So there's been a lot going on with me, but I haven't taken the time to communicate it. I do want to relay an incredible experience I had last night...
First off, I was in this huuuuuge group of people who were hanging out with Peter Jennings. We were looking for important news stories to present themselves so we could report them. We were walking through a city park, when I noticed Brad Pitt, sitting on a cement wall. I called to the group, "Hey, it's Brad Pitt!" When I looked around, I found the group was scurrying away--PJ as their guide (that's what we call him)--in pursuit of a hot lead.
I gingerly approached Brad and said, "What's crackin'? How you livin', G?"
Brad, clearly confused, responded, "Aren't you Kukka?"
"Straight up." I have to admit, I didn't know why I was talking like that, but the words continued to pour out. "What you doin', playa? Why you sitting here all ragged out?"
"Do you mean why am I wearing my finest clothes?" asked Brad.
"I'm getting ready to marry Angelina Jolie The wedding is supposed to start in a couple of minutes," Brad said, motioning toward a large group of guests that had appeared from nowhere.
"Miss me wit all dat, cracker!" I couldn't accept what he was saying as truth. After all, Jennifer Aniston and I go waaaaaay back and I'm not about to be seen at Brad's wedding to the other woman.
I looked at the guests gathering. It was a smorgasbord of celebrities. Through the crowd I indentified George Clooney, Oprah, Yoko-Ono, Bennifer--Part Deux (Affleck and Garner...duh), Ashton and Demi, Jude and his nanny, Sienna and Orlando (which made it quite awkward with the Jude/Nanny combo), and P-Diddy. I didn't take the time to see who was sitting on the bride or grooms side, so don't ask.
As I was eyeballing the gaggle of guests, Brad suddenly turned to me, "Would you perform the ceremony?"
"Are you shitting me? I am SO THERE!" The words flew off of my lips before I could even consider how Jen would feel. I'm a sucky friend.
Just then, the string quartet started playing "The Bridal March" and we hurried to get in our places. Angelina started down the sidewalk, toward the chupah (I don't think either of them are Jewish, so the traditional canopy was bit puzzling). She was wearing her Laura Croft outfit and cluthing a small bouquet of nunchucks (I know...made little sense to me, either).
Suddenly, I saw Peter Jennings in the bushes with the hungry journalism gang. They were trying to take candids of the wedding to sell to the tabloids!
"STOP!" I yelled. "The paparazzi are invading!"
Brad and I ran to the perimeter, where PJ and the gang were hiding in the shrubbery.
"Booooo, Peter Jennings! Boooooooo!" I vociferated. "That's just in poor taste," I muttered under my breath.
"Why you all up in my kool-aid, Jennings?" Brad shouted. He looked at me, startled at his sudden outburst.
PJ apologized and retreated with his crew of salivating young journalists.
The string quartet began playing again. Angelina continued down the sidewalk and Brad began to cry.
"She's so beautiful," he sobbed.
I smiled and said, "By the power vested in me, by the State of Insanity, I now pronounce you husband and tomb-raider. You may now tongue kiss me."
Brad turned and we snogged heavily until Angelina yelled, "Booooo, Kukka-Maria! Boooooooo!"
It was at that moment, I woke up. I should have known it was a dream. After all, I don't think Peter Jennings is doing paparazzi work from the grave and I'm confident I would never officiate at a wedding ceremony between Brad and Angelina (although I would totally mack with him).
I got your back, Jen! Holla!!