Did I mention I know* Meryl Streep?

Last year for my birthday, M and I traveled with our good friends Katie and Dave to New York City. (Sidenote: have I told you how much I miss being able to get on a bus and go to NYC? Seriously. If I tried that from here it would 1. cost a bajillion dollars and 2. take a bajillion hours to get there.)

If I could recreate that weekend every time I go to NYC I would. Why? Well I'll tell you why. First off, it was New York fashion week and WE were there. Not guests inside, mind you. But there, all the same. The list of famous people we saw is too long to list, though I will mention Heidi Klum (who is beautiful, but looked a little orange) and Whitney Port and that horrid Olivia girl. I felt like a 13 year old all over again, taking pictures of famous people! Not that I really did that when I was 13, but, whatever.

And then...my uncle also happened to be in the city and told us about this phenomenal jazz venue in Harlem. And by venue, I mean woman's living room. Every Sunday, Ms. Eliot opens her Harlem apartment up to anyone and everyone to come and experience some of the world's best jazz. She serves hot wings and kool-aid, and charges a great "zero" for entrance. If you love jazz, you must go to Ms. Eliot's living room before you die. Nearly all great jazz musicians have played there at one time or another.

And in case those two experiences weren't enough, we had reservations that evening at Babbo down in the West Village.

Sound familiar? It's Mario Batali's restaurant. I love him! Even his orange Crocs, which I normally hate. But seriously, that man can pull them off. (Note, I saw him a few weeks later and, sure enough, he had them on. In early March. In New York.)

When we walked in, I checked in with the hostess for our 9:30 reservations, and then just sort of stared off into space while we waited. You know how it can sometimes appear that you're staring at someone, but you're actually not seeing them? That's how I was...just sort of looking, but not seeing. Until. My eyes started to focus on the object I had been looking at. (Focus. Focus.) Hey...that looks like... (focus)....hey, whoever it is is looking back at me and smiling (focus)...HOLY CRAP THAT'S MERYL STREEP LOOKING AT ME AND SMILING!! Of course, as any woman would do, I immediately whisper as quietly as possible, "KATIE! THAT'S MERYL STREEP." (I'm really classy like that.)

My obvious next thought is, So if Meryl Streep is here, who else is? Why look, there's Maggie Gyllenhaal with a big group of friends. And Rachel Zoe, back in the corner with her husband. And, what's that Dave and M? Meryl Streep is with JIM FROM THE OFFICE? Holy crap. We're like in the pantheon of actors and actresses I like. (And stylists.)

So that's how I know Meryl Streep. *Granted, she doesn't know my name, but we made a connection, you know? I could just feel it.

Oh, and the food was the most amazing food I have ever eaten and it was one of my best birthdays ever.

In fact, it was all so great that I returned to NYC a few weeks later and went to Babbo again with my friends New York Meg and New York Nancy (and DC Mandy), for Meg's birthday.

And ran into Luke Wilson.

But that's another story.

Hello, Neighbor!

What better way to introduce yourself to the new neighbors then hot, fresh, hand-delivered cookies?

I don't want to brag. But my chocolate chip cookies ARE world famous. And, by the way, I can say "world" because I made them in India when I lived there in 2004. For reference, this is no small feat when brown sugar is nearly impossible to find and your house doesn't have an oven. Yes, friends, you can survive-even thrive- WITHOUT an oven!!! But I digress.

So in order to meet our new neighbors, and since I don't have anything else to do yet (ie, I'm unemployed), I thought it would be nice to bake up a fresh batch of cookies, wrap them up in a cute little bag and hand deliver them to our new neighbors. (I think this would go over really well if I wear pearls, lipstick and talk with a Southern accent. Maybe Mason will even wear seersucker. Do they know what that is in Chicago?) I mean who among us would love to get fresh baked cookies from the new neighbor? I'm raising my hand. As long as my neighbor isn't that scary Russian dude who poisoned that other Russian guy.

I'm quickly learning that our new neighborhood is made up of a unique mix of characters. Again, hopefully not scary Russian dude or anyone involved with any international form of the mafia. Here's hoping. Anyway, you've got your graduate students, who make up the entirety of our building. You've got the professors, many of whom live in the beautiful old mansions on the side streets off of our street (apparently professors at the University of Chicago are doing well). You've got the middle class families who commute in to Chicago every day, and you've got the older people who have lived there forever.

And then you've got them, when they're not (ahem) busy doing other things*.

You think I'll be able to deliver cookies to their house? Maybe if I sweeten up the deal by giving the cops outside some cookies (again, with the Southern accent, pearls and lipstick), they'll let me by. And even though I never heard anything back about renting out their house, I'll let it slide this time.

I wouldn't want to deprive anyone of those world famous cookies.

*Like governing America.

I'm in the movie

That’s right, friends. M and I are GOING TO BE IN A MOVIE!

Now before you get too excited, let me explain. As you all saw from the previous post, my office building is being used for the Reese Witherspoon/Jack Nicholson/Owen Wilson/Paul Rudd movie currently being filmed in Washington, DC. Yesterday they started setting up for taping again, and this time they brought out the big guns. Lights EVERYWHERE. Literally, all over the block. Wardrobe rolled in. Director’s Trailer parked outside. Much more “stuff” than before. And taping was to begin that evening.

Being the naturally curious people that we are (cough cough), M and I decided that we would sit out on the patio at the restaurant next door to our office (Bobby Van’s) and “see what we could see” if you know what I mean. M studied film while in college, so he’s into the camera angles, etc etc etc. Let’s be honest though, people. I’m in to seeing the celebs. In case you hadn’t already figured that out. And in case I haven’t told you about my myriad of sightings. I know, I’m ridiculous. Whatever.

So we sat down on the patio in a prime “viewing” spot, ordered our drinks and…well, sat there. We watched really, really pissed off drivers trying to get around the massive light trucks. We saw them hose down the sidewalk (uh, what?) We saw attractive-looking people walk back and forth in front of us (apparently Paul Rudd stood right near our table, and I didn’t even notice…which a co-worker, who was also there, told me later). We watched big black SUVs pull up, then pull away. La dee da, what fun. M even saw the director (again, can you tell he actually cares about the “making” part of making a movie?)

Then, I think somewhere around the second drink, another big black SUV pulled up a couple yards in front of us. At this point it’s getting late so we know the “stars” are about to show up. And lo and behold, hopping out of the back of the SUV is cute, sweet Reese Witherspoon (and she is itsy bitsy). Hey, cool! And look, there’s Paul Rudd, who I actually recognize now! They’re making a movie!

So we began to wrap up our imbibing when we hear, “EXCUSE ME! EXCUSE ME! I’VE JUST BEEN INFORMED THAT THIS AREA IS GOING TO BE IN OUR SHOT.” Yes, reader, this was our big break. We were informed to “look natural” and “don’t look at the camera” (where the heck IS the camera anyway?) as soon as we heard “ROLLING, ROLLING, ROLLING.” And they took about ten different takes.

Reader, I NAILED it. I looked so gosh darn natural, it looked like I WAS a natural. I twirled my champagne, looked into M’s eyes, and pretended to say something witty. I’m sure they caught it ALL. Granted, M said we won’t be much more than a background blob, but hey, I had on a BRIGHT ORANGE shirt, so at least I’ll be able to pick out my part of the background blob.

I’ll be signing autographs this afternoon if anyone is interested. Just call my agent.

My building is famous. Maybe I will be, too.

Yesterday around noon something strange started to happen at our office building. All of a sudden, I noticed someone putting up a bus stop outside of our office. “Uh, what?” I thought. “I wonder what bus line this is going to be? Horrible for traffic.” Then, about 2:30, I started to notice furniture appearing in our building lobby. Weird “doesn’t belong here” sort of furniture (pleather benches and large sofas. That do not belong in our 1920s beaux-arts office building). As a sidenote, I should say that my office building, The Bowen Building, really has quite a beautiful lobby. Black and white marble floors, beautiful wood paneling, all very high class. So what was with the bus stop and the tacky furniture?

When I finally left the office in the early evening, I stopped to ask the man vaccumming the carpet for the tenth time what exactly was going on.

Dude: “We’re filming a movie here.”

Me: “What movie?!” (trying not to act TOO excited-when it comes to celebrities, you have to act like you don’t care)

Dude: “It’s called ‘How Do You Know’ with Reese Witherspoon, Owen Wilson and Jack Nicholson.”

(silence/crickets)

Me: “Here?”

Dude: “Uh, yeah.”

End of scene.

So reader, my office building is going to be famous!! Granted, they’ve covered up the part where it says our organization’s name, and the lobby is almost unrecognizable at this point. But this weekend and next, Hollywood’s brightest stars will converge on my humble (working) abode to film scenes for their movie. And I’m just a little bit proud.

Isn’t it just so unfortunate I’ll have to come into the office this weekend to get some work done? Maybe Jack Nicholson will buy me a coffee.

Note: the map above should not be used to mob Owen Wilson.