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In some circles, I'm now being considered a coward suffering from the ever-elusive pants-on-fire syndrome because I won't come out and say what really happened. Except how I did. But that's okay. You can either believe me, or not believe me. It doesn't make much difference to me one way or the other.

I also love the people who are reporting what happened to me, but not citing their sources. I should have known that by posting what happened, I wouldn't have been Mirandized in that wonderful online equivalent where I have the right to remain silent, and anything I say, will be taken out of context, misquoted, blown out of proportion and then used against me. Woo!

I also love how I'm this big, sarcastic, storyteller and people don't understand that. I tell stories. I'm really sarcastic. When I say, "I had lunch with Duchovny!" I don't mean we clinked spoons before we split a bowl of corn chowder and swapped stories about that time at the Ivy when the waiter tripped and poured an entire ginger ale down my new silk blouse. What I mean is that he was at the next table while I was eating lunch and I almost crapped my pants when I realized it. And then he asked me to play two-handed solitaire with him and have his babies.

Snerk.

Oh, and also, another friend forwarded me pictures that apparently, some member of the paparazzi who was hiding out in the parking lot up there took.

Honestly, it was a cool thing to have happen to me, considering I am a big X-Files fan, but I honestly am beginning to understand less and less of this culture's obsession with celebrity. I mean, taking a picture of a guy that's just sitting at a table waiting for a friend? I can see how it may be big news if they were sitting there talking about the next movie and what the plot was, and all of that, but can't you just wait for the press release?

I'm not about to bust out and say what I think they were talking about from what little I heard. That's their business--not mine. Or yours, for that matter.

I'm so glad that I didn't walk up to him and drool on his shoes and have my picture taken with him and tell him what a big fan of Scully I was (like about thirteen other people there that day). To be honest, I kind of feel bad for him. I'd like to think that I'd be the kind of fan that if I did approach him, would just tell him that I liked his work, that Mulder is one of my favorite television characters and thanks for taking out the time to be nice to me and indulge the fantasy that I know him, and not just know who he is. But you know what? I'm glad I didn't. I love that I got the chance to see him (because he's totally gorge), and I'm thankful that I had the good grace to leave him the hell alone, but that's all I need. In fact, I don't even need that. I'd just be happy if kept going out there playing characters I liked and making good film and TV.

And if he kept going out there and making bad film and TV, that's okay, too. I'm not averse (nor a stranger) to making fun of it. That's why it's called Entertainment.

"Oh my God, I almost just drove off the road." -- RDJ