Dear George Clooney,
Rumor has it that you are in British Columbia. And not Vancouver, our own version of Hollywood, where a celebrity could be spotted and it was no big deal. But in Enderby, my goodness, how exciting. Just how did I learn this? Why in my first production meeting at the theatre company. I stayed just long enough to ask a million questions of the unsuspecting person who mentioned this in passing, jam an apple fritter into my mouth, and leave early to go see a man about an avocado colored hide-a-bed. The height of professionalism and sophistication, darling.
George? My George? In my province? Be still my heart! I do apologize for gushing like a school-girl, but y’all know how I feel about that salt and pepper stallion.
I’m just kidding…George and I, we like to joke around. We laugh and laugh all the way to Lake Como. I mean, we would have a blast, if he would only take my calls, and his lawyers would cool it with the restraining orders. It’s not illegal to love you George!
I have this friend, her name is Harmony. The other night we and two others stayed up late into the night talking about all kinds of things. Ms Harmony told us how she felt about the Rock. That she would climb him like a tree and swing on his body like an adorable monkey on a tree branch. Her language was far more offensive than this. But you get the drift. You know what I’m thinking? That she and I come find you. I’m talking road-trip, Thelma and Louise style.
Obviously, we’ll tweak a few things, no one will get raped…(except for the Rock evidently), and we might skip driving off a cliff with Harvey Keitel running behind us in slow motion. But the guns, car chases, cigarette smoking, and adorable bad-girl outfits, seedy motel rooms…that just sounds like a fun weekend.
You know what my favorite thing about blogging is? One minute I’m writing a letter to George Clooney, and then suddenly I’ve implicated my friend Harmony into molesting a wrestler-turned-actor, while firing guns and rocking some seriously awesome 90’s mom jeans.
So, lets just close this wildly drawn circle. Mr Clooney, George, if I may. How about you call up your friend, The Rock…(which brings up an important question, in your mobile phone, is it “Rock”? “The Rock”, “Rock, The”, or just plan ole Dwayne?) Whatever you call him, let’s set up a little double date, with me and my fabulous friend? We’ll be the dusty, gun wielding broads in the high-waisted jeans ready to take you wherever you need to go.