That Time I Met My Celebrity Crush

So…it’s been many moons since my last post. Sorry! Funny thing about that last post though, that I have to follow-up on.

You may recall that, out of respect and privacy for my high school prom date, I had Photoshopped a celebrity face over the photo — the face of Clive Owen.

Why Clive Owen? Well, Clive Owen is my #1 celebrity crush.

You may know him from movies such as Children of Men, Sin City, Duplicity, Beyond Borders, Inside Man, Bourne Identity. Those of you in the UK might know him from his earlier work across the pond.

But it was his work in the movie Closer that won me over.

As Julia Roberts’ onscreen husband, Clive Owen plays a vile, despicable, worthless piece of shit a-hole. You watch this character, and you just HATE him. He’s an AWWWFUL human being.

Yet…you feel sorry for him. This callous, pathetic, disgusting excuse for a man.

I’ve seen the movie like, a million times, and every single time, I feel a million conflicting emotions. It takes a special talent to be able to do that. It’s no wonder he was nominated for an Academy Award and won a Golden Globe for the role.

I’m a huge fan of Clive Owen’s work. The guy is brilliant.

And he was sitting at a table RIGHT! NEXT! to me a few weeks ago in Hollywood.

Gah! Omigosh! Heart pounding! Squeal! Inner-fangirl exPLODING!

Now, I’ve seen my fair share of celebrities before. Like, a bunch of them. I usually see them when I’m out on the town, trying a new restaurant or having drinks with friends. Sometimes it’s at the grocery store or a shopping center. Over the years, I’ve had encounters with George Clooney, Cindy Crawford, the Kardashians, Elizabeth Taylor, Jessica Alba, Topher Grace, Zach Braff, Keifer Sutherland, Nathan Fillion, Seth Green, Gene Simmons, and my hero Anthony Bourdain, plus many, many others.

It’s perfectly normal to see celebrities out and about when you live and work in La La Land long enough. And I don’t usually get all fangirl — except maybe that time I met Anthony Bourdain, but that was at Comic-Con. You’re supposed to get all fangirl there, right? That’s what Comic-Con is for.

Typically, that’s not my M.O. — I see a celebrity, and I think, oh hey, cool, and I carry on. And I definitely didn’t get all fangirl when I worked with celebrities back in my TV/radio days. That’s just unprofessional.

But it took everything I had to NOT go completely fangirl when I saw my NUMBER ONE CELEBRITY CRUSH.

I was visiting LA a few weeks ago, and on my first night there, had dinner at Chi Spacca. My dear friend Edwin suggested the place, as it’s his fave new restaurant and he knew I’d love it. The menu was impressive: bone marrow pie, razor clams, an $80 pork chop (I know, what?!)…

…and friggin’ CLIVE! OWEN!

When Edwin and I entered the restaurant, I had glanced around the dining area — a small, intimate, dimly lit space. Did we want to sit at the bar so we could watch the open kitchen in all its glory? Or did we want to sit at a table? Lemme see…

I looked around, and smack dab in the middle of the room, I met eyes with my dream man. Seriously. He looked right at me. Only, I didn’t recognize him right away.

At first, I was like, do I know that guy? He looked really familiar…a thinner, slightly older version of someone I knew. We stared at each other for a second. I thought, nahhh. I snapped out of it to continue perusing the room.

My eyes made their way back to this man, and he looked up AGAIN.

And then it hit me: I’m having a staring contest with Clive Owen. And I’m probably weirding him out.

I was like, shit, look away look away — don’t be that creepy girl!

I looked away in a daze. My heart started pounding. Was it really him? The rugged British actor I’ve been madly in love with for the last decade of my life?

What are the chances that Clive Owen and I would be in the same place at the same time?

He lives in London. I live in Olympia. And we’re both here? In Los Angeles? At Chi Spacca? On a Wednesday night?

Still in a daze, I followed the hostess and was seated at the bar. I leaned over to Edwin and said, “I’m dying. DYING.” He goes, “Why? What is the matter with you?”

1. I’m dying because Clive Owen is sitting right behind us.
2. I’m dying of heatstroke because, hot DAMN, this kitchen is HOT! We’re gonna roast if we stay at the bar. Let’s ask the hostess if we can move to a table.

Lo and behold, the only empty table in the room was the one right next to Clive Owen.

I was so nervous when the hostess walked us to our table. I took my seat — very rigidly and very awkwardly — positioning myself so I wouldn’t be facing Clive. Otherwise, I knew I’d just get creepy and stare at him the whole time. Drooling too, no doubt.

Clive was sitting directly at my 9 o’clock with three other guys for well over an hour. But I didn’t once look over during dinner. I was so bashful after having met eyes with him earlier. I didn’t wanna be weird-creepy-staring girl.

Plus, I didn’t want any distractions from the big news my good friend Edwin was sharing with me that night. BIG! Super excited for him and the work he’s doing. I managed to calm the Clive-induced pounding in my chest and enjoyed the quality time with Edwin, who I hadn’t seen since last year. We shared a toast (several of them, actually) and had a decadent meal (a meal which, by the way, cost me more than my round-trip plane ticket from Seattle.)

Every now and then, I did pester Edwin, who was facing Clive’s table.

• What’s Clive doing?
• What’s he eating?
• Did he get the Tomahawk Pork Chop?
• Is he getting dessert?
• Tell me when they get their bill.
• Are they leaving? Holy crap, now’s my chance.

As Clive’s friends brushed behind my seat to walk out the restaurant, I turned around and caught Clive just in time.

I looked up at him, smiled, and said, “Clive.” I got up out of my seat, put my napkin on the table, held out my hand and said, “Hi, I’m Thy.”

He shook my hand (omigosh omigosh omigosh) and he said, “I’m Clive.”

I’m like, Um, yeah ya are. I might’ve even said that out loud, I dunno.

I told him I was a huge fan of his work. He said thank you. I asked if we could please take a photo together. He said yes.

*Silent squeal!*
*Trying to stay cool!*

We walked out of the dining room together into the foyer. As we walked, I asked him what he was in town for, what he was working on. He said he’d just flown in from London that day. I said I’d just flown in today too, from Seattle. As if he cared, haha.

It was a conversation! We were having a conversation! I had a conversation with Clive Owen! Gah!

He was about to tell me what he was in town for, when another patron from the restaurant came over and started talking him up. An industry guy, for sure. They chatted for a minute and the guy went back to his table.

Clive looked back at me, smiled, and raised his eyebrows as if to say, “How bout that photo?” He stood to my left and put his right arm around me (omigosh omigosh omigosh). So I put my left arm around his waist (omigosh omigosh omigosh).

While Edwin was getting his camera phone ready, I looked up at Clive and told him I loved him in Closer and that I’d seen the movie like 10 times. (I’ve actually seen it waaaay more times than that, but I was trying to be cool, ha.)

He laughed a hearty laugh, and said, “Wow really!” He squeezed my shoulder, bringing me in closer for the photo.

*Melt*

I wanted to tell him I was madly in love with him, that I adore every dangerous, villainous character he plays, that his deep brooding voice got me every single time, that I’ve declared my love for him on my blog and written a play-by-play of our fictitious honeymoon together, that I swoon every time I see him on the cover of a magazine, that a co-worker once posted a photo of him up on my cubicle and I left it there for years, that I recently Photoshopped his face over my prom date…and of course, that he should whisk me away and marry me.

None of that would’ve been creepy for me to say to him. No, not at all.

Instead, still looking up at him, I smiled a gigantic cheesy smile. And with my left arm still around his waist, I returned the squeeze, my head lightly burrowed into the side of his chest. *Sigh*

Edwin was ready with the camera. Clive and I looked straight ahead and we smiled.

Omigosh omigosh omigosh.

I thanked Clive and told him how pleased I was to meet him. Edwin complimented Clive on his shoes. We wished each other a good night. And Clive walked out the door and out of my life forever.

It was perfect, really. My little fangirl moment with Clive Owen.

Except…I look at the photo now and I think, why WHY WHYYYY am I wearing that stupid yellow babydoll dress? I look like a 4-year-old visiting the Easter Bunny for the first time. And why WHY WHYYY am I standing at that angle? I look like I’m preggers! Ug.

I’m tempted to Photoshop it, but what would be the point. It was a moment, and I treasure it for what it was.

I MET CLIVE OWEN! *SQUEEEAL*