Slap & Tickle

I’m In Love… With A GIRL!



Yes, I’m in love with a girl and I don’t care who knows it! I found the woman for me and her name is Giada!

On Tuesday, I went to a book signing and demonstration by Giada de Laurentiis, star of Food Network’s “Everyday Italian” and author of several cookbooks. She has perfect teeth in a smile that lights up a room, a killer bod, big boobs… and she can COOK!

There was only one woman that I ever thought I could go straight for: Diane Lane. (…sigh…) I will now add the lovely Giada to that infinitesimal list. [Side note: Jennifer “Flashdance” Beals was on it from 1983 to approximately 1985, but I think I was more interested in her costar Michael Nouri—which, upon looking back, was a poor decision on both.]

Giada is exactly as she appears on her show: adorable. She was enthusiastic about her recipes and encouraged the crowd to shout out questions as she demonstrated making a white bean dip with pita crisps and a dessert of grilled pineapples with a Nutella sauce. People were shouting out all sorts of stupid questions, and she answered them as if they were well thought out… such patience.

Before her scheduled talk and books signing, Giada was walking around Santana Row with her husband and people were walking up to her, asking her to pose for photographs and sign their books—and she did it.

Graciously.

People wandering in were so excited to already have their book signed. They kept going on and on about how beautiful she is (and every description ended with “big boobs.”):
Lady next to us: “She’s adorable! So sweet… big boobs.”
Lady behind us: “I just walked up and asked, and she signed my book! Lovely hands, great teeth, and big boobs.”
Lady two rows up: “I asked for a picture and her husband took it! My God, I wish I could have her figure… at least her big boobs.”

When she arrived, the crowd of 800 stood up and cheered wildly. It was like a rock star had arrived. The poor people at the restaurant next door looked at us like we were crazy. We were—but we were crazy for Giada, so fuck off!

Apparently, she is quite different than the Rachel Ray experience they had earlier. I’m sworn to secrecy… Okay, twist my arm, I’ll tell: Apparently, Rachel was a bit of a prima donna and when she was moaning about having to sign 200 books, the manager of a certain store smiled at her and said, “Oh, I’m sure you can do it… Julia Child was here and signed over a 1000 books in the same amount of time… and she was 85!”

We waited over 2 hours for her to sign our books—the line was about 400 or so, but she was taking pictures with everyone and chatting… who does that? Who can keep a smile on their face after 2 hours of signing books?

When I got up to get my book signed, an employee asked if I needed a picture with her, when I said, “no” you’d have thought I’d just farted in the store (I had, but not right there). He couldn’t believe it. I’m not a star-fucker. I don’t get ga-ga over celebrities; I think they are just like everyone else and should not be treated as gods…

If you want you book signed to your name by Giada, they put a post-it note in your book so she knows the correct spelling. As I walked up to her, I handed her the book and she said, “Hi, Chris!” as if she’s my bud; my pal. I looked into her eyes, ready to reply... my response: “Uh… er… hi?”

I could not think of a single coherent thing to say. I was dumbstruck by her beauty and felt I had no place being in the room…. “I’m not worthy! I’m not worthy!” flooded my mind. I couldn’t look in her face—I was like a deer caught in the headlights—so I looked down… into her “headlights!” Then I looked over… into her husband’s adorable—but glaring—eyes. I began to study the floor intensely.

As she slid the signed book over to me, she smiled her big perfect-teeth smile and said, “Enjoy!” I looked up, stood there for a second, mumbled “thanks” and scampered away, clutching my treasure.

Four steps later, my mind began to clear and I began to think of responses I could have said!

Cute things.

Clever things.

Things that would have made her remember me in a fun way… not as some sweaty, creepy guy stammering responses, and clutching her book as he scampered away. Who scampers, by the way? Who?!

Me... Damnit!

Now I’m obsessing over her… Why won’t she love me? Is it her very attractive and successful husband? Is it the fact that I’m gay? Maybe it’s because I’m not Italian? Maybe she’s so incredibly out of my league that if I were straight and Italian, she’d still want nothing to do with me? I’ve been “straight” for all of four minutes and I’m already hating it… I guess that’s what love does to you. I'll put up with it, I guess. But only for you, Giada. Only for you...