Oh, wait. sorry, that was how this blog was supposed to start. You know, after a succesful stalking session and real proposal (on his part). Instead, as I write this, I'm nursing an intense injury to my right heel resulting from a speedwalk in flats that love to rip the skin off the back of my feet.
It's a tough life I lead, folks. I can't sugarcoat it all for you.
Sorry, are you confused? Maybe I should start at the beginning. Yesterday, not long before lunch was to start, I decided to take a pre-lunch break and hop on facebook for a little update of everyone's lives. The usual.
Randomly a status popped up on my newsfeed, that this guy had just seen Ryan Reynolds filming a movie on Newbury St. in Boston. Needless to say, like any true american girl in my place would do, I freaked out. I emailed my coworkers the good news, and headed on google to get the dirt on the RR sighting. Could it be true? Could Mr. Reynolds be right in my backyard, just waiting for the woman of his dreams to stroll by the set. And by woman of his dreams I obviously mean ME (Incidentally, I've never really spent all the much time thinking about Ryan. The promise of a brush with fame threw me over the edge, I guess).
After some quick online searching, I discovered RR has been in town for awhile filming a new movie with Kevin Bacon and Jeff Bridges, all of whom has been spotted throughout the area from Charlestown to Fenway. And yesterday, blessedly, Ryan was on Newbury Street, barely any distance at all from my office (or so I told myself).
I convinced the girls at lunch that we'd for sure have time to eat and still make the trek over to Newbury Street,it's like soo close. So with high spirits, we headed out on our celebrity stalking adventure. Despite warnings from the others (and knowing it myself, but not admitting it) that we would get to Newbury and have to turn back to make it back to work in time, we pressed on. Sure enough, just as we reached the beginning of Newbury it became clear that even with a brisk walk back to the office we were going to be late. Nevermind trolling the street for a glimpse of someone famous.
So, without ceremony, we started hoofing it back to the office. My shoes, whose biting heels had. up until then, been held at bay with a bandaid, were soon grabbing visciously at my skin. I ignored it as we focused on making record time. Finally, we arrived at the office, hopped in the elevator and spilled out sweaty and breathless into our lobby. Trying to be discreet, we crept in the through the glass doors and scattered to take various routes back to our desks.
Ten minutes after two, I slumped into my chair and looked down at my heel to see what kind of blister I'd sustained, only to see blood. Everywhere. This was not blister. This was a chunk of my foot missing kind of thing. It was incredibly painful, and disgusting. Twenty four hours later, I'm still in pain and limping slightly.
And so it was that my dreams of being Mrs. Kathryn Reynolds came to a (rather gory) end. It's not like he's really my type anyway. I mean, come on: buff, good looking, and famous? Please.