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We went shopping for stuff to fill our new apartment with, and we went hiking up in the Hollywood Hills (to the sign and back).

Now, both places we went we managed to see someone famous.

I know, I know, it's LA and it happens all of the time. But, being this was my roommate's first weekend living in the city, I'd say it was pretty good.

While shopping for posters, bookcases, and various other apartment sundry, we ran into Tom Poston. Okay, to be honest, he almost ran into US. He had a shopping cart and was aiming for me in Cost Plus.

While we were hiking, we were attacked by Holland Taylor's dog. Which, while I dislike small dogs immensely, (especially little white ones) was extremely cute. She informed us that he was just checking us out, we informed her of his cuteness (I left out the "despite the fact that I would normally have a strong desire to kick your little yapper over the cliff and into the canyon" part).

Now here's my question: When do I get to be famous? When do I get to thank Sid Grauman and plant my feet in wet cement along the ever-gritty sidewalks of Hollywood Blvd?

If you don't mind, I'd like to ram into YOU in Cost Plus World Market and have you turn to your roommate and mouth "Dude. Kasey Something From Newhart." I want to hike up in the Hollywood Hills and have my dog mock-attack you, and then have your roommate say to you "she sounds like Kasey I'mnottellingyoumylastname" and have you reply "she is."

Come to think of it, maybe I don't want to be famous. I mean, I shop in my pajamas and I swear like a sailor. I'm a fan of alone time, and I dislike stalkers. I enjoy eating meals uninterrupted and my autograph could use some work.

Okay, I don't want to be famous. But I would like the money that comes with the fame.

I don't know if anyone has told you, but it is EXPENSIVE to fill empty apartments with things other than lawn chairs and ceramic cats.