Now: honestly, I usually do not geek out too much over celebrities. I’ve shared the elevator with Matthew Broderick a number of times and not even blinked. Well I probably blinked. But not because of him. But because I had to. Because the average human blinks 16 times per minute. And I am an average person.

Anyways.

Last night, I patroned the 24 hour plays on Broadway! The powers that be let all of the finalists come from free and sit in the front row. The pre-party featured lots of free wine and fancy meatballs. Don’t mind if I did!  The evening is actually an annual fundraiser for Urban Arts – a program that finds unconvential ways to help high school drop outs pass their exams; creates opportunity for artistic growth for those wouldn’t normally get it. An extremely inspiring and effective organization!

And then: the celebrities. Oh, the celebrities.

I realized big time last night that There’s a reason that celebrities are celebrities. They deserve to be celebrities because they are beautiful people  (see: Jennifer Aniston’s tiny and toned and perfect frame; see Ashton Kutcher’s flippant scruff and subtle handle bar pelvic bones / sigh) – and their celebrity itself gives them the time and the money to further separate themselves from the rest of us. Demi’s skin glowed. Julia Stile’s hair was perfect. David Cross’ sweet tattooes were complex and well-placed. Brooke Shield’s boots were impeccable. Ashton’s perfect man sweater. John Krasinski, asking me to marry him (what?) And so on, and so on, and finally to P Diddy, chillin in the audience, in his perfect suit avec girlfriend with half-shaved head (who was that? I’m confused.)

I was totally floored by their skill and ease,  especially those that I hadn’t seen on stage before. You Go, celebrities! Get down with your bad, expensive denim-ed selves! Proud to know you.

In that way, um, in that way that I don’t know you at all, but merely  shared a room with you, and I promise to not pretend to know you and / or show up at your house. I promise!