Hello folks, all two of you. Today I’m going to talk about something other than Martin Short. Something else has found itself worthy of my attention. Have you guys heard Steve Martin and Edie Brickell? They are amazing together. I just got My Baby last night. I’m generally not the type to buy music, but these two have had my attention since I heard “won’t go back” and I heard My Baby on some satellite radio station last night and just fell in love. Actually bought it lol. I don’t do that. I don’t pay for music, but this was well worth it. I might even splurge on the whole album. Check them out folks, it’s good stuff
Amanda has spoken. Do it and do it now
This is the hotel I stayed in while in New York. Martin Short to me you were worth staying on a hotel with no heat or air or headboard on the bed. You were worth a broken elevator and climbing 5 flights of steps. You were even worth not having a private bathroom. Yeah, no bathroom. It was a “shared” bathroom with everyone else on the 5th floor. Thankfully I was only there 2 nights.. thankfully I didn’t get murdered.
Well, I did it. I drove to New York, I sat through an hour or so long interview of Marty and Alan Zweibel, I jumped up as soon as the show was over and was 3rd in line to have the one and only Martin Hayter Short sign my book. If you have read anything in the blog prior to this post, you know I have met him twice before. Once when I was young and all I wanted was an autograph and once last Winter when I was too overcome with shock or emotion or excitement to even speak to him. Ever since that day last February when I saw him and couldn’t speak I have regretted not telling him how much he means to me. Not like he cares obviously, I’m no one special to him, but to me, he is my everything. Now let me think that statement through, I have a life, I have children, and family, and friends, I’m not some crazy woman with a house full of cats all named Marty. So to say he is my everything can be “read” wrong I guess? He is what cheers me up when I am sad. He is what calms me down when I am stressed. Thinking of him in the movie Clifford at the dinner table “Look at me Like a Human Boy” is what played through my mind and kept me from breaking down in uncontrollable tears at a recent funeral. (I like to have my crazy emotional outbursts privately like a lady should) So when I say he is my everything I don’t mean it like a crazy person who has nothing else to live for, I have plenty, he is just the happy place my mind wonders to when it needs a little escape from how hard the world wants to punch me every now and then.
Anyway, sheesh ramble on much? I got in line behind some lady, and a guy who had 5 books and didn’t even attend the show and was clearly just there to get them signed so he could sell them. Me however, me and my book drove up from Kentucky in an agonizing 10 hour ride, we made it through a night at a hotel I swear I don’t know why I wasn’t murdered in (more about murderville later)and me and my book made it to 3rd in line. I had rehearsed what I was going to say had I had a chance to speak to him. I actually wrote down bullet points on my hand because I knew(given my history) I would go blank and stand there looking like an idiot.
So I walked up to him, handed him my book and as he opened it he asked my name. I told him it was Mandy and as he was writing Hi Mandy!! in the book I leaned in and said
“You know in the book how you talk about meeting Frank Sinatra and telling him he had no idea and no concept of how huge a fan you were?”
He said “Yeah” and look quizzically at me
“That’s what this moment is to me. You are my Frank Sinatra” I replied. I could tell he appreciated the comment but my mind got the better of me and I cant even begin to tell you what he said in return. I asked if I could get a picture to which he stated “Sure” and stood up from his seat. I asked “Can I touch you” to which he replied “sure please do” I laughed and hugged the man like I was hugging the most beloved treasure Id ever seen or come near, (aside from my own precious angel children of course, but I hug them all the damn time and this story isn’t about them its about Martin Short so get off my back with my choice of words) I got my picture. I got my moment, I got to tell my hero, the man of my dream just how much he really means to me.
The downside of this story however is that I walked away alone to the most horrific hotel I’ve ever seen and he got in a cab and drove off and Ill never see him again. But hey… I had my moment.
Well, I was un aware until today that Mr. Short, aka the sexiest man alive, aka my hero will be in New York the same week as me again this year doing a book signing. I honestly had no idea. I am planning a visit and have tickets to see the Broadway production of Misery with Bruce Willis and while looking for other things going on in the city while I would be there I stumbled upon a book signing. I of course bought tickets to the Alan Zweibel in Conversation with Martin Short at the 92nd Street Y and OMG it says there is a book sale and signing after the show.
Now, to calm myself down. What am I going to say? Am I going to freak out? Will I pass out? Will I be able to breathe? What if I break out in terrible acne prior to?
Should I shake his hand? Oh god, the thought of his hand in mine is to much to even think about. I cant shake his hand. But what if I approach the table to have my book signed and he extends his hand first? What do I do then? Ill have to shake his hand right. Ill throw up. Oh god don’t let me throw up on Martin Short.
Should I dress up? Should I wear my I love Ed Grimley shirt? It clearly says I love Ed grimley across the boobs. But then Martin Short would look at my boobs. What if they aren’t up to par? Ohhhh Maybe he will sign the shirt?
And now, what do I say to him? Do I just stand there silently and let him sign and walk away? Do I tell him I love him and that I run a Martin Short fan blog and instagram and twitter that no one looks at but me? Do I say “Hi, I loved the book.” and see what his response is and then wing it from there? I cant wing it. I’m a bumbling idiot at that thought of being next to him. Ill need a script. Ill have to write on my hand what I need to say. This will more than likely be the last time I am ever near him.
I think I will say “Hi, How are you” followed by his “hello” Then I will say “In your book you talk about meeting Frank Sinatra and how you told him he had no idea, no concept of how huge a fan you were, that is this moment for me. This is a story my kids, and grandkids will be told over and over until I die. You are my Frank Sinatra”
what do we think? Can I utter those words to my hero?
Today was a very nice day here in Kentucky. Weather was perfect, and I was driving around downtown with the windows down and the radio blaring. I got some strange looks every time I approached a red light however. I guess I don’t look the part. I was in fact caught at a red light singing Frank Sinatra “If you let me love you, its for sure I’m gonna love you, ALL THE WAY”
what’s so strange about this? Why does this warrant stares from strangers? Everyone sings in the car. I’m weird about my music. I like music that means something. I like lyrics that I can relate to. I have a wide variety of music on my playlist actually. If I were to hit shuffle, and just let it run you would bounce around from Frank Sinatra, to Lil’ Wayne and then on to some Jerry Lee Lewis. I like the older stuff, from the 50’s and 60’s. I cant help it. Even country music I don’t like anything recent. Il take some old George Jones over Luke Bryan any day of the week. I feel odd that I mentioned Lil’ Wayne, let me go on record and reiterate my previous statement…. I like Lyrics. I like things I can relate to and every now and then this 34 year old white girl from Kentucky can relate to something Lil’ Wayne has to say. For example, when Im having a rough day I can turn him on and
” Ok you want me up in a cage then ill come out in beast mode. Got to world up in a safe, combination is the G-Code, This Wheezy Mother F****er blood ganging Im in bleed mode, all about my dough but I don’t even check the peep hole, so you can keep knocking, but wont knock me down. No love lost, no love found” ….. I can relate.. Im all about my dough too Lil’ Wayne.
But then there are the times, more often then not that I am calm and romantic and longing for love. Real true, ALL THE WAY love that Frank Sinatra sings about. Times like today when this 34 year old woman gets crazy looks for singing to the wrong era of music at stop lights.