Hey, I'm famous. You're famous. Let's get a mocha.

Last night I attended an Oscar-watching party in which we discussed the important issues: dresses, lop-sided boobs, hair, who’s hiding his or her homosexuality, the weak list of dead people and what famous people do when they run into each other at Starbucks. Wow, are you thinking what I’m thinking? That’s a lot of potential blog topics. But I’m gonna go with the last one:

Let’s say I’m a semi-famous actress like Sarah Michelle Gellar. I’m well-known because of that whole Buffy thing and cause my one-day-ex-husband is kinda cute and had a famous dad but I’m not like stalked by the Paparazzi or anything. I (SMG) go into a Starbucks to get a White Chocolate Mocha. (Well, that’s what I, Writinggal, would get but I’m gonna guess that Buffy would get that too because it’s awesome. Oh, but with nonfat milk and no whip, natch.)

So I’m in the Starbucks and I see Sandra Bullock. Now I know her just as everyone else does—from her movies. I’ve never met her. I have a few options:

“Hi, Sandy. How are you?” or “Hi, I loved you in Crash.” or “Congratulations on your recent marriage to that guy with all the tattoos.” And then is it necessary for me to introduce myself or would she know me? I mean, when I’m out and about I don’t usually look like a movie star. I was just running to the 'Bucks so I’ve got on sweats and no make-up. So what if she doesn’t know me and she just thinks I’m annoying? Or what if she thinks I'm Jennifer Love Hewitt? (which, by the way, happens all the time even though we don't look alike. Freddie thinks it's because of the whole triple name thing.) Or worse, what if she DOES know me and can’t believe I’m bothering her when I should know how it feels? Or double worse, what if there’s some famous-person code and we’re supposed to all talk to each other because we’re in the “industry" and plus, I was in Cruel Intentions with Ryan Phillippe and she was in Crash with him?

Back to me, WG: All of these puzzling questions were discussed at the party last night but we didn’t come up with any answers. It’s just another reason I’m grateful that I’m a poor, non-famous, non-presenter-basket-getting, entourage-less writer. Plus, it’s not likely a room-full of women will talk about MY lop-sided boobs.

"Hi, Sandra. I don't know if you know me but I'm a big fan of your work."

"Oh, sure, sweetie. I know you. You were so cute in Party of Five. Um, would you like me to autograph your White Chocolate Mocha?"