My father and stepmother just so happen to be in LA for the Golden Globes this week, as they are every year. Am I jealous? I mean, why would I be? I stayed in this weekend, nursing this infectious death cold leaving the house only to shakily climb onto an elliptical machine and try to stay upright. The only thing that amuses me about their annual trips to walk amongst the stars are my dad's stories. Like the one last year where he kept bumping into Edie Falco and she was pretty sure he was actually stalking her. While he always appears to be nonplussed, his body seems to fail him. From knocking over a stack of champagne flutes while trying to casually lean, or having his voice crack like a thirteen year old version of himself mid-word. I am anxiously awaiting his return to the east coast, where, fingers crossed, he either has some embarrassing stories or Ryan Reynold's cell phone number for me. Thursday night, my father bumped into LL Cool J at a bar. They physically bumped into each other and did that thing where both parties sort of grab each others shoulder's to steady themselves as they apologize.
Dad: "I'm sorry, are you alright?"
LL Cool J: (A quick look up and down) "I think I'll be okay."
Like a big, muscular bird flying into a brick wall. LL Cool J is of course the bird, Dad.