The legendary Cary Grant

He and his wife Barbara were catching the afternoon flight to LA and my assignment (along with a senior passenger relations rep) was to escort the couple from the fancy schmancy Ambassador Club to their first class seats onboard the 747 (a tough job, but hey, someone had to do it!).  Now, company policy was that we weren’t supposed to ask celebs for their autographs, and I’d managed to refrain up to that point, not asking Cher, Ryan O’Neal, Farrah Fawcett, Muhammad Ali, Raquel Welsh or Peter Falk to name a few, but really–Cary Freakin’ Grant??  How many chances does one get to meet him?  What am I, made of stone?

So there I am, in the fancy schmancy Ambassador Club, and OMG, there’s Cary Grant.  Wearing those trademark black glasses, his silver hair perfect, wearing a white dress shirt and light gray trousers, looking utterly perfect and oozing class and debonair charm.  His wife is stunning and wearing some gorgeous dark blue ensemble that undoubtedly cost more than my car (this was back when people actually dressed up to travel, especially in first class), but really who cares about what she’s wearing when Cary Freakin’ Grant is standing there?!

The other passenger relations rep chats up Mrs. Grant, leaving me to chat up the legend himself.  And naturally, I’m completely professional.  I nearly faint and breathlessly gush, “Ohmygosh, Mr. Grant, I am your hugest fan.  Arsenic and Old Lace is one of my favorite movies of ALL TIME.  Do you think I could possibly have your autograph?”  Smooth–I’m telling you, I was reaaaalllly smooth.

He leans closer to me and says IN THAT VOICE WITH THAT ACCENT!, “Well all right, but I don’t want to give it to everyone.  Let’s go in the coat closet.”

Cary Grant in Arsenic and Old Lace

Since there isn’t a person on the planet who would argue with that logic, into the coat closet we went.  Now you must understand that this being the fancy schmancy Ambassador Club, the coat closet is a walk-in and a pretty good size–kind of long and skinny, probably about 8’X12’ so it’s not like we’re crammed into something the size of a Porta Potty (darn!).  Being the walking info counter I am, I carry a clipboard with a printout of the day’s flight information.  I quickly turn the paper over and present it to him with my pen, all while gawking at him in my most professional manner.  The conversation goes like this:

Carey Freakin’ Grant–What’s your name?

Most Professional Me: Jacquie

(He writes To Jackie then signs his name and hands me the clipboard).

MPM–Thank you so much, Mr. Grant.  But, um, you spelled my name wrong. (well, I had to say SOMETHING to keep the conversation going!)

CFG (looking startled)–Really? (takes clipboard back and says IN THAT VOICE WITH THAT ACCENT!)–How do you spell your name?

I spell it for him, slowly as to drag out our closet time together (why didn’t I think to say my name was Jacqueline??)  As I do, he crosses out Jackie and spells it correctly, then for emphasis adds a couple exclamation points.

CFG–(IN THAT VOICE WITH THAT ACCENT!) Why do you spell your name like that?

MPM–there was an actress my mom liked who spelled it that way**.

** (note–I’m 99% sure this is what I said, certainly it’s what I wanted to say, but I may have forgotten how to speak English, so there’s a chance I merely blubbered and drooled on his shoe—which was a perfectly shined black leather Oxford, btw).

Me and Cary in the coat closet. Yup, that's us. Really. I mean it.

While we were in the coat closet, we collected his garment bag.  Then with CFG’s garment filled with CFG’s clothes folded over my arm, I escorted him from the fancy schmancy Ambassador club to his first class seat (his wife followed with the other rep).  We made small talk, he was incredibly charming, and I could have listened to him talk for hours.  I still have that autograph, along with the others I collected during my time at TWA–Brooke Shields, Timothy Hutton, Dustin Hoffman to name a few.  All of whom were delightful and charming.

But none of them were Cary Freakin’ Grant.

Cary and his wife Barbara. Photo taken around the time I met him.

So–have you ever met a celebrity?  Were you calm, cool, and professional like me (cough, cough), or did you blubber, drool and gawk?  Is there a celeb you’d love to meet?  If you met him/her what would say?

So many books to write, so little time!

I’ve always loved summer.  When I was a kid it was all about riding bikes and going to the beach and playing with friends.  Hot sunny days filled with cookouts, nights of catching lightning bugs and playing tag and kick the can (although we always used a ball instead of a can).  I haven’t played tag or kick the can in a long time, but I still love cookouts and lightning bugs.

We always let them go at the end of the night.

What did you do this summer?  And how did you spend your summer days when you were a kid?

Being with my friends at this conference once a year fills the writer well that gets depleted the other 360 days of the year. Of course, I’m also a big fan of facials and retail therapy.  Boat rides, walking along the beach, sitting in a hot tub, curling up with a good book, and a date with the DH also renew me.  So–what renews you?  How do you get your mojo back?  Hope you’re having a fabulous day!

Cast of Real Housewives of New York City

Of all of these shows, Dancing With the Stars is my favorite.  I adore the costumes and would love for Derek Hough or Maks or Mark teach me the Cha Cha.  I especially loved last season because Donny Osmond, aka The First Boy I Ever Loved, was a contestant–and he won!

Donny Osmond after winning the coveted mirror ball trophy

At least I’ve managed to resist certain reality shows.  I don’t watch The Bachelor, Survivor, or Celebrity Fit Club.  I did, however, get sucked into Jersey Shore and am embarrassed to admit that I couldn’t miss an episode.  I was entertained and totally appalled and can’t wait for season 2.  I think I need Reality Rehab!

cast of MTV's fist pumping hit Jersey Shore

So–do you watch any reality tv shows?  Which are your faves and which do you avoid?  Any you wish you could quit, but can’t?

First up is Rafael Nadal.  He’s from Mallorca, an island off the coast of Spain.  I think we should all go there.  Immediately. 

Next is Feliciano Lopez.  He is RIDICULOUSLY handsome.  Seriously, if the tennis gig doesn’t work out for him, he can become a model. Or my pool boy (note to self:  must get pool).

Last, but not least, is Fernando Verdasco. Dios mio, that is one fine looking man. AND he’s talented.  He can be my pool boy on Feliciano’s days off.  (note to self: put a rush order on that pool).

Okay, as if that isn’t enough, here’s one of my future pool boys, Feliciano and Fernando, together.

And last but not least, for your viewing pleasure, the perfect storm of tennis hotness–Rafael, Feliciano, and Fernando.

So—do you like any sports?  If so, which ones, and who are your favorite athletes?  Have I managed to convert you into a tennis fan? (just keep in mind that Rafael, Feliciano, and Fernando are MINE!!)

xox Jacquie–tennis fan for LIFE!!

When I was growing up, we always spent the evening at home.  Sometimes friends or neighbors would stop by, but we never went out.  As an adult, I’ve simply carried on that tradition.  I’ve hosted numerous New Year’s Eve parties, but I’ve never attended one.  I’ve never wanted to drive home after a New Year’s Eve party, to share the road with possible DUI drivers.  Plus, I guess I just prefer to watch the craziness of Times Square on the tv while I’m in my warm house, sipping chilled champagne with my family and close friends. 

This year my husband and I are planning a quiet, romantic evening with a candlelit dinner and a bottle of Korbel.  What are your New Year’s Eve plans–quiet or party?  Whatever you’re doing, I hope you have a wonderful time and I wish you a happy, healthy 2010! xox