Well, you move to Chicago and look what happens...Today is officially the first day I met someone famous. Mind you, I use that term loosely: I got my pic taken with Vicki, reality star of The Real Housewives of the OC. Apparently she is doing some work for (or with, I'm not quite sure) some people in our building, so of course we HAD to harass her for a photo.
We crept next door to ask her for a pic, and after waiting about 20 minutes while she chatted on her phone, we finally introduced ourselves. To those that watch the show, I know you are wondering: She did not emit a single "Whoo hooo!!" She was clad in a conservative suit (shocking, considering her affinity for bling and bright colors) and was friendly without being overbearing. We refrained from asking her any questions (Did Gretchen really have a bf on the side while her fiancee was dying of cancer? Why do all your friends dress like 25-year-old strippers?) and simply told her we were fans of the show. My boss Steve, my coworker Megan and I all got in the pic, then we went on our merry way -- feeling pretty ridiculous for asking her for the picture in the first place, but certain it did not matter because we will never see her again.
So there it is; my brush with "fame." It's only uphill from here... :)