Friday, March 12, 2004
a true story
So yesterday I had my first ever celebrity sighting at Barneys (naturally) and oh was it ever the crappiest of the crappy. Here's the scoop:
So as I'm attempting to complete my extravagant purchase of lipgloss and foundation, anxiously awaiting the return of my credit card, Girlfriend decides to sieze this opportunity to apply a shit ton of makeup to my face. This forced makeover in and of itself was questionable since my meager purchases had already been rung up and I clearly wasn't about to invest in the entire line of cosmetics. Furthermore, I was less than enthusiastic about having layers of makeup applied to my face by somewhere who, if I am not mistaken, was wearing baby blue eyeliner. At any rate, Other Girlfriend who is supposed to be completing my transaction at this time is suddenly and inconveniently engaged in rapt conversation with two overly dressed and overly important feeling gentlemen standing next to me. All of the sudden, Blue Eyeliner Girlfriend becomes highly excited and starts confiding in me in rapid and largely inaudible tones. All I could parse from the jumble was something that sounded like "Dr. Perricone" and "Sephora." Fortunately, the mystery preferred customers soon completed whatever business they had and walked away, Other Girlfriend returned my credit card with an apology and some sort of gibberish about ohmygod can you believe that was Dr. Perricone. I managed to stuff my wallet back in my purse and scurry out of the cosmetics universe just in time to be stuck walking up the stairs behind none other than the illustrious Dr. P. and his handler. Immediately after leaving barneys, I called trusty ole Gina who enlightened me as to the celebrity status of the mysterious Dr. Perricone. apparently he is some sort of celebrity dermatologist. I guess that would be a dermatologist to the celebrities. I guess the celebrities, by being his patients, impart some sort of celebrity status fairy dust aura onto the good doctor, thereby making him himself a celebrity. Or maybe he's famous just because he's a really really super extra good dermatologist. I had no idea that dermatologists could even have handlers, that is, aside from nurses and all if you even wanna go there and call them that.
I wonder how I can become a celebrity graduate student. I sure could use someone to, like, match my socks for me and stuff.
this whole incident also begs the question as to why, after 23 years of life in the new york metropolitan area (the last 5.75 of which have been in manhattan proper), dr. perricone was my first celebrity sighting. perhaps the lack of adequate star fucking opportunities in my life is because i'm too busy staring at the ground trying to avoid irregularities in the sidewalk or street or just generally avoiding eyecontact with everyone around me as all new yorkers are trained to do at an early age. it seems that i must: a) work on proper and more graceful ambulation without the benefit of constant eye contact with the ground and b) start wearing my sunglasses more frequently.
So as I'm attempting to complete my extravagant purchase of lipgloss and foundation, anxiously awaiting the return of my credit card, Girlfriend decides to sieze this opportunity to apply a shit ton of makeup to my face. This forced makeover in and of itself was questionable since my meager purchases had already been rung up and I clearly wasn't about to invest in the entire line of cosmetics. Furthermore, I was less than enthusiastic about having layers of makeup applied to my face by somewhere who, if I am not mistaken, was wearing baby blue eyeliner. At any rate, Other Girlfriend who is supposed to be completing my transaction at this time is suddenly and inconveniently engaged in rapt conversation with two overly dressed and overly important feeling gentlemen standing next to me. All of the sudden, Blue Eyeliner Girlfriend becomes highly excited and starts confiding in me in rapid and largely inaudible tones. All I could parse from the jumble was something that sounded like "Dr. Perricone" and "Sephora." Fortunately, the mystery preferred customers soon completed whatever business they had and walked away, Other Girlfriend returned my credit card with an apology and some sort of gibberish about ohmygod can you believe that was Dr. Perricone. I managed to stuff my wallet back in my purse and scurry out of the cosmetics universe just in time to be stuck walking up the stairs behind none other than the illustrious Dr. P. and his handler. Immediately after leaving barneys, I called trusty ole Gina who enlightened me as to the celebrity status of the mysterious Dr. Perricone. apparently he is some sort of celebrity dermatologist. I guess that would be a dermatologist to the celebrities. I guess the celebrities, by being his patients, impart some sort of celebrity status fairy dust aura onto the good doctor, thereby making him himself a celebrity. Or maybe he's famous just because he's a really really super extra good dermatologist. I had no idea that dermatologists could even have handlers, that is, aside from nurses and all if you even wanna go there and call them that.
I wonder how I can become a celebrity graduate student. I sure could use someone to, like, match my socks for me and stuff.
this whole incident also begs the question as to why, after 23 years of life in the new york metropolitan area (the last 5.75 of which have been in manhattan proper), dr. perricone was my first celebrity sighting. perhaps the lack of adequate star fucking opportunities in my life is because i'm too busy staring at the ground trying to avoid irregularities in the sidewalk or street or just generally avoiding eyecontact with everyone around me as all new yorkers are trained to do at an early age. it seems that i must: a) work on proper and more graceful ambulation without the benefit of constant eye contact with the ground and b) start wearing my sunglasses more frequently.
