Fame-dropping

"Did you pick up a Small?" I heard the blond mother ask. "I have an Extra-Small." I looked up to see what grown woman - who was shopping with a daughter around my age - could be fitting into clothes two sizes smaller than me.

Turns out, it was Lisa Gastineau, who was shopping at Zara with daughter Brittny. Neither, for the record, should be wearing Extra-Smalls. I think they both are, refreshingly, Mediums like me.

I've had some decent celebrity sightings lately, which either means I am hanging out in cooler places, or maybe just paying more attention to my surroundings.

Friday night I saw Ian Gomez at Jar in West Hollywood. Last Friday I saw Rachel Zoe at Tower Bar. She was wearing so many layers, I couldn't tell what size she was, but, like her surprisingly-compelling TV show, she has this innate energy and I found myself unable to turn away. Like a Barbie doll, I feel like I should probably hate everything she represents, yet I can't help but want to stroke her hair and just revel in the pretty.

By far the biggest sighting I've had was Ed McMahon, a few weeks ago outside of my doctor's office. I was in the parking garage headed for the valet, when I saw him standing next to what looked like two handlers. Immediately, my brain thought, Ooh, Ed McMahon! Then, as I got closer, and realized that he wasn't just standing next to two people but rather like he was being helped by them, I thought, Wait, no that can't be him. The man in front of me looked about half the size of the Ed McMahon I am familiar with, if not from Star Search or the Publisher's Clearing House commercials a while back, then from the recent press tour he did when his home went into foreclosure. There was no way that the frail, disoriented-looking man in front of me could have been doing press six months ago. This man was wearing bedroom slippers out in public in Beverly Hills.

Alas, just as I was convincing myself it wasn't - it couldn't be - him, another car drove by. The driver gave a big thumbs up out the window and offered some heartfelt praise that implied he was a fan. Ed McMahon acknowledged the remark, and seemed to smile, though it must have jarred him, too. He stopped suddenly, incapable of walking any further, and just stood on the cement with his handlers by his side. I turned away, at that point, and eventually got in my car. It wasn't a scene I wanted to remember.