Ginger Asks, Have You Met Any Movie Stars?

I was reading the Historical Western Romance page on FB, and looking at all the pictures posted of those sexy cowboys who played in the TV westerns most of us grew up on.  Someone had posted a picture of Gil Favor from the long-running series, Rawhide.  I always found him quite attractive, and like someone else had posted, Rowdy Yates, played by Clint Eastwood, at the time, was just too boyish for me.  To be truthful, I haven't been a Clint Eastwood fan since I had the misfortune to meet him in person back in the late 70s.

I lived in a little college town in No. California, called Davis.  Mr. Eastwood's dentist shared a duplex building with mine, so I always knew he was in town when the dental staff disappeared during one of my routine teeth-cleaning visits.  My then-husband was a Sgt. with the UC Davis police department, and on one particular night, several from his shift gathered at a local eatery/pub, The Graduate.  I received a phone call from him, all excited that Clint Eastwood was there and he wanted me to come down.  Since I was with two other wives, we flipped a coin, and two of us went while the third (loser) stayed with the kids.

When we got to The Graduate, the guys were eager to approach the big star and offer to buy him a drink.  After they hemmed and hawed about it and decided no one had the courage, I offered to do it.  To me, movie stars are just people and I don't get all starry-eyed over them.  I might salivate a little if they're really handsome, but since the Marlboro Man offered his autograph, I was a little turned off by people so taken with themselves.

Anyhow, I walked over to the bar, where Mr. Eastwood sat with a friend, and when I was sure they weren't in the middle of conversing, I tapped him on the shoulder.  Instead of a friendly greeting, he turned around, gave me a dismissing wave, and said, "No autographs, please."

Really?  I think I must have shook my head, but I do recall my exact words.  "I don't want your autograph."  At which time, he got a shocked look on his face.  "I'm here for the big ol' cowards over in the corner. (I pointed)  They're from the UC Police Dept, and they'd like to buy you a drink.

Okay, so now I expected him to at least be polite.  He glared at me and said, "Why, so they can ticket me for drunk driving when I get in my car?"  If he had smiled, I might have taken what he said as a joke, but he was just a rude bastard, in my opinion of course..either that or I injured his ego because I didn't want his autograph.  I've never understood why people collect them.  I could just as easily write his name on a piece of paper and tell people he signed it.  How would they know?

Anyhow...that's my story of why I'm not a Clint Eastwood fan.  Besides, movie stars get old and wrinkled just like the rest of us...no matter how taken with themselves they are.

I Was Reminded Of A Story...

If you want to read the first part, you'll need to scoot over to Cheryl St. John's Blog where I'm guest blogging today, then c'mon back for this installment.

To my chagrin, back when I lived in California, Clint Eastwood's dentist shared a duplex building with my dentist. I avoided going for dental work like the plague because I'm the world's biggest coward. I have to be doped up to dial for an appointment, and then I get sick to my stomach and look for any excuse not to keep it.

On one particular day, I had taken enough Valium to sustain me and went for a root canal. There I was, in the chair, mouth agape, rubber dam in place, and my pulse at 200. All of a sudden, someone peaks around the corner and points over her shoulder, and EVERYONE leaves the room. I loosened my white knuckles from the chair arm's long enough to ease the cramp in my arm, and after ten minutes, and suffering from claustrophobia from that damn dam, I wandered out into hallway.

I must have been a lovely site. If you've ever had the rubber dam experience, you know you can't close your mouth, and the only tooth exposed is the one to be worked on. I can only imagine I looked like something from a horror film, but there I stood, in a empty hallway, ready to yank the offending thing out of my mouth. If you're claustrophobic, then you totally understand anything that interferes with your ability to breathe, must go.

I wandered up and down the hallway, praying for help, trying to control the rising panic. "I can't breathe, I can't breathe," my mind kept chanting, and luckily, the receptionist caught sight of me.

"What's wrong," she asked.

Like I can answer!

"Let's get you back to your room."

"Uh Uh!" I point to my mouth and blink my eyes.

She smiles.

I want to kill her!

When I'm back in the white-knuckler, the dentist and crew wander back in, all smiles and giggles. He adjusts his mask and looks down at me. "Clint Eastwood is next door, and we all get so excited when he comes."

Well, I'd already met Clint Eastwood and I wasn't impressed, but I do know why dentist wear masks. It cost me $1500 for that horrid experience. What a crook!

P.S. I'm only kidding...if you're a dentist, know a dentist, love your dentist...I know they aren't crooks. It's my attempt to be funny...no need to send me a snarky comment. *lol* I actually have a new dentist here in Tennessee that I love. He does sedation dentistry with DRUGS...lovely, relaxing drugs!