos turned out great - I'm glad I have a group of friends that likes to be photographed as much as I like to take photographs. Also, they are very open to me calling out orders at them, such as "Go TOWARDS the wave!" and "Okay, pretend you are in High School Musical!" All in all, it works.

Billy came over for some more family photos (and was very impressed at how different ie clean and orderly the house looked...) and then it was off to Mueller for his show. We all rocked the mats along the wall this year, which was kinda nice for a change. Mostly because we a. were all together and b. not sitting at the back because Johnny holds the first 179303 rows for his pals.

Billy was in fine form as usual, making us laugh with random jokes and his love for king kong dongs (you might as well not ask 'cause even if you did, I doubt you'd be able to get an answer...). We finally got to hear Dawn Mitschele live - it was a treat for all (but especially for Scott). I'm also loving Billy's new songs - particularly the one about William Blake. He says it's hard for him to sing because he has to be vulnerable, which is why I think I like it so much - 'cause it comes from the heart. It also references the shitty economy and any song that can do that and still make me smile is tops in my books.


After the show we hugged Billy and band goodbye (and word on the street is that Scott got a special hug from a special lady who, if she ever goes through Missoula, is to look him up post haste so he can hook her up with some peeps) and we were back to the beach. I wish I could tell you more about the post-show party, but I fell asleep like the grandma I am.

All in all, it was the loveliest of lovely Sundays. If only all my days were like that - sandy, sweet, and sleepful (still jet-lagged!).

I'm in LA now and will recap my day yesterday later this evening (hint: it involved In-N-Out and Scientology!). I also saw my first celebrity and have several more observations to make about LA.

Alright, I'm off to The Griddle and then a taping of the Bonnie Hunt show. Send me good "free audience gift" vibes!

Sunday, January 18, 2009

Jet Lag, Sunsets, and Living Rooms

I. Am. So. JETLAGGED. Yeesh. I am going to try to be as coherent as I can be, but I make no promises about grammar, spelling, or sensicality (or making up words).

I was up at 6am yesterday, my body working on East Coast time and my mind racing with all the possibilities that lay ahead. I tried to get back to sleep, but finally the call of the ocean got me out of bed and out enjoying a cup of jasmine tea on the patio. A shower and a car ride later and we're at a local coffee house enjoying their myriad herbal tea choices and mate lattes. It was a colourful place - very Californian: dude with dreads serving us our hot beverages, local art hanging on the walls, laid back folks chit chatting and enjoying the company, food, and music. The best part was the group of eccentric locals outside enjoying a hula hoop party. What a weird bunch.........

Back from brunch, it was off to get groceries for the night's festivities and then lay out on the beach. I tried to nap off my jet lag but the water sports and guitar playing and frisbee taking kept be awake. Actually, that's a lie. The constant calls for "Melissa! Get out your camera and take a picture of me doing this!" kept me awake. I'm lucky that I have such a good group of photogenic (and jumpy?) friends, huh?

That would be Scott taking not one but two major wipe outs while trying to boogie board

Improvised bongos

All in all, it was an afternoon well-spent. I tanned a little (sort of a miracle for this pasty Canadian) and got in some quality sing-a-long time with friends. There was also some sort of a pirate ship situation going on at sea? I don't really know what that was about but it was fun to be a part of nonetheless.

After tanning and pirate ship-ing, it was time to get ready for our Living Room Concert (LRC). For those who don't know, our group of friends gathers together yearly in San Diego for an in-home concert featuring local musican/accoustic rhymer/all around cool guy Billy "Bushwalla" Galewood. Basically, he comes over to our beach house with his band (ie group of his friends) and plays an intimate show for us in our living room.

Yeah, I know. Pretty awesome.

This year's show was definitely the quirkiest - a cover of the Big Bopper's Chantilly Lace, an impromptu Jackson 5 sing-a-long, and an angry giraffe all made appearances. There was also some web cam dancing, some Conor-take-your-shirt-off-ing, and some spaghetti (speghetti, if you spell like Kristie)-humping. We got to hear a few of Billy's new songs and J did a 4-song interlude, which left the group both thankful and a little teary. I think we all really appreciate the fact that he shows up at all, so when he is gracious enough to play for us as well I know it leaves us all a little overwhelmed.

I think the overall reaction to this year's show was a mix of relief (things got too big last year and sort of lost the intimate feel) and feel-goodiness (jet lag!). It was nice to take things back to the style of our first year's LRC, though I can definitely say that we can never re-capture the innocence and authenticity of that experience again. That was the first time I met many of the people I now consider to be my close friends, it was my first trip to California, and my first time seeing Billy live. We had no clue what to expect and we were blown away by the whole thing. Now that we're old hat at this, we settle into our routines and know where to look to make things happen. It's nice, just not as thrilling-at-every-turn like it was before.

The only bummer about the whole night (and weekend) is that a few of our group are missing. I was happy we could web cam them in last night (and frankly, they got a LOT more love that way!), but I know we all wish that they were here with us. I think next year we'll all be back together again.

So that's our Saturday in a nutshell. We've got the Mueller College show tonight and then we all go off our seperate ways tomorrow. I'm off to LA to spend a couple of days at Sunset and Fairfax eating giant pancakes and then it's back to reality (it's going to be oh so very, very real!) for me.

Friday, January 16, 2009

California Part 1: How to Pack for a 40 Degree Temperature Difference

This morning, Toronto:
It was minus -30 with the windchill. I was up at 3.45am and at the airport by 5am - only to find that my flight to Chicago had been delayed and I would miss my connection to San Diego. Fuck.

This morning, Chicago:
It is still -30 with the windchill. But I got on the next flight to San Diego and even got upgraded to a seat with extra legroom and priority access boarding group. Also, I had bacon and corn bread muffins, so things are looking up.

This afternoon, San Diego:
Fuck, it's warm here!

So far, so good. We've hit Trader Joe's (my first visit! Verdit? I am in LOVE!), Jack in the Box (I must have my Oreo milkshake!), and the beach. Now we're relaxing inside our beach condo as the rest of our little family trickles in, enjoying some, um, herbal cigarettes and some cookies and some ocean sounds and some sneaking up on people while they are writing blogs and trying to scare them (not naming any names, Amy).

Not much more to report...... yet! Tomorrow is our infamous living room concert and we've got a day of beaching and laughing and keeping Melissa away from Target-ing.

I expect big things things. I expect big things!

A fun sign I spotted on the I-5 near our exit. Best euphamism ever?

Tabatha heading back in after a sunset swim

Barefeet! In January!

Amy, Kristie, and Sara in the first of many portraits that I am sure I'll take this weekend.

I call this one "Three Rocks On The Beach" because it's of three rocks on the beach.

Boogie Boarding! Will I be brave enough to go in tomorrow? Keep checking back to see!

Alright. Time to go stuff my face with cheese curds down by the ocean. Ahhh, I could get used to this!

Sunday, January 11, 2009

The Mom Giveth

Picture it: tonight, 10.45PM. I just return home from my improv show at the Savannah Room and see the message light on my phone blinking. "Fuck," I think to myself, "It's probably my mom. I told her 70 times that I had an improv show tonight, and yet she calls anyways!"

Annoyed, I check the message and, sure enough, it's her. Below is a transcript (verbatim) of what she said:

Hi, just me. Sitting here thinking about you as I'm watching Being Erica. She reminds me of you! She's got a Masters Degree and she's in a no-end job! What? What did you say Brian? Oh yeah, dead end job. Anyways. There are more similarities. Except that she's 32 and you're 27. Anyways. Hello Sofia! Hello Bella! [my cats] Love you! Byeeee!

I guess the old saying really is true: the mom giveth (she said I was young!), and the mom taketh away (you're doing nothing with your life!).

Thursday, January 08, 2009

A Riddle

What is:

-full of music
-jam-packed with friends from around the US
-home to giant pancakes, random celebrity sightings, old men excersizing, Pink Taco, Britney's vadge
-one week away

If you guessed my brain, I give you half a point (because, unfortunately for all of us, my brain is always present. Always!).

If you guesse California, I give you a full point.

What do you get with your points, you ask? Nothing. Except, of course, the joy of being able to guess really obvious answers. You go, you!

So yes, I am going back to California next week, and I really can't wait (even though it feels like I was just there.. maybe it's 'cause I was?)! I head down to San Diego first for a weekend of music, friends, and beach (ie heaven). Me and my Jason Mraz friends all meet up every year on the Martin Luther King weekend (MLK) and throw a Bushwalla Living Room Concert (LRC) in our rented house on the beach (known as the MLK LRC... a creative bunch we are!). This will be the third anual trip and though we've switched up some of the details (I'd like to call it ironing out the kinks) and some of our friends can't make it, I think it'll be our best yet. Mooooostly because I'll have my camera and am going to take so many freaking pictures this year that I'm going to have a permanent camera-indent around my eye.

After San Diego, Rikki & I are going to head back to LA to hunker down in WeHo and visit some of our favourite haunts from last trip (The Griddle, Pink Taco) for a couple of days. Rikki is going to take me to The Hotel Cafe and I'm going to take her to the iOWest & The Bonnie Hunt Show. It's going to be like the last LA trip, but she won't leave mid-way through and it will be condensed into 2 fun-filled days. Oh, and hopefully Rikki will be my witness when I run into random famous folk on the street (I'm looking at you Mark Ruffalo!).

Anywaysssss. I just wanted to give you all advanced warning so you know to check the blog religiously next weekend/the following week. I promise I'll do a better job of updating daily instead of waiting 2 months to finally finish off describing my trip. This way you can be jealous AS IT HAPPENS. I know, I know. Amazing, right?

And as if that wasn't enough to look forward to, I've started crafting a post about the origin of the phrase "donkey kick". It's more excruciating than the Michael Cera post (though, sadly, 100% less adorable) and it's tried and tested funny so hopefully I'll have that finished and up soon enough.

So keep checking in, folks. There'll be lots going on!


Monday, January 05, 2009

Miracles & Coincidences, or How I Fell Out of Love with You, My Boyfriend Michael Cera

Dear My Boyfriend Michael Cera,

Hey, how are you? I am fine.

So I figured it was about time to write to you and explain my version of events from that fateful day (November 8th, 2008. May We Remember Forever.) when we first and last met. It was a day of miracles, but also a day of confusion and heartache. It was a day of excitement, but also of standing awkwardly clutching your backpack straps while waiting to board the plane and having your picture taken against your will. Hopefully this note will clear the air and let us both move on to greener, more adorable pastures. I'm talking specifically about me here, because I don't know how you can find a fake girlfriend/superfan as adorable as I am. Just saying.

Anyways. So as I'm sure you know from reading my blog (I'm totally bookmarked on your MacBook, right?), I was out in LA for a week and a half, enjoying the sunshine, the random celebrity sightings, and the giant pancakes from The Griddle. It was a week straight out of my dreams and the entire time I kept thinking that the only thing that could have made it better was if I ran into you.

Well, my boyfriend Michael Cera, I guess the Big Guy in the sky must have heard my prayers and threw me a bone on my last day of vacation. I had checked in for my flight home and was relaxing at my gate pre-take off, trying to zen out and not let my anxiety overwhelm me before boarding (I'm a bad flyer - the type that thinks every normal sound is the plane losing an engine and every tilt is the plane doing a nose dive into the Andes, where my corpulence will surely mean that I'll be the first to go. Damn you paranoid personality and cheese!). I normally try to pop a couple of gravols so that I get sleepy and thus don't care so much about silly little things like dying in a horrible plane crash and getting devoured by a soccer team, but wouldn't you know that I had mistakenly packed my gravol in my checked luggage by accident? Of course.

As I was prepping myself to fly for the first time in a long time without my little orange-flavoured chewable friends, I was startled out of my cleansing breaths/calming thoughts routine by this teenage dude behind me asking his buddy, "Hey, isn't that the guy from that show that was on FOX? After The Simpsons?" At the mere mention of a potential celebrity in my midst, I instantly perked up and started eavesdropping hardcore. He carried on to say, "He was in that movie Superbad... you know?" Now, the cynic in me immediately thought, "There is absolutely no way that God would give me Michael Cera in an airport. This is just too big of a dream. It must be some tubby kid that he's mistaking for Jonah Hill." My inner cynic, however, was quickly quieted when his friend responded, "Yeah, the skinny one... What was that show called? Arrested... something. It's totally him right there!"

It was at this point that I completely gave up pretenting to sleep, yanked myself upright in my chair, and swivelled around to see if it could really be possible that my every dream in life was coming true... I spied the teenage dude behind me, looked beyond him to the left, to the right, straight in front and -

HOLY MOTHERFUCKING SHIT. It was you! My boyfriend Michael Cera!

I believe that this was the moment wherein I shit my pants. I mean, not literally, obviously, but like the figurative shit where for a second you think you actually might have lost control of your bowels but it turns out it was just your entire internal organ system jumping up and down and squealing like it was Britney's vagina finally realizing its long standing dream of being covered in underpants.

I mean, this was a thing of fantasy, a thing so incomprehensible that it can't actually happen in real life. (In fact, my boyfriend Michael Cera, I'm pretty sure I had actually daydreamed about this exact scenario before - we meet in an airport and kiss passionately at the gate before the plane takes off and we fly towards our destiny. ...Or did I just confuse that with the erotic novella I wrote a couple of years back called "Why Leonardo DiCaprio and I are Meant To Be"?) I mean, tell me, my boyfriend Michael Cera, what you would do if your every dream came true in one instantaneous insane twist of fate??!

(I'm going to guess: stand awkwardly and shift your gaze back and forth. Or shit your pants. Either one.)

Anyways. Even though I'm sorta ashamed to admit it, I started shaking a little in my excitement/nervousness/pure unbridled love for you. I sat awkwardly on the edge of my seat, unsure what to do next: scream? jump up and down? text someone? take out my camera and snap some pics? try to switch my seat to first class? puke? run to the bathroom to fix my awful mushroom cut into something adorable that will make you love me at first sight? run up to you and confess my love for you, my boyfriend Michael Cera? So many options, and so little coherent thought processes to guide them...

In the end, I went the texting and photographing route. I mean, either way I was going to go down in flames, so I figured I might as well do it with as many friends paying attention and with enough photographic evidence in tow to hopefully make it funny. Right? Am I right?

Here below is an example of some of the texts I sent that afternoon:

To: Rikki

To: Emmy
yes micahel cera si here siesouly... im dying my hand s shakng!! hes so cutttee.

To: Rikki
i cn't go up to him ill die. he looksso akwardd nd shy. i lov himmmm!!!

Here below is an example of some of the pictures I took of you sitting down, waiting to board:

Now, I promise you that I did my best to be stealth-like and snap away quietly. But tell me, with my shaking hands, my frantic texting, and the faint whimper of joy that was eminating straight from my heart, HOW IN HELL WAS I SUPPOSED TO BE NOT OBVIOUS??! So despite my best efforts, I think you were on to me:

Okay, I don't think. I know:

Dang, my boyfriend Michael Cera, you must have eyes in the back of your head or some sort of crazy-person-taking-pictures radar because you were clearly all over my shit.

In the moment, though, I have to say that I completely ignored all photographic evidence to the contrary and continued to snap and text away undeterred. And, I mean, all things considered I am sorta glad I did because check out these little gems:

Even you have to admit you look adorable in your t-shirt and jacket and backpack. It's very My Boyfriend Michael Cera: Airport Chic.

Since you were sitting in first class, you got to board first. And because my seat was towards the the front of the plane, I was the last to board and thus had to wait in the longgg line that snaked out of the plane into the on ramp. I hate waiting in lines, but was rewarded for my patience by the snail's pace at which it moved, giving me time enough to be stalled in front of your row and to have your seatmate (a stranger to us both), who was on the aisle, comment on how lovely she thought my purse was. No big deal. Did you hear that My Boyfriend Michael Cera? She liked my purse. No big deal.

And I'm not going to lie - it was thrilling to know that in that brief, two minute exchange about shopping in Toronto between she & I, you were definitely looking at me. It blew my airport-fantasy-addled stuck-in-adolescence mind. In the moment, I was thinking how fabulous I sounded and how interested you were in what I had to say about purses in the Yonge/Dundas area, and how smokin' my butt looked like in my new pants. In retrospect, however, I figure you were probably thinking something along the lines of, "Hmmm, not only is she crazy, but she likes talking about purses??! What an idiot! At least I know where she hangs out now and can avoid the Yonge/Dundas area like the plague. But at least her ass looks smokin' in those pants!" (Somethings are just always true, right?)

Fresh from the thrill of that little exchange, I settle into my seat to scope out my proximity to you, My Boyfriend Michael Cera. Happily (for me, probably not for you) I noted that I was only two rows behind you and that those flimsy first class curtains did not block my view! I also hatched a plan to use the first class bathroom before they velcroed the curtains together. (Note to Air Canada: you should really spring for better curtains. Just saying.)

Once we were at cruising altitude and the seatbelt light went off, I made my move: I checked up and down the aisle and as soon as the flight attendants looked busy I bolted from my seat and made a beeline for the first class bathroom, being sure to keep my pace brisk but also slow enough so you could really get a full picture of my new-panted caboose as I went by. I almost got caught by a flight attendant near the front who was busy reading her book (really? Jesus, I need a job where I can nosh on little packets of peanuts read my book in the downtime) but thankfully she was too into the new Dean Koontz to notice that I wasn't supposed to be there.

What happened inside the washroom can only be described as a frantic makeover/pep talk/ad hoc bath with the delicious smelling Fruits and Passions soaps that they have in first class. Ready to make my big debut, I exited only to find the following: you, My Boyfriend Michael Cera, fast asleep (verdict on you sleeping? All of the adorable, none of the rigid awkwardness!) and the curtains back to economy velcroed shut.

Shit. Making my stealthy escape was going to be harder than I thought...

So, I did what any self-respecting first class interloper would have done: bumrushed the aisle and bolted through the curtains before that flight attendant could put down her Dean Koontz and stop me. As I excited through with an accusative rip (velcro curtain pro: easy escape, velcro curtain con: loud escape), I heard a faint "tsk" coming from the jump seat up front, but the damage was done and there was Dean Koontz to be read so I was mercifully off the hook, though disappointed that for all my efforts you were fast (yet adorably) asleep and didn't even get a chance to smell my Pear & Linden aura.

The rest of the flight was passed in a dreamland that can only be described as "what new and novel ways can I contort my body so that I can see what you are watching on TV." (For those curious, it was Best in Show - it seems you, My Boyfriend Michael Cera, and I have a Christopher Guest appreciation in common - and the first 10 minutes of Hancock.) A dreamland, that is, until it was almost time to land and for you to fill out your customs forms. Then, things turned a little, um, awful.

You see, the five hour flight did nothing to calm my love for you, My Boyfriend Michael Cera. In fact, it only made me more excited and enthralled by the crazy twist of fate that brought us together on the same plane. So when you turned around and I was finally able to get a good shot of you, I went a little, um, crazy with the camera.

I don't think you liked it much that I was taking your picture in an intimate moment of form completion. I don't think you liked it much at all.

As evidenced in the above picture, you whipped your head around and caught me mid-photo. Um. Twice.


Alright so fine. FINE! I admit it. I crossed the line. It was a hard pill to swallow, but one I knew I needed to, My Boyfriend Michael Cera. I get it now. Sometimes opportunities aren't meant to be photographed on a plane while filling out Canadian customs documents, sometimes they are just meant to be enjoyed for what they are, ie adorable.

After the walk of shame off the airplane, through the airport, in line at customs, and waiting for my bags at the baggage claim, one thing became clear to me: I had ruined my schoolgirl crush on you, My Boyfriend Michael Cera, by being overzealous. Now whenever I think of you, I think of your blurry face catching me taking your picture on the plane. Twice. It's forever tainted my appreciation of your parted hair and fine improvisation skills. Hell, it's forever tainted my appreciation of how good my butt looked in those pants. And let's be honest, that's the real tragedy in all of this, isn't it?

In the end, I can only blame one thing for all of this: my blog. (Duh.)

I mean, if I hadn't ever started the blog, I would never have had an outlet for all my love for you, My Boyfriend Michael Cera. I would have googled you and archived the results in my heart, if you will. But as it stood, I sorta felt like I need to record the whole thing for posterity and for the enjoyment of my loyal readers (Melissa's Note: you all are loyal, right? I'm the only blog you frequent, right? RIGHT??!). So if you want to blame anyone, you should totally blame my blog. And not me. Cause, I mean, it's not my fault, right? Exactly.

Anyways. Given all this, I think it's probably time for us to break up, My Boyfriend Michael Cera. I hope you don't take this too hard, because I've thought about it a lot and know it's for the best. It's time for me to move on and find someone who is less awkward and more of a famewhore (ie someone who is willing to be photographed whilst completing all manner of official government documents). If you know anyone who is up for the challenge, you know where to find me: The Griddle at the corner of Sunset and Fairfax, eating the peanut butter crunch pancakes and dreaming about steak cut fries.

I wish you all the best in the future, My Boyfriend Michael Cera. And in your loneliest moments, I hope you'll look back with fondness in all that we've shared. Remember, we'll always have Christopher Guest and no one can take that away from us.



PS: You can keep my Blue Jays 1992 World Series Champions commemorative poster. You deserve it.

**Melissa's note: If Michael Cera ever should read this blog (hey, I think I'm living proof that anything can happen!), I would want him to know that I don't actually think he's my boyfriend. And that I really am very, very sorry for taking his picture on the plane when he was filling out his customs forms. It was a low, low moment and a difficult lesson to learn. But learned it has been and I promise never to do it again should he ever be unlucky enough to be caught on a plane with me in the future.

I will, however, probably still text all my friends excitedly. And be curious about his taste in movies......... And squeal a little. But now I know to keep my camera securely in the off position and my seat back upright.