I look like someone often.

I’ve always had people approaching me randomly, talking like they know me, waving, or saying “hey”. And I’ve always figured it’s because I look like someone’s pal’s ex-girlfriend. Or a friend’s sister, cousin or aunt.

But one night, years ago in Winnipeg… I was back home for a visit and at a gig with friends. Quite a few guys came up to say “hi” that night. Guys I didn’t know. Finally, one who I kinda recognized was talking like we were old pals until I finally said, “When did we hang out again?” He looked at me and said, “What? Yeah right, CHRISTINE!”  I said, “I’m not Christine.” He looked at me in shock, and Joey Lawrenced. “Whoa, you look exactly like her.”  Wow. Who the hell was Christine? And how many guys could I score if I pretended to be her? I mean, nevermind, I mean, who the hell was Christine?

A doppleganger from the same smallish city? Impossible. Not to mention, I don’t even look like a “Christine”. Highly probable if your a geneticist or cultural anthropologist, maybe. But really.

Weeks later I went to a big party at a friend’s place and suddenly there was a buzz. Christine was in the house. A close friend who had heard the story came up and said, “I just saw your doppleganger. It’s freaky.” And then I found her. I looked across the room and laid eyes on a skinny, pretty version of myself. (ok, I’ll give myself equally attractive) To be honest, it was mesmerizing. I went up to the host of the party and asked if he knew her. He said, “Not really, a bit.” And when I said, “Do you notice anything? ” He freaked. And admitted, looking at both of us in the same space, he was shocked he’d never noticed it before.

At some point we met eyes, and she gave me a funny look, a smile, and came over to say hi. Then, we both said, “I think we kinda look alike.” And as we laughed, I said, “I’ve been called Christine a lot lately.” And she said, “You must be Sandra.”

And that was it. It was crazy but kinda nice. We didn’t become pals or anything. She was a slut. I was Christian. Just kidding. I’m not Christian. But there’s not much more to tell. She was a darker, edgier me, for sure. Lord knows, I may have been busted on her behalf repeatedly, if I still lived in her space.

Sometimes I think it would have been cool to stay in touch to see if we’re aging the same. And maybe we could have shared some beauty tips… Or at the very least we’d have stood a pretty good chance at being cast in the adult version of Parent Trap…

Whatever, we all have dopplegangers, apparently. But rarely do we get to see them face to face. It was pretty cool… putting creepy and disarming aside.

This evening I watched in horror as a woman tripped up a flight of steep metal steps in an arena while holding what looked like an almost new born baby. We all gasped. Some women around me cried out, and I’m sure many looked away, afraid to see the worst. She took a very hard fall, yet miraculously, the baby was unharmed. Why? Because she took the fall for both of them. Probably without realizing she was doing it. In a split second, she was able to maneuver herself in a way so the baby would be completely unharmed. She, on the other hand, is badly bruised and may have broken her ankle. Who cares? She certainly doesn’t.

The scene reminded me of something that happened to me. My baby girl began crawling spontaneously one day while on a bed 3 feet above a hard floor. I was standing in the room talking to my husband when he suddenly saw me dive sideways, flying through the air like a rugby player. He was stunned by my crazy behaviour, mid-sentence no less, until he saw the catch, my hands just managing to grasp our baby’s shoulders as her head touched the ground.  I didn’t even know I was doing it.

I was bruised and stiff for about a week after, but again, who cares?  So amazing are the innate and automatic reflexes that allow a mother to protect her child when they are in danger, without even processing what’s happening.

No skill required.

Though my husband, who still claims he’s never seen anything like it, remains convinced that I’m a shoe-in for the lady’s rugby division.

…and is adjusting to its new environment.

I just got photos of my stuff from the girls with a caption that said “Is this REAL life??”.  They now have a fully furnished new apartment. And my furniture has a great new home.

Doing this has felt so good, I’m thinking of starting a Furniture Adoption Agency.

Tonight was my last night as a resident of NYC.

I have surrendered my NYC apartment because it simply didn’t make sense anymore. Fiscally, effort-wise… I’m all over with work.  East coast. West coast. And now I begin a life of hotels and friend’s couches. 

This was the right move.

And although my building managment was being a bit awful in terms of help, I got a lucky break on Craigslist.  Two young girls, starting their careers in NYC, and essentially broke, appeared. Yes, 2 Broke Girls. They liked everything but could only afford a few things, but would take anything I had left over.

So, I gave them my whole apartment.

When they came to pay me tonight, they simply said, “we know what you’ve done for us and we can’t thank you enough.” I told them it felt like the right thing to do. I was where they are once. And now again, in many ways. But I didn’t tell them that part.

Instead of calling friends, I went to my favorite restaurant alone. I had my favorite meal and for whatever reason, the bartenders decided to buy me my accompanying drinks tonight.

And then after, I went to my favorite bar (a walk across my favorite hotel lobby) to my favorite bartender. He and I had a great chat and then some of his friends wandered in, band boys and an actress. I love how he feels comfortable introducing me to his pals,  and we had a great time. They told me they’d be in touch and we should hang out next time I’m in NYC. And then, as I was about to leave, he said, “sit tight, you need to meet this guy”, as a film producer he knew walked in. He had produced no less than 7 top of mind titles I knew. We talked about the industry. And then our NYPD cop friend arrived. and we finished off the night together. There was no check.

The Pay It Forward thing isn’t usually immediate. But being open, creating and appreciating relationships, and being as good a person as you can, does bring great things.

I couldn’t have had a better night tonight, or one more indicative of what I love most about New York City. Friends in strangers, unexpected kindness and generosity, and a neverending adventure.

Farewell amazing city. I’ll be back soon.

Soft Celebrity Encounters or Celebrities I have met. Who may not realize that they have met me.

I don’t stalk celebrities. Every now and again I’m given an awesome opportunity to work with someone higher in the alphabet than E-list, but apart from a couple of amazing and memorable gigs, I’m talking chance encounters here.

I’m not talking about times where I was in the same airspace. Or when someone took a picture of me standing beside a celebrity. With their back facing the camera. Or in profile, like 17yr old me and a clueless Peter O’Toole at the Connemara pony show. Or sitting discreetly next to Ellen Barkin and Susan Sarandon at a private club. Or sitting on a plane 3 feet away from Sissy Spacek, or Olivia Munn or John Cusack, or that guy who got naked as Samantha’s boyfriend in Sex and the City.

This is real stuff.

Like time Gabriel Byrne said “hi”. Lenny Kravitz waved.  Uma Thurman gave me a nod. Shelly Duval bummed me a smoke. John Mellancamp said “Hey, you”, in the middle of the night in an empty hotel lobby. Cuba Gooding Jr. shook my hand. I got a big grin from Steve Buscemi. Or the time John Cusack shrugged his shoulders in reply to my question. (It was a good answer.)

Right. Ok…

I have helped Bill Nye pick a bow tie off the racks on each wall of his bedroom.

I have spent the day with Ed Begley, Jr. at his home, and experienced what it’s like to work with an extremely kind, gracious, and consummate professional.

I had nightly phone conversations with Jeremy Irons as I read him his messages at the end of his shoot days, while he stayed at the Four Season’s. “Night night, darling.” was his sign off.

I have chatted with Jamie Oliver about how my in-laws live down the road from his parents. He said he’d hook me up at his dad’s pub if I ever came over. And I have to say I swooned at his “Bye bye, love, do take care!” as he looked for me over the throngs of press people as he was leaving.

I had my first “Mom’s night out” partying with the Trailer Park Boys after I had my daughter. And they were intent on giving me a great night out. They did. Salt of the Earth. Amazing guys.

And then there was the time I gently told Keanu Reeves to shut up, and he was cool and super nice about it. You see we were at this place and they thought it was getting busted and we needed everyone to be quiet and… nevermind.

I’ve said enough.

I had a teacher in high school who decided one day that it would be highly entertaining to read his teacher comments from our report cards aloud in front of the class. I don’t remember what he said about me, but I remember one of the worst was about a pretty popular dude. It wasn’t that he was a distraction in class, or a jerk. That would have been cool. His comment was “Ken tries.” People laughed.

And do you know, when I met Ken so many years later at a class reunion, he was a little balding and sweet and real and maybe slightly underaccomplished but cool… and all I could hear in my head was “Ken tries..”

That teacher has no idea how that comment resonated.

Fortunately, he got fired. But not for that. It was for trying to seduce a 11th grade girl on the school trip to Greece. He was truly an awesome human being.

There is no upside to this story, but if there was, it might be that there would be no double indemnity if the girl had him tried retroactively for his sex crime and if I had him tried separately, for “Ken tries.” Ok. Ken charges him. I’m key witness, Whatever. I’m loyal and a defender of what’s right… if you don’t know what I’m like.

Asshole.

For any of you who followed or cared during a certain dark moment of my life when my laptop was stolen from the TSA area of Terminal 5 at JFK… I have goodish news.

I have received a check from the US government as restitution for my loss. It is for the amount of half my claim, but in settling, they admit they were somewhat at fault for what occurred.

It took one rejection of claim and a follow up killer letter of reconsideration to get there, but it was worth the battle. The lesson: NEVER GIVE UP. And write killer factual letters that overstate, in simple language, the bullshit that you endured, whenever necessary.

I have a kit to help you do so. Call 1-800-WINNING. Ok,don’t dial that. Some freak will answer.

brainnotbrian:

So, um, the little monkeys have found me again. And someone told their mom. And their mom told my boss. And my boss has asked me to stop. My real boss, in my real life. Yes, believe it or not, I have a real life. One I have mostly neglected. A life I have replaced almost completely with this dirty…

This is one of my favorite stories. And I’m not sure there’s any great lesson in it other than to stay hydrated. Anyhoo….

I lived in Scotland for a couple of years and a very anal and wonderful Scottish friend of mine and I decided to do a little road trip up the West Highland Trail with her younger brother. (Note to self: relish the fact that you will never first be introduced as anal.) The whole tip was kind of mapped out to the detail, which hostels we’d stay at, and that we’d climb Ben Nevis and it was all cool.

We did all that, to the dot. And the day we’d climb Ben Nevis, the highest peak in Britain, loomed. The night before we went to a local pub nearby the hostel and got so entanced by the local culture (loaded) and live performance of music (singing along drunkenly). it was magical.

We were hung over as hell the next day, but determined to stick to our schedule. (yes) so we set out relatively early. We stopped at the base of the mountain to pick up a couple of juice cans. (I know, don’t even say it,) And we began our trek.

Needless to say, after about 45 minutes uphill, we ran out of juice. But fortunately we could refill our meager cans with spring water that ran down the mountain. And we climbed and climbed.

Eventually, we got to the source of the spring water. A wee lake. Pond, really. Where everyone who had climbed ahead of us was soaking their feet and letting the dogs, accompanying them, swim about.

Lovely.

And despite our horror, we were too dehydrated to barf.

We did climb the whole way — although she will never let me own it. I begged off the final 200 ft up a glacier as I felt my knees and de-hydtrated body needed to get back down the mountain. So yes, I chose to FAIL.

But we did make it down in one piece. And to this day, realize if people knew our deal, we’d go down in Scottish legend as the idiots who climbed a mountain with two small juice cans as sustinence.