“*Get that mike outta my face and turn that camera OFF!” I yelled. “I’ve been signing autographs as “Cheena Lucinda” nobody even knows my real name!*”

“Yes of course, your FANS!” she gushed as if I’d said hi, pleased ta meetchya. “*So, when they come to see you, do they ever say anything to you OR….is it just mindless, unintentional-intentional stalking; seeing as how it makes you upset?*”

“Upset? UPSET? You’re the one who’s about to be upset!” I broadcast (oh okay, hollered red-faced) loud enough to hear at least three blocks away. ” You DO realize you’re dangling mid-air from over five floors high here? AND that you’re asking me questions I already told your stupid paper I wouldn’t answer? Not to mention the liability insurance. Nope, just can’t have ya hanging out here.” Personally, I thought it was a pretty smooth reply given I’d almost been knocked off my perch by her antics.

She didn’t listen, kept jabbering on. I don’t remember much of what happened from there. Here’s what’s known.

*The Gaffer got his undies caught in the rafters, dangled for an hour before anybody saw him.* The reporter? *Oh, she’s in the greenroom, drowning her sorrows in a bottle of Gin.* The reporter’s assistant is STILL laughing maniacally and repeating ad infinitum to anyone in earshot, “*CUT!….OMG I don’t even know what TAKE we’re on they’ve screwed up so much!*” The cameraman was fired the next day, and although I feel sorry for him, I can’t help but giggle…a little…for he was quoted saying, “*Erm, yeah….about that, I kinda set the storyboards on fire…accidentally….sorta….I maybe, might have, kinda tripped with a can of gasoline and a match.*” No one has the slightest idea what the connection is between that and his lost chance to film me and my graffiti-in-progress, but that’s what the latest polls show as WHY he did it. HE’s not talking until after his court date.

After all that, I would have thought the intrepid reporter would have found something more, well, boring and tame to capture her attention. But no – my husby just called via cell to catch me up. Seems *I just got another email from Lady Gloria Faducci. I still don’t know if she’s British.* *She was pissed because the star on her door said “Lola”. Apparently it used to be a stripper’s dressing room.* She wants to “reschedule” our interview so her boss will get off her back and give her a better room again. My husband thought this was hilarious. I didn’t – yet another unintentional-intentional stalker to add to the bunch, only this time *sigh* she just may be right – I might have to apologize to her. After all, I’ve signed three new contracts today for thrice my going price due to all the “publicity.”

(: