My name is Kathy and I’m a celebrity junkie…

Yes, it’s true; I’m overly fascinated with the lives of celebrities. I have an addiction to my weekly subscription to People magazine and I spend hours online reading about the latest Brad and Angelina sighting.

And now you enter my fantasy…I’m walking along a pristine beach with my dog, Willow, she has a ball in her mouth and is dying to chase it… she just needs someone to throw it for her. I’m tiny and cute with just the right windblown look to my hair. I’m dressed perfectly for an afternoon at the beach enjoying the sand (which I really hate, but for the purposes of this fantasy I like), the sun and every once in a while a dip my toe in the perfect water. Then tada…. Brad Pitt

He can’t stand that my REALLY cute dog wants to play and he cheerfully offers to throw her ball. Then for the next three hours (as if Willow could run for more than three minutes, but this is a fantasy) Brad Pitt throws the ball into the surf while he and I get to know one another… then regretfully he has to go, his personal assistant has just quit to work for someone else and he has interviews set-up for a new one… I offer my number and quickly explain that I’ve been an event planner and could easily handle details of his personal life.

Boom, he offers me the job on the spot. I then explain I’m married with two kids and two more dogs. He asks what my husband does; I say he’s a general contractor, perfect because my husband can have a job, too. Brad’s a budding architect and he has plenty to build. I just have to name my price… oh and he has a second home at his Malibu estate perfect for a family of four. No, he doesn’t mind me bringing my kids to work, hell I can even bring Willow everyday if I’d like. No, I don’t have to travel with him, but I’m welcome to join him when the timing suits me.

And then back to reality, the sound of Hayden’s swing, back and forth, back and forth. Mike walks in and wants to know what I’m doing. I must have blushed because when I tell him I’m writing my blog he smiles and asks if I’m writing about him. I confess that I’m actually writing about Brad Pitt. I could have fibbed but he’ll read this at some point and know the truth.

See, I’m certifiably addicted; I’ve spent hours thinking of similar alternatives to this fantasy. I don’t want to be WITH a celebrity, just near one. Not sure why. The truth is I’d probably spew my lunch on the poor guy if I ever did run into him. I’d never be able to hold a conversation and my hair would NEVER have that perfect windblown look.