Monday, January 04, 2010

Happy New Year With The Wrong Baldwin...


As my faithful readers know, one of my long-held desires is to bed the incomparable Alec Baldwin, star of "30 Rock" and the new movie "It's Complicated." Like a fine merlot, he has only improves with age.

But, as my faithful readers also know, I had the misfortune of sneezing on his suede jacket during a recent LA-NY flight whilst sitting in the adjoing seat.

I paid the dry-cleaning bill and sent an apologetic note (with a suggestive twist) but I did not hear back.

Then on New Year's Eve, I was invited to an A-List party by a host whose name I cannot disclose. It was a smashing affair. Which I in turn thought led to a smashing affair. Yes, I drank far too much Krug champagne, and one of my beautiful breasts fell out of my Oscar de la Renta dress, causing much merriment. After that, the night is a bit of a...blur, for lack of a better word.

New Year's Day I awoke in my own bed to the sound of a man snoring. Bleary, with one of those buzz-saw hangovers that only champagne can cause, I could see that he was large, hairy, and...ALEC BALDWIN!

What a brilliant way to start the New Year and the new decade!

At last, one of my most important wishes had been granted! He lay face down. Containing an urge to giggle with girlish glee, I leaned my naked body over his, and woke him up by gently blowing in his ear.

"Alec, dahling," I whispered in my most seductive tones.

He sat up, and I could not suppress a scream of suprise.

It was not Alec Baldwin, it was DANIEL BALDWIN!

Oh my God, I had slept with the wrong Baldwin, the "Celebrity Rehab" Baldwin, one of the LESSER Baldwins. Daniel sat bolt upright and stared at me.

"Are you the hooker I asked for?" he said.

"I most certainly am NOT," I snapped. "What were you doing at an A-List celebrity party, I would like to know!"

"I, uh, came with some friends. Do you have any Jack Daniels?"

"No!" I drew the pink silk sheet protectively over myself. "I will thank you to leave, Mr. Baldwin, at once." I rang for the maid. Octavia rushed in a moment later, and took in the situation.

"Te has puesto a sí mismo en problemas con otro perdedor, perra. Y es el 'Celebrity Rehab' Baldwin,"she muttered.

"Shut up, you clot. I can speak Spanish. Get his clothes at once and show the gentleman out. NOW."

Mr. Baldwin stood up slowly, rubbing his head. "Okay, babe. I don't pay for pussy anyway."


Grumbling, he dressed and took his leave. I fell back in bed, my temples throbbing, filled with disappointment. Thank goodness for small favors--at least it wasn't Stephen Baldwin.

So now I have a goal for 2010. I am setting my vintage feathered cap for Alec Baldwin. And this time I will stay sober enough to know which Baldwin I'm with!

One supposes there is a valuable life lesson in there somewhere, but damned if I know what it is.

Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

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