Personal Tales of Celebrity Stalking

I always thought that the only celebrity that could incite any sort of stalker behavior out of me was Christian Bale. I have been madly in love (border line obsessed) with him since I was about 10 years old. When I was little I used to write him a letter every week in hopes that he would write me back. Which he never did. As I got older, and he started getting bigger and more spectacular muscles letters were out, and provocative fantasies were in. The first five minutes of American Psycho are like my dream come true. All I needed was for him to turn around in the shower.

But I made a sojourn to Los Angeles last week, and it’s really true—there are celebrities everywhere out there. And I didn’t react as non-chalantly as I thought I would. Sure, you see them in New York too, but for some reason they seem to blend in more to the everyday population. In LA, maybe it was just me, but they stand out.

I got off the plane, and standing next to me at the baggage claim was none other than Kyle MchLaughin of Sex and the City and Desperate Housewives fame. Him, I wasn’t knocked out over. But still, I had been in town for thirty seconds.

But as I wheeled my cart out of the airport, I saw a scraggly looking man wearing a huge clock. And since there’s only one person in the world that has ever rocked that fashion statement I had to yell “Flava Flav” in that tone that he has everyone mimic. He loved the attention, yelled out “hey baby,” and I was totally grossed out by his appearance. However nasty you think he appears in the TV show, Flav looks even worse in person. I can not believe that he has had all these women vying for his love and affection for two seasons. And that he’s managed to sleep with enough women to have the number of kids he does. Eeeeewwww. Why I felt the need to yell to him, I have no idea. It was like a gut instinct that I couldn’t deny. And I know, I’m a loser.

Throughout the week, I drove by a lot of roaming paparazzi packs, which is quite possibly the most frightening thing I have ever seen. You have no idea how many of them swarm, and yell, and flash, and bait whoever they are chasing. There are so many of them, that all I could ever see was the herd of photographers—and could never tell who they were harassing. Seeing the frenzy almost makes me want to boycott TMZ and other gossip sites just cause I feel so badly for these people. There is nothing normal about it.

One celeb that I did see sans craziness—and did slightly freak out upon spotting—was Ryan Phillippe. Here I am shopping for a new toothbrush and there he is with his absolutely to die for beautiful kids buying some Twizzlers. Now, thought I did knock some stuff off a shelf, I managed to remain relatively calm. I noted how short he is (why are all leading men so tiny?), how beautiful his face is in person, how cut his delicious tank top clad arms were, and how he got even hotter when he picked little Deacon up in his arms. I paid. I went outside. I got in my car. I drove around to the front of the parking lot to watch him walk out, and by my car again. It was all I could do to not whip the disposable camera out of my bag, and hang out the window to take a picture. But a girl’s gotta have some class, right?

Maybe it’s because I haven’t seen a man that has sparked my interest in so long that made Ryan Phillippe so intriguing, I don’t know. I’m embarrassed to admit how excited I was, and how many people I texted immediately upon his departure. What our nation’s obsession with celebrities and their every movement is escapes me, but I’m certainly a part of it. And after how I reacted to these people, it’s probably lucky that I haven’t run into Christian Bale anywhere. I can see a restraining order in my dreams….