New York, Pattinson, Cronenberg, Elmo and That Fucking Hat

You've heard of Fan Fiction?  Well this is Fan Non-Fiction.  Or word vomit.  All depends on your perspective.  Anywho... this is my very, very overly-detailed account of seeing Rob in person, for the first (and perhaps the last) time.  Yeah, it's old news, but it took a while to recover:

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I don’t know what possessed me to check Robsessed at that moment in time, right after they posted the announcement for the TimesTalk Q&A with David Cronenberg and Robert Pattinson on August 15th -  but I did. (How do these girls at Robsessed do it anyway? Do they have a Bat Phone to Rob or something? They constantly leave me in awe with their prolific updates and scoops.)

I could go see these guys!

I am located outside of DC, but I recognized quickly that this might be the only chance I get to see Rob in person. Going to premieres, waiting in lines and camping out aren’t in my future (or in my past, and exist only in my nightmares).  So I jumped on it. One ticket or two? Two tickets or three? Would Mr. Bitch want to go? Hmmmm…

I’m cheap though, and cheap won out. I bought ONE ticket. Big mistake. Big, BIG, mistake (to quote Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman).

By the time I thought to buy more, it was sold out. And they were going for $100’s on Ebay already! Mr. Bitch begged me to sell my ticket. And I was tempted. I mean, what was I thinking? I’m going to go to NYC on a weekday to see Rob for an hour and a half?

There was no way I was going to charge my fellow Rob-crazed partners-in-crime some jacked-up price for a ticket anyway. So while the potential $$$ in front of me was appealing, it wasn’t going to happen. So I put in for PTO, got 2 Amtrak tickets and tried to figure out how I was going to get Mr. Bitch to come with me for the day – to sit in line.

Yes, initially I was going to get off the train and sit in line – all day – so I could be as close to Rob as possible. I cursed TimesTalks for their “general admission” tickets and even tried to find someone I could pay $100 to sit on line for me. Eventually the insanity subsided and I was resigned to at least being in the same room as Rob and playing the line-waiting-game that day by ear.

I pleaded and begged and cajoled Mr. Bitch to escort me. But he wouldn’t commit. When the “scandal” broke, he was convinced Rob wouldn’t show, and kept that stance up all the way to the point he saw him with his own eyes in NY. So when I announced we would now be taking the 3 a.m. train to see Rob at Good Morning America, I was pushing my luck. He was still telling me to sell the ticket…

“Waaa, waaa, waaa, you have to come! I need you that day! You know you’ll have fun once you’re there with me! Waaa, waaa, waaa.” And finally, finally, he relented (I may have offered sex) and took the day off so he could join me. And away we went...

The last time I was on Amtrak was for a trip to Charleston, SC - the time a tree fell on the track during a rain storm and we were stuck on the train for 24 hours. Oh, and on the way down some drunk bitch wouldn’t shut up in the “Quiet Car” and no one at Amtrak had the balls to kick her off. So why I thought we could sleep on the train to NY is beyond me. We didn’t.

Pretty much sucked this bad.

When we arrived with no sleep at Penn Station at 6:40 a.m., we had to book it to get to GMA by 7. The last time I was in NYC was 2002, but I knew its either you keep moving or die. Unfortunately I have a bad heel that started acting up that week (of course) and when I tried to run across a street, something snapped. I.suddenly.couldn’t.walk. Fuck. I have a day of walking around NYC ahead of me, and I just lost one of my feet. Perfect!

I really could have used Tori Spelling's scooter that day.

I leaned on Mr. Bitch and hobbled the rest of the way, and jumped into the fray at GMA. “Are they interviewing Rob inside or out?” In. “What time is he scheduled?” Not until after 8 a.m. So we waited and watched them put on a morning show. It’s fascinating and impressive what they do live every day.

You can see inside the studio, except for the giant screen, where they do the weather, cock-blocking us.

And the people-watching was superb. Homeless guy with the sign “Need cash for weed”? Priceless.

There were at least 100 of these women who camped out/waited hours to see Rob.

  Only the first 5-10 in this photo got a photo or autograph when Rob came out.  Ouch.

I was enthralled, but Mr. Bitch was not happy. So I sent him to scope out a bathroom for later. While he was gone, the US women’s gymnasts team (Fab Five) walked right by (holy shit they are tiny) and then, all of a sudden, Mr. Bitch comes running back, his face all lit up “I just saw Rob!! He ran into the building and I was standing right there! He was gorgeous!” Very funny, Mr. Bitch. But he was telling the truth. He (who didn’t want to be there) just happened to be next to Rob when he entered the building. Are you fucking kidding me?

But soon enough, I could see Rob through the window entering the studio and I became all psycho fan, getting as close in as possible, taking photos of the back of his head. (If I had to give the day a theme it was “Rob’s Bitch is always at the wrong angle”. I could see George Snufalufagus just perfectly, fuck you very much.) Rob glowed. His hair glowed. The whole studio was enraptured. Angels sang.



I did see him play with his hair at one point!

Then just like that, it was over. I saw the top of his head getting into a car and I waved goodbye like a moron as the car pulled away.

It was only 8:30 in the morning and we were in sleep-deprived comas, and I couldn’t walk. Thus started the day’s mantra “I’m never doing anything this stupid again.” We needed sleep!

I limped over to a Duane Reade pharmacy to find something for my foot. (Are there Duane Reade’s anywhere else but Manhattan? ) Bingo, I found something that would allow me to walk, albeit slowly. As I was adjusting my shoes, Mr. Bitch says "There's Elmo".  And sure enough, there was Elmo.

Followed by Hello Kitty and Mickey Mouse. At 8:30 a.m.  Eating "special" mushrooms couldn’t get you close to that image. I have no idea why, but Mr. Bitch just had to get Hello Kitty’s autograph. So he did.

If you look closely you can see her trying to look through her big head to sign the autograph, lol.

We ate breakfast and I had an epiphany – let’s go to Central Park, lay under a tree and take a nap! Yeah, they’re calling for thunderstorms, but it looks fine. So that’s what we did. We took a death-defying cab ride to 72nd Street and found a spot overlooking the Boat House. Perfect. Until some asshole started playing the ukele. I think we slept for a little bit, although it was hard to do when you’re trying to sleep and not get mugged at the same time.

Mini Rob pretty much sucks at warding off muggers.

Central Park is actually incredibly beautiful and well-maintained. At least in that area.

Seriously, how beautiful is this park?

When the sky started to threaten we packed up and headed toward the Alice statue. (It wasn’t until we got there that I told Mr. Bitch why I wanted to go there – to touch the spot where Rob sat on the statue in Remember Me.) I touched the spot - and I’m not ashamed to say it was exciting. Ok, maybe slightly ashamed.

It started to rain. Lightly. We huddled on a bench under our 2 little umbrellas, thinking it would pass. Not. It got heavier, and heavier. And it was so heavy we couldn’t even attemp to find shelter. So we huddled closer, protecting our bags. And got soaked. All I remember was looking at Mr. Bitch and proclaiming “we’re fucked”.

It was pretty much just like this.

When it stopped, we had 2 hours before TimesTalk had suggested getting in line. We were around 35 blocks away, and I figured that would give me enough hobbling time to get there, and dry off. (Let’s just say that straightening my hair before I left that morning was now all for naught).

Unbelieveably it DID take us 2 hours to walk/shuffle to the event and when I got on line right before 4 pm, I was at the end. I gave Mr. Bitch the challenge to guess how many men where on the line (definitely less than 10) and then set him free in the city for a few hours as we waited, and waited and survived a giant lightning strike. (I felt so bad when I jumped on the woman in front me from the shock!)

The next 2.5 hours were interminable. They herded us into the lobby and then into our seats. Luckily I got one on the isle only around 10 rows back.

I had to get up a number of times to let people out for the bathroom. One of these times I spotted JJ and STY from Twitarded a few rows over. Eventually I got up the balls to go over and they both reacted adorably when I introduced myself as “Rob’s Bitch”. Then they made an announcement threatening to give away any empty seats,so I skidaddled.

Finally, finally, they lifted up the backdrop behind the stage.



It was cool how you could see the lobby of the Times Building through the glass, and the flash bulbs going off.

The excitement building inside and around me was palpable.  Suddenly you could see flash bulbs lighting up the windows in the hallway to the right, and we all knew that Rob was close.  When he finally was introduced and walked in, I was totally watching the wrong door ... and missed him.

But then, the realization happened.  The drop-in-the-stomach, disappointed, WTF, are you kidding me, why is he wearing that fucking hat, moment.  Let's be honest, I didn't travel all that way to hear Rob ponder film making and wax philosophical.  Don't get me wrong, I enjoy that about him, and get my fill of that in various mediums in the privacy of my own home.  But no.  I was there to see his hotness in person.  In the flesh.  And a big part of that involves his hair. 


Why Rob, why???

And I clearly was not the only one.  Immediately there were cries around me of "Rob, take off your hat!", etc.  Decorum and maturity would have dictated I tell these women to shut up, but I was silently grateful for their verbal requests.  If only he had heeded the call.

All week we had seen him looking hotter than ever, so the expectation of his appearance that evening was pretty damn super sonic. 



First we had this...

...then this...

... then "OMFG there are no words", THIS...

...then this 10 hours earlier that same day...

...and finally"WTF"?? (He still looks adorable here yes, but, still...)

My seat was pretty close, but the angle sucked for optimal Rob viewing,  All I pretty much saw was his left profile - and perfect frontal views of the Two Davids.  Grumble, grumble, grumble. At least the angle didn't impact my view of his hands and wonky legs. 

They made it clear that no photos were allowed once the "talent" was in the auditorium.  And except for one flash, it appeared everyone complied. 

But I had a different device I was using, that I'm pretty sure caught the attention of security, who probably presumed it was a recording device.  Binoculars. 

So while everyone was watching the film clips, I was watching Rob.  Through binoculars.  When he dropped his water-bottle cap, and was fumbling around with those E.T. fingers trying to grasp it off the floor, I got in close.  With my binoculars.

Yeah, they talked about the film blah, blah, blah.  The Two Davids were clever intellectuals and Rob was adorable (and can keep up with them just fine), but all I saw was Rob and his shyness. All I heard was his giggle.  He is as sweet in person as he appears in interviews.

The highlight was when Rob and I shared a moment.  At least I believe we did.  In Rob fashion he felt he was going on about some deep observation and suddenly declared he didn't know what he was talking about and asked "What time is it anyway"? about an hour into the Q&A.  Everyone laughed and then I did one of those "after the laughter extended laughs" and ROB DID IT TOO!  I swear, he chuckled at my chuckle!  He did, I tell 'ya!

It ended all too quickly.

Some girl next to me yelled "Rob look this way!" and sweet Rob obliged and I waved and said "Bye Rob" again, like a moron, and then limped on out, met Mr. Bitch, grabbed a falafel and got back on the train - never wanting a shower and my bed more in my life (with Rob, of course).