Don't stand so close to me

Teen has always been...cool. She goes her own way, has her own style and is seemingly fearless.

Me? Not so much.

Case in point: we went out for a birthday party and drinks in Hollywood a few weekends ago. All dolled up in our snazzy duds and designer jeans, we had reached the point of the evening where you're contemplating sprinting the blocks back to the car if it means you can get out of those stilettos one minute sooner. But I was given another reason to contemplate running when a group of punk kids and one lonely-looking, middle-aged weirdo started following us a little too closely - close enough for me to realize that they were entertaining themselves by making horse noises at us under their breaths and then bursting into laughter at their own cleverness as our heels click-clacked on the sidewalk even more. I muttered my discovery quietly to Teen, who replied with, "Are you kidding me? What a bunch of bored losers!" At the intersection of Sunset and Vine, the punks went one way and Mr. Weirdo continued to follow...soon making the mistake of laughing when I stumbled in the middle of the intersection.

Teen whirled around so fast the guy almost walked right into the finger she was now pointing at his face. "What exactly do you find so hilarious about her stumbling in the street?! We're just minding our business! Who do you think you are?!" It went on from there... with me worrying that the light may change and we'd all still be standing there: Weirdo fumbling for the words he'd lost to shock, me reaching for my phone to call someone if needed and Teen looking like she was ready to rip a clump of his hair out and toss it to the wind just to show him she wasn't kidding. As he finally stammered that the hilarious part was that we were both wearing high heels Teen guffawed loudly, stuck her hand in his face to shoosh him and stated, "We're done here," before spinning around again with me trailing behind her and Weirdo purposely staying at a long, long distance back.

People can pick up on cool just as easily as they can detect that they may be about to get their ass kicked by a 5'7" spunky beauty. That's why I wasn't at all suprised when the paparazzi were so clearly tracking her down at the Brentwood Farmer's Market back in November while we shopped for Thanksgiving ingredients.

Wouldn't you know it though?... The one chance I've had at peripheral tabloid fame and Marcia Cross and her babies jump in the shot and totally block me!

Don't you hate it when Marcia does that?