Almost Famous

My claim to fame is that James Franco asked me out once twice.

Well, almost.

Why hello. You again.

I was a student at U.C.L.A. when I caught wind he was also taking courses on campus and no sooner had I learned of the life-changing news did I switch my major from studying humans to studying him. Or at least his schedule.

My assistant (assistant? Who am I kidding?) confirmed he was taking some creative writing class and I stealthily enrolled, justifying the sudden change in my course load with the impromptu itch to connect with my inner soul and…write.

My plan was semi-successful as I did manage to “bump” into James Franco twice during that quarter (you know what they say—gotta be at the right place at the right time) and on both occasions, I made myself completely, wholly, and utterly available to him. He, of course, passed on the offer. Looking back, I can’t say I blame him much.

Plus, it all worked out for the better seeing as I’ve totally upgraded by hanging out with THE Patrick these days. With his curly dark hair and piercing eyes, he’s gotta be at least almost famous, right?

Patrick is clearly, indisputably the only man for me.

Seems like everyone in Los Angeles is almost famous but last night, almost just wasn’t good enough anymore. During the season finale of Keeping Up With The Kardashians (c’mon, you know you watched it), my world was irreparably shattered when I learned football star Miles Austin only dated Kim for some eXXXposure to give his career a little something eXXXtra. What a horrible, absolutely horrible man you are, Mr. Austin, for using that poor little rich girl, you. You fame whore! And then—

“Hey Patrick, I got an idea for us,” I looked over at him on the bed.

“What’s that?” he replied so innocently.

“Why don’t you accidentally 'bump' into Kim Kardashian at a club and try to get with her. I’d make a one-time exception for her,” I suggested.

“And why would she want to be with me?”

“Because she is hungry for love. Wait, you’d really cheat on me with her?” I needed to know now.

“Um…” It’s okay, Patrick, you don’t need to answer that.

“So anyway, date her so you can get on her show and then I’ll come in and pretend to be your super jealous and crazy ‘ex’ girlfriend and create tons of drama,” I devised.

“But you’re already super jealous and crazy—"

“And then,” I continued, “You break up with her, we get back together, and we’ll be offered our own reality TV show! This is my best plan yet!”

After giving it a second of serious thought, Patrick could only say, exasperatedly, “What’s wrong with you, Missy?!?”

Nothing Patrick. But IF anything is wrong, I blame it on Hollywood...and James. For making me feel almost famous that one time our elbows brushed in class. For almost asking me out but it’s okay. Truly. I’ve moved on. To better things. With suppler skin. Use more lotion next time, ‘k?