 Smiled at by Stifler |
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I just went out with a coworker to deliver some Thanksgiving dinners for needy families as part of our staff's holiday project, and we totally pulled over to watch part of a movie being filmed. Anyone who knows me even a tiny bit knows that I am certainly not above getting excited to see him and him a mere 20 feet away from me. Sadly, Willie was nowhere in sight, and I am here to tell you that her daisy dukes are essentially a denim thong. The highlight of this experience was definitely when Stifler turned to gaze at those watching the shoot and totally, without a doubt, no question about it, stopped during a little break, leaned back on the car, turned in our direction, and SMILED AT ME. I say this with deep conviction because he was either smiling at my co-worker (who was gazing in the clear other direction ogling the backside wearing the famous shorts as she leaned over the hood of a white jeep), the yellow port-a-potty next to us, or me. That is not a difficult riddle to solve! Plus, today I am sporting my high heeled new boots, and I have on a very pretty pink v-neck angora sweater that was surely a sight for his weary eyes! He is also one of those guys who has either a very tiny or a nonexistent butt, which I find very cute. GOD! Stifler.  I have to take a moment to talk a little about how this was one of those defining television shows of my childhood. Of course we watched it, of course we loved it, and of course we never, ever stopped talking about the time the car on which Stifler leaned while he smiled at me appeared at a local car show along with a fully costumed Cletus, who smiled at my sister and said, "See ya on TV!" I even watched it when the cousins came, those sorry substitutes, because I was in LOVE with the dark-haired one and wrote in my diary that someday I hoped to be Mrs. Christopher Mayer because that's what Marcia Brady wrote in her diary about Davy Jones. Or someone. I can't remember. Anyway, this show was a huge part of my growing up, and it's just all very entertaining that it's being filmed here and that I have seen it with my very own eyes. I sincerely hope that come the filming of the next big movie here, I will find a way to hurl myself in the path of either Sean Penn or Kate Winslet, who does not know yet that I am actually the love of her life. Meanwhile, my sister is home, and last night we all got together for a dinner that included my mom's perfect spaghetti, spinach bread, salad, and her famous ice cream dessert with the caramel and the oats and the chocolate syrup and the yum. We sat around the table and discussed everything from the NBA brouhaha to my sister's classes to my little brother's day in court to my dad's political tales. I swear to God that there is no one on this earth who can tell a story like my father, with the possible exception of my older brother, and I wish I could tell some of them here, but they're mostly top secret and I could never tell them as well as he can, anyway. It's great to have my sister home. There will be movies and basketball games and family gatherings and lots of eating. If Finding Neverland is not out here by this weekend, I am going to throw a world class tantrum. It's not really all that often that I fall so deeply in love with a movie before I even see it. I mean, there's the Johnny Depp and Kate Winslet factor, of course, but there's also the Peter Pan factor, which is just a big one for me. I can't wait to see it, and I know I will love it with all of my being. And I could really just kill Kymm and her SAG Screening Self for already having seen it MONTHS ago. But in the spirit of Thanksgiving I will swallow my envy and forgive her. 
About this time in ...
© Copyright 2004 elb |
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